Beat the Flu, Masturbate Instead!

Ask Jodi: Beat the flu, masturbate instead | Campus Times

I read an article the other day suggesting ejaculation as a treatment for nasal congestion in adult men. Other than being a hilarious quirk of the human body, this seems …

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How often do you masturbate? [anonymous]

Hi, My girlfriend and I are trying to get a feel for how often people masturbate. We googled a bit, but the results weren’t ….enough I guess. So here is the question. How often do you masturbate? Th.

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Poll: How Often Do You Really Masturbate? – Jezebel

According to the data (collected from a sample size of almost 6,000 Americans) a large percentage of women masturbate basically never, regardless of their age. Very few women masturbate consistently – like, two-to-three …

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Scoops: When journalists masturbate | Felix Salmon

This quote is beginning to get some press attention, so I ought to correct the record: I said “masturbatory”, not “masturbating”. Glad that’s cleared up. In fact, the full quote was captured by the FT’s John Burn-Murdoch: “Breaking …

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Total Frat Move | Masturbate Before Any Big Decision

This week, Jared is joined by Grant Gordon to talk about what it’s like to have sex with someone who is 400 pounds, give advice to a girl deciding between three guys, and a guy emails in about the success he’s had masturbating before …

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Do you masturbate before a date? – Talk About Marriage

I grew up sheltered so that may explain why “Something About Mary” was the first time I was ever introduced to the idea that one might masturbate before a date to release sexual tension. The first time it occurred to me that …

