God, I'll never forget how good it felt to have his strong, manly fingers encircling my angles, gripping them tight, holding my legs up in the air spread wide apart in a huge V while he tongue fucked me for hours...

Mmm and man, his tongue! All hard wet and pointy diving in and out of my tight, slippery, soaking wet pussy, sliding all up inside of me, the very tip flickering against my g-spot. I could feel his lips pressed up against the smooth skin of my pussy, his teeth slightly grazing against the underside of my clit. I loved it when he firmed his tongue and waggled it around inside my cunt, hitting against my walls and opening me up from the inside out, making me gasp and scream. I couldn't hold my body still with all the things he was doing to me! Thank god he'd tied my wrists to the headboard and a rope around my chest, restraining me to the mattress as I writhed and twisted...He liked that Japanese bondage stuff--my breasts were standing straight out, pointing towards the ceiling, encircled by two fat, rough ropes tied around my torso.

When he finally let my legs fall to the floor, I had already cum twice and was too exhausted to do anything as he slid his tongue out of my pussy and then dragged it up over my clit, across my stomach and up to my breasts, even as he slowly, like a predator, climbed up onto the bed. His tongue swirled around my nipples, toying with them and making them harder until I whimpered and gasped for air continuously. Then I felt his hand smoothing down over my pussy, his fingers parting my lips and one dipping inside my entrance, just the very tip sliding within...and then he started really going at me--teeth-tongue-and-fingers all in action.

His fingers were better than his tongue. That's all I can say--and that's saying something. It was bloody amazing. ^__^

lol, i gtg now, but maybe ill continue this later...but knowing me I'll probly have a new story to tell ya'll about by the end of tonight. *wink*

Yesterday I saw a little boy crying his eyes out because his crackwhore mother wouldn't hug him. She was spitting and screaming into her cell phone, cussing out whoever was on the other side of the line in a way that made my stomach curl, and all the while her little tiny baby--who couldn't have been more than two years old--was teetering and tottering up to her...and she kept on shoving him back. One time she knocked him so hard in the chest while screaming "FUCK YOU!" into the receiver that he fell back and rolled on the side walk until he knocked into the man standing behind him, about four feet away. That man helped him up and and tried to hold him and that's when I realized that he was his brother, maybe about 16 years old, and he was looking at his mom with that same look that I usually reserve for my father when he does something mean to MY little brother.
It's a look full of hate...and also confusion. Like you loathe a person and yet there's something deep down inside--perhaps an innate need for them to show that they love you--compelling you to wonder how they can treat you that way....treat ANY kid of theirs that way. It's a look you don't come to have until you're older, when you've seen the world come about twice and you see everything that happened to you as a kid, all that stuff you PROBABLY would have been able to bury and forget in time, had you not seen it happen to another person, someone of the same blood, a sibling. I hate that look. It makes me despise myself for not being able to just straight up hate my father instead of feeling some sick, twisted form of compassion for him, thinking he's still capable of being a human being. But I saw that look in that teen's eyes, and I couldn't stand it.
So I walked over.
The young man was kneeling on the ground and the little boy was squirming in the his arms, his head craned back and his hands stretching out towards his mother as he blubbered and bawled. I reached into my Target bag and brought out a bright new, shiny hotwheels car that I had bought for my little brother and dropped to the ground before him, holding it out and showing my best ever smile.
The sleekness of the toy got his attention and his head turned a bit to look at it more closely and his crying got softer.
"Heeyyy," I said softly, smiling. "You like cars?" I wiggled the car a bit and look at his older brother. "Is it okay if he has this?" I asked. The young man stared at me then nodded slightly. Behind us the cussing of the mother went on in a never-ending tirade.
I smiled at the boy and coaxed him to take it, finally pressing it into his shaking hands and then reaching into my back pack and pulling out some napkins. With permission from his brother I cleaned off his face and then sat down next to them, showing the little boy all the other toys I had gotten for my little brother. I figured: this kid needs a bit of love right now, and my little brother won't die if he doesn't get a few more hotwheels or dinosaurs or water guns or what not. The boy selected a bright blue and white t-rex from the jumble and then toddled forward, plunking right down in my lap.
He looked up at me and smiled, and I smiled back, for the first time bright and real. His smile was the cutest thing, even it was small and closed-lipped and there were still tears in his eyes. Reminded me so much of my little brother when he was younger that I myself almost wanted to cry, but instead I just hugged him lightly and then we started playing with the car and dinosaur that he'd picked out.
The older brother and I shared a look, but didn't really talk much, mostly just talked to the boy, laughing when he crashed the two toys into each other and made the classic "boom boom!" sounds that I think all children make. At one point he did ask me why I randomly had all these toys and I just told him that I had a little brother halfway across the country waiting for me to come home in a few days, and he nodded like it was all understandable.
That's when the mom turned around and saw me with her child in her lap. "Devon!" she screamed, whirling around on the older son. In a heartbeat he had the kid scooped up in his arms and was quickly going towards his mother, gesturing with his hands in profuse apology, saying things like "Mom, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he was crying...she had toys...it's ok, please" while she just kept on screaming at him. When he was within arm's reach she grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him off down the side walk, yelling at him as he stumbled along--carrying her baby! It disgusted me.
My friend came up behind me and touched my shoulder.
"What were you doing?!" she hissed into my ear. "You can't just give kids toys! They're not even your kids!" I shrugged. In my mind, I had done what was right, social conventions be damned. That kid needed love and that's what he got, even if just from a stranger.
I know if that had happened to me when I was a kid, it would have made me happy. Hell, I'd probably remember it to this day.
Maybe he will too.
:)