I don't know how one gets past the 1st picture, not that there aren't several luscious anuses to treasure here. Darling godblond anusboy, hoisting hole to one's adoring embrace of ass, silken godlegs bobbing in delight to guide our face into their sumptuous cleft? Are you kidding me: and you're going to hang these loveballs from our lick, and let him lie there smiling for our feast to eat him more? And more? Every taste lends throbbing, weeping lustre to his loving penis, every press of tongue but liquefies his slipslot for our praise. But eat, ah, eat: imbibe blond fuckhole for its fairest flex of succulence, and then and only then immerse dick's begging bulb without a bit of truculence. Soothe flared cock beyond belief, its granite goring dome aghast to be absolved of drilling deep, and deep to slake its thirst of him.
Thanks for your comment Anon :) Each to his own I guess, but I would hardly use that description... maybe you have never been on the receiving end of a tongue... gruesome would not be the word you would use to describe it:)
Lemme see if I can help, Anon: Ass is the expressive structure of 'being gay'. With great respect, your own ass is a perfect exemplification of this, as you will find, once its present, endearing tautness is liquefied in long and patient, hungry lappings for its sumptuous soothing slipknot to slake penis' burning thirst. Nor is this a cynical, manipulative gesture, for lapping lets you treasure bottom's supersuavest attribute in dialogue with his voracious famine, lets you exhibit his penisfeelings with resources of expression - lingual and anal - which are inexpressibly made for each other. Dick, a somewhat blunt instrument, is anus' peer in motivation but somewhat limited in rhetoric, whereas anus, once elicited in licking's soft assurance of its praise, is awesomely responsive in surprising, nuanced ways.
But consider yours a topping ass: there is nothing more glorious to crave with tongue than the solace of that ultimate catapult of your cock, the fuckmuscle par excellence of its maleglorious fling, the cinch of its vaulting horn, the pump of its sprawling pommel. Anus, the godhole where your cock begins, is your bottom's ultimate resort for treasuring your cock. He goes there to crave cock, inhaling its wondrous pendants in their sway and marveling at the power of your perineum. I mean, that's OK, yes?
But there's vastly more, of course; you may completely adore your partner, and you may think you know him well, but anus is the portal and the vestibule of his cockfeeling, his cockglory. Let him eat you out, to prove this to yourself. It's what he's been clamouring to do in his mind ever since he first tasted your slickening plum of penisfruit, glazed in lambent lappings by that virile thing called tongue. (Try eating mouth for a while, no rush, and prepare your sense of texture and temperature for elation in love's fuckhole). This isn't theory, this isn't only poetry or only biology or only neurology. The penis feedback loop presents two spectacular antipodes which are not merely linked in practice, they are manifestations of an infinite continuum. Your ass is so hot, Anon.
Did you taste boystation's luscious balls on your way inside that gorgeous plinth of standfuck? Do you remember, now, your dickhead's need to steep itself in that seething slot was triggered by their proof of sumptuous succulence? See those simple tastebuds on your glans's upper face? They extract nothing more from fuck than what you put into it. You ate, I'm sure, his nipples and his moanmeat's magic pith; what left you cock to clamour for, you didn't conjure with? And cock, the whole prodigious rock of reeling knock of blood in flood, gains mesh with no more flesh than you have gathered for its thresh.
The final, delicate tonguing is quite excellent. Here, tongue is hazarding anus' likely capture of its tip with the slightest pressure, and this is a very pretty exercise of a cherishing sensibility, unwilling to deprive itself of that delicious discovery of anus' tenacity, but reluctant to precipitate it before anus is satisfied with tongue's honorable intentions. Meanwhile, on the red couch, by contrast, we have the postures of being reconciled to a long and unhurried feast, with anus presented very sustainably in the lap of comfort (in every sense of the word), and tongue acting as the body's sole interlocutor.