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Face Fuck, Part 4

Face Fuck, Part 4
August, 2014

Culver Hotel
I told him I was overly sensitive, neurologically speaking, post-orgasm. Could not be touched. True, somewhat, of orgasms resulting from mostly clit stim. Inherently unsatisfying, uncomfortable afterwards. After a minute or two of imposed separation, I relented, ceding to his touch. My skin stood on end, a provisional' target='_blank'>sheath. Impertinently, he called attention to my armor. Accused me of distance. As if that would soften me, draw me closer. I never understand what people are fucking thinking when they point out, unsolicited, that someone is acting shy, seems sad, etc. Does that kind of exposure ever dampen an undesirable response or steer it on another course entirely, rather than draw attention to one’s irritation and increase the original aversive inclination. So intrusive. Sort of like instructing a woman to smile on the street, it implies her mopiness or dumpiness. Turns your desire into her flaw. Recoil, is how my body reacted in relation to his. I repeated my thing about being sensitive post-orgasm. Easy way out.
That’s when the unbearable, overbearing effusion really kicked in. Before the jump, he had made an excessive display of how superior, specifically scrumptious, my pussy is. The first time it was flattering at best, polite at worst. After his referring to my pussy as “sweet,” specifically “the sweetest,” multiple times, I thought, with subdued sarcasm, Gee, that’s funny I don’t remember seasoning myself with powdered sugar beforehand, leaving an Appalachian trail of fruity pebbles for scraggly stragglers to follow.
Post-orgasm, more of the same. Ceaseless, effusive rambling. ENOUGH, already.
Bart: …taste your sweet pussy.
Bart: Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.
Me (trying to shut him down): Sweet nothings.
Bart: Sweet nothings of sweet pussy.
VOM provoking.
Bart: Your breasts, so beautiful.
Me: Yeah, I know I’m a tiny girl with huge tits.
Bart: Not just their size. It’s their shape, too. Your little pink nipples are beautiful. Perfect. You’re underselling yourself.
Uhm, I’m not trying to sell myself, at all. How do I dismiss his compliments without coming off as insecure?
After a minute or two more of social niceties my “Why the fuck am I here, again?” routine resumed. There was just one thing left, I hadn’t gotten him off yet. He was being “difficult,” but fair is fair. I attempted to verify that I was off duty before bailing, to swipe out of my shift:
Me: Do you want me to touch you again?
Bart: Nah, I’m really drunk.
Me: Yeah, I figured. Just don’t want to seem selfish.
Phew, my work here is done. A superhero with places to be, I popped up, shifted my weight, positioned myself for the closing sequence. This would be an easy one, so I thought. Had to get back to my hotel room and be presentable in 5 hours, afterall.
Needy, he insisted upon being. Needy, he was. And since I felt I owed him something, I complied for a little longer. Reciprocation is a very strong human urge. There’s a whole chapter on its success as persuasion tactic in Robert Cialdini’s classic “Influence.”
Bart: Selfish, not at all. I’m gonna dream about you coming all over my face forever.
Good, I gifted him with a year’s supply of wank material. Have more than paid my dues. I am a good person, afterall. “I welcome that,” I replied rhetorically. And also as a narcissist. Good, this is ending on amicable terms. As it has to, because he’s my cousin’s cousin.
Bart: Then I’ll dream about you welcoming that forever.
Okey dokie, ENOUGH. Let’s not get carried away here. Everyone wants to be the fuck of the century, but part of me would rather not know.
Bart: I just wanna hold you. Kiss me.
G is for gross. Nothing is Katie kryptonite like a guy asking me to kiss him. After I’ve orgasmed. I became suspicious that I had gone above and beyond my call of duty. And began charting a definitive escape plan.
Antsy, I called the evening, let him down easy:
Me: I’m going to head back to my hotel in ten minutes.
He argued with me about staying over. Pleaded with me. In a last ditch effort:
Bart: I love tasting your sweet pussy. Can you come on my face again?
Me: No, I’m done for the night. I told you, things are sensitive down there.
What the hell is this. I want to go home. Never have ever wanted to escape sexual captivity so badly. Show over. Not that I was interested in putting one on in the first place. How did this become about him? I offered to touch him and he declined.
And that’s when annoyance turned into assault. He slipped a hand between my legs. I removed it. Back it went. That was my cue to leave.
My armor turned to stone. I retracted my body fully.
Me: Stop, that’s uncomfortable.
Bart: I want to make you come again. How about if I’m gentle?
I don’t care what you fucking want. It’s my body. I’m not going to stay here and argue with you about why I don’t want to be touched. Uncomfortable or not, I don’t have to fucking justify it. It isn’t a point to be debated.
Just like street harassers are not entitled to my time, you are not entitled to an explanation. Both are unwanted attention and I don’t owe you shit. Regardless of my consenting to previous acts, I have the right to revoke my consent at any time. I have the right to have my boundaries observed and respected.
Ohh, gentle, that’s so sweet. After being rebuffed—verbally and physically—multiple times, you are willing to downgrade to a lesser version of molestation, which I might only find mildly irritating?
Let me pose this question: Why would you want to touch a girl who DOES NOT WANT to be touched? How is that exciting for you?
Fuck you for pretending you want to please me. Like you are doing me a favor. It is all about you.
Fuck. This. Shit. I’m out.
As I collected my things, not nearly as furious at the moment as I was recollecting the scenario a week later, he planned our future meetings. Half dismissing him half placating him, I told him I had finals the next week so would be out of communication until my summer classes are over, but would be happy to hang out with him after that. Which was not a lie: I was willing to hang out as friends and this was hardly the time to negotiate the terms of our relationship.
He' target='_blank'>shed.
Bart: Or if you want some stress relief before then, I can go down on you when I study. I want you to come all over my face again. I love how you spray all over me.
As if. This guy will not take no for an answer. I told him I would “consider it,” whilst I considered the following quotation:

Spencer was quite impressed with this story, and I added that I was thinking of looking that woman back up. His therapeutic side emerged. “Listen,” he said, “You can do better than a woman who just sits on you for an hour.
—Jonathan Ames, What’s Not to Love?: Bald, Impotent, and Depressed

How pathetic would that be if I traveled all the way to Bed Stuy to cum on some guy’s grody face, stress relief or none.
Gag me with a spoon.
I can do better than that.

After After Hours…

Yes I know I’m going to hell in a leather jacket
‘least I’ll be in another world while you’re pissing on my casket
All that I can do is sing a song of faded glory
And all you got to do it sit there, look great, and make ‘em horny
Together we’ll sing songs and tell exaggerated stories
About the way we feel today and tonight and in the morning
—Julian Casablancas, Out of the Blue

Approaching my purse, I thought a wicked thought: I wonder if I can still meet up with Garrett. I’m good to go the fuck to sleep for sure, but not DONE, exactly. Ready to size-up. Wait, does my vag smell like Bart’s spit? I could' target='_blank'>shen up in his bathroom beforehand. His toothpaste was orange flavored. Maybe my pussy tastes like oranges. Will match Garnet Garrett’s ginger hair! Perf!
This is an actual thought I had.
I’m going to hell in a handbasket. Or an insane asylum for ginger enthusiasts.
Sliding my phone out of my purse, the blue light blinked in my face and my heart skipped a beat.

1:49 am LA time
Garrett: Should be out in 5… Where you at?

Fuck, I missed his message. What if I were 8 MINUTES more patient or less exhausted. Did I blow it?

 2:05 am LA time
Garrett: Bad news…a friend in Hollywood is in a bit of an emergency & I gotta go help him out:( Raincheck I hope though somehow…may even be in NYC in about a month…sorry tonight didn’t work out.

Pheww. I patted myself on the back on my way out. High fiving myself like a frat bro, I muttered under my breath, “Well played, sir. A sure thing is a sure thing.”
Bart: If you can’t get a cab, call me or come back here and I’ll find you one. Or you can stay here.
Me: Got it!

Marriot Courtyard

You know, I thought you made love like an ugly girl. So present, so grateful.
—Jack Donaghy, 30 Rock

Tucking myself into bed, I recorded some of the evening’s dialogue and estimated his desperation.
Was this a pity face fuck? I could not enjoy it knowing I was taking the virginity of some acne-speckled, gawky, D & D dungeonmaster teen with a fearsome role playing alter ego. I don’t need to feel special, but I do need to know that someone achieves other hot chicks so I can bask in the glow of being in good company. It’s like being the smartest at an online junior college v. a dunce at a competitive school. At least in the latter case you can rest assured that you’ve passed some kinda admissions criteria. The exchange was his “selflessly” serving me for the price of accruing endless jack off material. Is it fucked up that I wish he needed me less? Not that I want someone to be dishonest and purposefully play hard-to-get. But as I demonstrated earlier in the evening, displaying casual indifference almost connotes high mate value. Holding out for the next highest bidder to raise their flag before the auction is closed. Starting out with a high asking price. I hate to quote insufferably snide people, but he’s what Ashley Cardiff would refer to as “tragically grateful.” Sometimes I honest-to-atheist-god wish I hadn’t been so sexually blessed (i.e., been with so many dudes) so I wouldn’t be compelled to remain such an ungrateful twat.
Here’s where sex gets tiresome: I have no interest in feigning excitement while I fuck someone’s grubby face. I miss not having to pretend I’m someone I’m not. With Andrew, there was no impression management. We could give each other shit, call each other out on our shit, and be our worsts. And that’s what I liked best.
Time to retire. Sex is the pits.
The next morning, I was smacked by my alarm clock and the jam-packed day ahead of me. Washing my unrested face off with a bar of cheap hotel soap, I realized that I was not the great mastermind behind my evening’s escapades; I had let the night seduce me.
I gathered my well-organized possessions, took stock, and assessed my damage: my favorite lipstick was missing. My most expensive, most luxurious, most physically substantial: Laura Mercier’s Pink Dusk. Then I thought the second-to-wickedest thought of the weekend: Was the orgasm really worth the lipstick?

Good sex has no monetary value. I’m willing to do basically anything. Like, I was totally being sarcastic when I offered to get down on my knees and suck Andrew while reading his book aloud. Sarcasm and dignity aside, I would have done it were it physically possible. Because who fucking cares. But when you are trying to devise a formula to discern whether sex is a step above or below masturbation, whether it is worth a cab ride or lipstick or losing half a night of sleep before a cross-country flight, you should have just fucking masturbated. Real talk with KKF.

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The Long Haul (An Erotic Story)