7 comments:
I don't know how one gets past the 1st picture, not that there aren't several luscious anuses to treasure here. Darling godblond anusboy, hoisting hole to one's adoring embrace of ass, silken godlegs bobbing in delight to guide our face into their sumptuous cleft? Are you kidding me: and you're going to hang these loveballs from our lick, and let him lie there smiling for our feast to eat him more? And more? Every taste lends throbbing, weeping lustre to his loving penis, every press of tongue but liquefies his slipslot for our praise. But eat, ah, eat: imbibe blond fuckhole for its fairest flex of succulence, and then and only then immerse dick's begging bulb without a bit of truculence. Soothe flared cock beyond belief, its granite goring dome aghast to be absolved of drilling deep, and deep to slake its thirst of him.
omg Bystander... who needs pictures when your comments lend throbbing all by itself! :)
Darling godblond anusboy, hoisting hole to one's adoring embrace of ass, silken godlegs bobbing in delight... LOVE IT! xo
I think licking arses are really the gruesome part
of being gay. Is it really necessary ?
Thanks for your comment Anon :) Each to his own I guess, but I would hardly use that description... maybe you have never been on the receiving end of a tongue... gruesome would not be the word you would use to describe it:)
Lemme see if I can help, Anon: Ass is the expressive structure of 'being gay'. With great respect, your own ass is a perfect exemplification of this, as you will find, once its present, endearing tautness is liquefied in long and patient, hungry lappings for its sumptuous soothing slipknot to slake penis' burning thirst. Nor is this a cynical, manipulative gesture, for lapping lets you treasure bottom's supersuavest attribute in dialogue with his voracious famine, lets you exhibit his penisfeelings with resources of expression - lingual and anal - which are inexpressibly made for each other. Dick, a somewhat blunt instrument, is anus' peer in motivation but somewhat limited in rhetoric, whereas anus, once elicited in licking's soft assurance of its praise, is awesomely responsive in surprising, nuanced ways.
But consider yours a topping ass: there is nothing more glorious to crave with tongue than the solace of that ultimate catapult of your cock, the fuckmuscle par excellence of its maleglorious fling, the cinch of its vaulting horn, the pump of its sprawling pommel. Anus, the godhole where your cock begins, is your bottom's ultimate resort for treasuring your cock. He goes there to crave cock, inhaling its wondrous pendants in their sway and marveling at the power of your perineum. I mean, that's OK, yes?
But there's vastly more, of course; you may completely adore your partner, and you may think you know him well, but anus is the portal and the vestibule of his cockfeeling, his cockglory. Let him eat you out, to prove this to yourself. It's what he's been clamouring to do in his mind ever since he first tasted your slickening plum of penisfruit, glazed in lambent lappings by that virile thing called tongue. (Try eating mouth for a while, no rush, and prepare your sense of texture and temperature for elation in love's fuckhole). This isn't theory, this isn't only poetry or only biology or only neurology. The penis feedback loop presents two spectacular antipodes which are not merely linked in practice, they are manifestations of an infinite continuum. Your ass is so hot, Anon.
Did you taste boystation's luscious balls on your way inside that gorgeous plinth of standfuck? Do you remember, now, your dickhead's need to steep itself in that seething slot was triggered by their proof of sumptuous succulence? See those simple tastebuds on your glans's upper face? They extract nothing more from fuck than what you put into it. You ate, I'm sure, his nipples and his moanmeat's magic pith; what left you cock to clamour for, you didn't conjure with? And cock, the whole prodigious rock of reeling knock of blood in flood, gains mesh with no more flesh than you have gathered for its thresh.
The final, delicate tonguing is quite excellent. Here, tongue is hazarding anus' likely capture of its tip with the slightest pressure, and this is a very pretty exercise of a cherishing sensibility, unwilling to deprive itself of that delicious discovery of anus' tenacity, but reluctant to precipitate it before anus is satisfied with tongue's honorable intentions. Meanwhile, on the red couch, by contrast, we have the postures of being reconciled to a long and unhurried feast, with anus presented very sustainably in the lap of comfort (in every sense of the word), and tongue acting as the body's sole interlocutor.
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