In It For the Long Haul
Free Download word doc, or read it here…
(John and Sue Mobray, mid twenties, newlyweds.)
John and I didn’t end up fucking for the first three days of our week-long honeymoon in Paris.
It wasn’t because we were jetlagged, or arguing, or tired from all that time in the Louvre. It was something much, much better.
Let me tell you what happened.
JFK has a restaurant, La Vie, and when we got off our domestic flight from Boston we had a bite there, which turned into a full meal once we saw the menu. ‘Hang the expense,’ said John. ‘Let’s start this right now.’
We drank some Bordeaux (that actually turned out to be better than anything we had the whole time we were away) and John had the slow cooked lamb, me the fish. By the time we transferred to international terminal and found our gate, we were both a little sleepy, and well contented.
The plane that night was not very full, and we had a three-seat row to ourselves by the wing, with no one behind us and a single older lady in the seats in front. Across the aisle in the middle row, a bald businessman sat entranced by his Blackberry. We could see a few others, scattered further across the aisle and on the other side.
They served us light refreshments, including a glass of champagne for both of us, and then dimmed the cabin lights at about ten thirty.
There were a range of movies on the seat console but the one that caught our eye was Betty Blue, on the Frenchy-themed channel. When it came on, we looked across at each other and smiled because early in our dating, we’d rented this, and John had eaten my pussy while I watched the opening third, where it’s all nice and happy, before Beatrice Dahl starts to go bonkers.
‘Do you want to “watch” this again?’ I asked.
‘Is it good?’ he said innocently. ‘I haven’t actually seen it, only heard it.’
‘The beginning is excellent.’
‘Ah.’ He looked down at the tiny space between my legs and the seat in front, and shrugged. ‘We’d need a mini-me.’
We giggled, and then both put our headphones on and watched the pair of them, Betty and her boy, being so very young and French and sexy. But after the cunnilingus scene, I lost interest, and noticed that I was nodding off. I yawned and summoned the stewardess to ask for a blanket.
‘Sure, honey,’' target='_blank'>she says, and I am almost disappointed by her Georgian accent.' target='_blank'>she might have been Parisian. This is Air France after all.' target='_blank'>she is dolled up enough to be Parisian. And there are a few other French staff in the cabin crew. Why couldn’t we have got one of those? The unfairness of it all!
Anyway, she brought me back two large blankets and some of those tiny pillows they give you, which is in addition to the larger one I have brought on in my hand luggage. John and I have decided that we don’t want to waste a day recovering, so we’ll make sure to get a good night’s sleep tonight, and then hit the sights tomorrow, soon after we arrive.
(Right. Sure.)
I arranged myself with the large pillow against the corner of the seat and the window, and snuggled into the dull roar of the engine. John set himself up with his eye-mask, because the businessman and a few others are sill reading and there are intermittent flickers from the others watching their in-seat movie players.
‘Oh, damn,’ I say. ‘I forgot my mask! Can I borrow yours?’
‘Hell no. You forget, that’s your lookout.’
‘Humph.’ My bottom lip went out in a feeble attempt to manipulate him. He grabbed it between thumb index and gives it a playful tug.
‘Hands off!’ I pulled away.
‘No chance,’ he says, and prods my belly, before reclining his own seat and lying back under his blanket.
And we go to sleep.
(Right. Sure.)
What actually happened was that I lay there for about twenty minutes and then I heard the gentle sound of John snoring. He always does when he sleeps on his back, no matter what.
The businessman looked over at me expectantly. Obviously the sound of my new husband’s snoring is going to distract him from his very important work, a disruption which will lead ultimately to the collapse of the world economy, so I better do something.
‘Darling?’ I say. ‘You’re snoring.’
‘Oh. Must be the red wine,’ he says.
‘Yeah, that must be it. Do you want the window seat?’
‘No. You have it.’ (He gets that look on his face, the one when he thinks he’s being all chivalrous. Hah.)
‘Well, do you want to lie down?’ I pulled up the seat arm so he can put his head in my lap, and pretty soon, he had his legs up on the spare seat and was lying in comfort across me, totally covered by both blankets.
We stayed like that for about another twenty minutes. The smell from his neck rose up, cologne and sweat and the gentle odour of his skin, and the weight of his head caused my thighs to part slightly, to give him a fuller lap to lie in. He grunted gently as he turned to face my stomach, so the breath from his nose was directed at the lowest part of my belly, and I imagined I could feel it though the blanket. His cheek was pressing slightly into my mons.
The hum of the engine was comforting but unrelenting against the left side of any body, and the warmth from his head and shoulders pressed into the right side of me. French voices drifted from the back of the cabin. The wine I drank was still working its magic and I began to feel dreamy, like I was a giantess, and my body was hurtling through space at many miles an hour; which I suppose, it was.
Long story short: I got horny.
Actually, very horny. So much that muscles in my stomach, legs and pussy had a few exploratory contractions, just to get the lie of the land.
‘You having fun?’ he says.
‘Yep,’ I am happy to report.
He settled back down again, but lifted his head up only a few minutes later and said, ‘You smell good.’
(He has quite the nose for me, it must be said. Sometimes he can smell when I am wet, just sitting next to me in the car.)
I smiled and reached my hand down underneath the blanket, lifting up his head, and I ran a finger along my labia.
Oh, yes. I am horny.
I placed the finger under his nose.
‘You’re lovely,’ he said quietly, and his arched his right hand over my thigh so that he can assess the situation for himself. I assisted this endeavour by pulling my g-string back out of the way, and soon, his fingers were gently probing the outside of my pussy.
John loves my pussy. If he touches it, he mostly wants to keep touching it until something happens. I know this. So, it was no great surprise or shame when he slowly worked his middle finger inside me, and then rested his thumb on my clitoris and gently nuzzled it. We do this all the time at home.
Just then, the Georgian stewardess passed by and had a cursory inspection of our row, and I wondered how obvious we were, under the blankets, John with his head in my lap, me with my hips slightly forward, and his right arm nowhere visible.
Can she see his hand in my cunt?
Apparently not. All she does is to check that his feet aren’t sticking out into the aisle too far. And then she moves on.
My hips relaxed slightly and my pussy opened. John put his mask back on, kissed me on the stomach through the blanket, and started slowly fingering me and stroking my clit with his thumb.
Sometimes my pussy has no off switch, and it was one of those nights.
John worked away slowly and steadily inside me, and after about ten minutes, I came, quietly. But he didn’t stop like he sometimes would, and after a few seconds of discomfort, the sensations turned to pleasure, and I realised I could go again. And then again.
Then, I have to get up to go to the toilet, and I gently move John’s hand and head so that I can get up. He does not say a word, just smiles at me and kisses me as I pass.
I cannot tell him what I am doing. It’s now after midnight and only the businessman is still awake nearby, but I don’t even want to whisper, which might break the perfect unspoken trust between us.
I get to the toilet and take off my g-string, which has become a genuine pain in my ass, scrunching against the join between my leg and my pussy every time John adjusts his angle. Being as wet as it is doesn’t help. I am slightly chaffed.
Then I go to the toilet. Coffee, water, wine and champagne have made this a necessity, and the last orgasm was spoiled by trying so hard not to pee. If I’d been at home, I might have…but not tonight.
After I pee, I wipe up some of the moisture that has found its way down to my thighs, and take the opportunity to explore my pussy, which is wet and open and still aching with gentle pleasure. I touching my clit and moan, and I can’t wait to get back to John.
But this is important: he can’t say anything. If he says something, it’s over.
Please don’t say anything, John. Please just put your hand back the way it was.
I come in past John, who is sitting upright, and he lies back down immediately I have the blanket in position, but this time, he steals his hand underneath my right thigh before I have a chance to put it down.
I am now sitting at an angle, with my left leg flat and my right one slightly raised. Two fingers find their way inside me quickly and wordlessly and his thumb is back on my clit, gentle but insistent.
I love you, John Mobray.
Blackberry man, still entranced in saving the economy. Lady in front, asleep. Stewardesses, all seated. Lights low. Engine loud.
We are go.
A further hour later, and I am engrossed in, dedicated to, the serious business of prolonged masturbation. The lovely, dirty man in my lap is giving me orgasm after orgasm. They just keep building, they are like waves in slow motion, breaking in the beach, and even as I’m having one, I could feel the next one, five minutes away, coming over the horizon.
I have elected to turn on the movie console to give myself some visible reason to be still awake, and making the occasional noise, and am now watching the beginning of Clooney’s Batman.
I did attempt to watch Amelie on the Frenchy channel but I found it stupid and incomprehensible. I wanted to pull Amelie’s hair. I also felt sorry for Amelie, because I knew that Amelie will never know the wanton thrill of being gently fingered to massive, shuddering climaxes in a cabin full of sleeping people. She is just too pretty. Poor Amelie.
I cannot actually follow Batman either in my current state, but I know it has something to do with trying to prevent an explosion. (Most of these films are, nowadays.)
George Clooney himself, I can comprehend. I know he is not Batman. He is George Clooney, pretending to be Batman by wearing a sexy mask, and getting paid lots of money to do it. Some of which he would surely like to spend on me.
Can he see me out of the corner of his eye? Does he notice as my faces creases up into yet another searing, delicious wave of pleasure? I bet he can. I bet he would be very interested in me, right now.
Let’s face it, any man would be interested in me right now. Feel how fucking wet I am! I am the superwoman of sex!
I grind down, and my husband responds. The fingers inside me build up the pace again.
I look at George. I look at his chin, and the lines around his eyes, and the lovely touches of grey in the sides of his…
And, now I gently tug the finger of the lovely man with his head in my lap.
We have a system. If I pull the finger, it means stop for a bit. Then when I pull it again and he keeps going.
He has stamina, my husband. He will do this for as long as I need. He is in it for the long haul. In fact, it is highly possible that he has been specially trained in this task, and hired by George Clooney to make me feel good, for the rest of my life.
Somewhere over the Atlantic at an unknown hour, we are partly reclined, with my skirt hitched fully up around my waist. The lights are all out and there are gentle sounds of sleep all around. Even Blackberry has switched off. We are all still covered in the blankets.
I am watching (sic) a movie with a blonde actress in it who is very stupid, and a top lawyer, and this is fine by me. I am not in the mood for finding discrepancies in things.
My new husband now has three fingers inside me, or maybe it is four. He is not moving them at all. Instead, I am slowly grinding my hips so that my cunt makes circular motions around his hand. The middle finger of my right hand sits on my clitoris, which feels as though it is about the size of a wine cork and aches to touch, but I can’t keep off it. There’s just no end to its demands, this evening. In almost total silence, I am coming again, and again, and again.
But something tells me that soon, this is going to have to stop. They will put the cabin lights on. They will come around and check on us. Blackberry will wake up. George Clooney will pull the funding for the project. John’s wrist will break. Or maybe, I will have a climax so big that I will finally feel that enough is enough. Something is starting to give. Something is starting to hurt.
I decide to put my foot down. It must be two o’clock in New York by now, and we land in a few hours. I am going to have one, last, orgasm, and then that will be the end of it.
I grind down hard on the lovely husband-man’s fingers and hear him gasp in pain, but there’s no way I’m letting him out. I rock backwards and forwards on his hand, and feel the ends of his fingers deep inside me, and then I rub out an absolutely huge orgasm, long and joyful and painful and exquisite, and I hold my breath for far too long, and lose control of my body.
My legs start shaking and I stamp them all over the floor like an epileptic having a seizure.
Fuck, I really have put my foot down.
I come to, and notice there are more cabin lights on than there were a while ago. Blackberry is looking over at me, scowling, and John has his mask up and is staring at me anxiously.
‘You OK?’ he says, and the sound of his voice breaks the spell.
‘Uhh…yeah. I’m OK.’
I move his hand out and close up my legs, and that is when I start to become aware of how much pain I am in.
The next thing I know, the Georgian’s voice comes over the loudspeaker.
Good morning, ladies and gentleman. We will be arriving in Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris in approximately one and a half hours. The local time is just after eight am. We will shortly be coming through the cabin serving light refreshments.
So that’s…um…
My brain can’t work out the time difference. I find I have no idea how many hours John and I were at it, or, how many times I came.
But my cunt is starting to tell me it was too many.
‘That was a genius move, spilling the milk and apple juice on the seat,’ said John as we waited at the baggage carousel. I was leaning on the trolley so people would not see my saddlesore limp, and ask if I need assistance.
‘Thanks. Those stains needed some explaining.’
‘I know. You were like a fire hydrant for a while there! I was most impressed.’
I laugh, then wince slightly as I shift my weight. My whole vagina from labia to cervix feels slightly raw, and some spots are worse than others. My g-spot feels like someone punched it.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks again.
‘Yeah I’ll be all right. It wasn’t your fault.’ I say.
And then I realised he wasn’t being at all apologetic, and was smirking at me.
‘In fact, fuck it. No. I’m not all right. You’re a bad man. You should have known I couldn’t handle that.’
‘I thought a big girl like you could look after yourself,’ he says. ‘So, first stop the Muse Picasso?’
‘Oh, fuck off. First stop a nice flat bed and then possibly a trip to the vagina transplant ward. You’re a bastard.’
‘I know, but loveable,’ he says. ‘Of course I will be expecting a return of the favour when we get into this nice flat bed of yours.’
‘You want to feel like this?’
‘Oh hell no,’ he grinned. ‘Unlike you, I know when to stop.’
‘I thought I did too!’ I whine. ‘But it just felt soooo good. Seriously. Incredible.’
‘And to think, it was all because of my snoring!’ John said, and winked.
The penny drops. He wasn’t snoring. He’d done it deliberately, to get onto my lap, and into my pants.
He’s a very bad man, my husband.
We got to the hotel and I slept all day, and was sore for three.
Then, we finally “made love” on the Thursday and again on the Friday, and it was fine, but we both always knew that the real moment of honeymoon bliss had happened well before the City of Love.
It was high over the Atlantic, on the long haul flight to De Gaulle.

Desiree – “Jerk Off In My Face”

“Jerk Off In My Face”

“Cum on my face,” groans Desiree. “Cum all over my face.”
Don’t keep a sexy female awaiting when this babe requests your jack sauce.
Desiree looks at you and plays with her big natural mangos and panty-clad clutch.' target='_blank'>she rubs her clitoris but what that babe' target='_blank'>shes is a subrigid cock banging her twat and her face. Feed her your meat, then stuff her nice and empty the contents of your bloated balls str8 into her face. As a side-benefit, Desiree will appreciate the moisturizing properties of spunk on woman skin.
Desiree became a sex star because this babe wanted to receive banged rock hard and valuable by expert dudes with big dongs who know how to shag vixens.
“A lot of guys can’t keep up with me.” Desiree candidly disclosed. Let’s face it. It’s no joy for a hot, good-looking female with large scones to admit in public that the boys this babe dated and fucked were duds. They didn’t know proper tit-fucking either. A female-dominant adore Desiree needs unyielding men to give her gratification.' target='_blank'>she was not getting it and masturbation is not the solution.
“They cum also fast, or they don’t wanna have sex when I do. It was no joy for me. The boys I sleep with can not even final love two minutes in my vagina. They by no means even tit-fucked me. There’s no way that those males can try and fuck my ass!”
So what was the answer? Porn! Safe sex below comfortable conditions with skillful cocksmen whose job it is to provide female satisfaction. And better paying than slaving away for low wages working for an backdoor boss.

See More of Desiree at SCOREVIDEOS.COM!

Desiree – “Jerk Off In My Face”

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“Jerk Off In My Face”
Added on April 4th, 2014
Starring: Desiree
Duration: 19:12 Mins of XXX Action!
Tags: Big Tits, Blowjob, & Cumshot
Watch This Scene Now »

“Cum on my face,” moans Desiree. “Cum all over my face.”Do not keep a hot lady waiting when' target='_blank'>she requests your jack sauce.Desiree looks at you and plays with her big natural tits and panty-clad snatch.' target='_blank'>she rubs her clit but what' target='_blank'>she wants is a boner fucking her pussy and her face. Feed her your meat, then ram her good and empty the contents of your bloated balls straight into her face. As a side-benefit, Desiree will appreciate the moisturizing properties of man-juice on female skin.Desiree became a porn star… Read More »

Added on April 2nd, 2014
Starring: Anastasia
Duration: 22:17 Mins of XXX Action!
Tags: Big Tits, Blowjob, & Cumshot
Watch This Scene Now »

Anastasia was going for a graduate degree when a SCORE photographer roaming Europe in search of big boobs spotted her. “If my classmates knew I model like this, I know the boys would perceive me differently and would, I am sure, try harder to get me into their beds,” Anastasia told him, a factoid he duly noted in his log. “Some of my professors would try also. I would expect it. I keep my little secret and do not speak of it. This far, no one has recognized me and if they did, they would not be absolutely certain… Read More »

Anal Cream For A Blonde Cum Collector
Added on March 28th, 2014
Starring: Missy
Duration: 25:28 Mins of XXX Action!
Tags: Anal, Big Tits, & Blowjob
Watch This Scene Now »

In 2004, Missy Monroe was a 19-year-old student who became an 18Eighteen model. Her tits were 34D, very buxom for an 18Eighteen Girl who are usually B-cups or less. Her bustline was 39-inches. The green-eyed blonde spread her pussy and butthole in magazine layouts and got fucked in a locker room scene. After that, Missy went off to porn city in California to seek fame and fortune.Time passes. Missy becomes a well-known porn star, often seen at adult entertainment expos.And now, Missy’s back at The SCORE… Read More »

Texas Tease Takes Tool In Tight Twat
Added on March 26th, 2014
Starring: Anna D. Caans
Duration: 28:44 Mins of XXX Action!
Tags: Big Ass, Blowjob, & Cumshot
Watch This Scene Now »

Girl-next-door Anna D. Caans (get it?) was discovered by SCORE at the 2002 Adult Video News Expo in Las Vegas. Two staff members spotted her and gave her a business card. She called and this scene was one of two Anna made. The other scene was a dildo show. Anna was 22-years-old at the time.Anna’s fresh-scrubbed look can fool you. This girl is a dirty girl and wanted to do everything sexually she possibly could. Anna told us during her stay at SCORELAND that getting into adult modeling was something she… Read More »

Gimme An F
Added on March 21st, 2014
Starring: Veronica Rayne
Duration: 18:50 Mins of XXX Action!
Tags: Big Tits, Blowjob, & Cumshot
Watch This Scene Now »

Every man into tits and pussies has his go-to fantasy girl. There’s the hot maid, usually in a little hot French maid costume. There’s the nurse who can do whatever she wants to do to you. There’s the cop, the teacher, the businesswoman, the waitress, the schoolgirl, the store clerk.And then there’s the cheerleader as enacted by Veronica Rayne in “Gimme An F.” Cheerleaders are wet dream queens. If this is your favorite F-Girl, she has been in your brain for a very long time.You’re the jock with a hard cock…. Read More »

Dripping Wet…

Bored last night, I think I made the best stumble upon…like ever. Like in the entirety of all known creation! This is better than your favorite food, sex position and winning a million dollars all in one day…well almost.  Dripping Wet Pussies…I can’t really add more to that because it says it all.
Why or how or WTF was I doing last night to stumble upon such a website you ask? Well I was seeking masturbation fodder.  It has been stressful these days with my studies and a bit dry in my panties as of late and my fingers have become experts at flicking my own clit and bringing me to some of the most mindblowing orgasms.  I must pat myself on the back as I have achieved expert level with my hands on myself rather than using my vibrator. My hands have always been the delight of many men and' target='_blank'>women whose nether regions they have had the pleasure of bringing pleasure, but for myself I preferred the quick and easy–my trusty vibrator.
This site did not fail to deliver on the goods either! The type of porn that I am personally into is usually the solo female, bondage, squirting and the newest: Japanese lactation. That stuff is BIG in Asian porn I am finding. So meeting my criteria via a cursory glance, I delved ever deeper into the site as the muscles of my vagina began to spontaneously contracted on their own. I could feel my clit begin to engorge and throb in my panties as I grew wetter and wetter.  Dripping Wet Pussies gives you everything from the classy to the nasty (not in a disgusting, turn off way) and everything in between. It certainly kept me touching myself throughout the night!

Happy masturbating!

Short Stories: Period Piece 1


LOST IN VAGINA (Spring 2012)
You know how in every hs health class one cautious teenage girl asks on behalf of a roomful of careless teenage girls whether it is possible to lose something in one’s vagina? (Asking for a friend!) IT HAPPENED TO ME! One night I got super duper stoned with my classmates in Vermont. When they left my apt, it was time to masturbate. But I was getting my period, so I sat in my bathtub as to not bleed all over my apartment. Also, manhub (or maybe rockettube) only worked in my bathroom for some inexplicable reason. All other porn sites worked everyplace in my apartment. Which I had tested, because science! Being restricted to my bathroom seemed like as good of a reason as any other to delight in some man-on-man action. To be clear, I did not have a detachable showerhead in Vermont. (True story: I survived 10 months in the wilderness with nary a detachable showerhead in sight.) In this instance, I thought of my bathtub exclusively as a receptacle for blood. Instead of my typical pants-around-the-ankles period scenario, I went all out and took all my clothings off! Decadent! And even removed my menstrual cup! Was super stoked that I could masturbate all night and that blood makes excellent lube and that I didn’t even have to worry about getting bloody handprints on my pants or dripping bloody cum all over my socks as I squatted over them—because I was completely naked! Let freedom ring! So I masturbated all night. Or maybe not. But high times, who knows. Then I showered a lovely sensual shower and was genuinely in love with the world. Because hormones. And automatic cleanup—hooray!

A Flock of Flamingos

Eventually I was ready to rejoin society. I mean, crawl into bed and gobble handfuls of Apple Cinnamon Cheerios and pass out and drool on myself. So I pulled back my pink, flamingo shower curtain (not to be confused with a pink flamingo shower curtain) and reached for the ledge where I had left my menstrual cup, but it was gone! I searched every corner of the shower multiple times. That’s a lot of times when you are high. Then I gave up and tore up the rest of the bathroom. Guys, I knew I hadn’t left the bathroom. And I couldn’t figure out why it would be in any of the nooks and crannies where I looked. Bandaid box? Nope. Nailpolish box? Nope. But I was absolutely baffled as to where it could have disappeared in such a small, contained space. Almost' target='_blank'>shed I had gotten all Hansel and Gretel and left a trail of blood across my crème brulee and caffe latte plaid floor.
Defeat: I accepted it, and opened the cabinet where my spare menstrual cup and emergency box of tampons were dormant. I licked the rim of the spare cup, reached into my relaxed and easy vagina, and there it was: the original! Fancy to run into you here! Durr. Leaving a trail of breadcrumbs from my vagina to my vagina would have proved fairly useless. Unless I needed a snack.
Well, kids, today we’ve learned that silicone cannot disappear into thin air, but it can disappear into my not-so-cavernous, sex-numb vagina. Abracadabra! Obviously I had put the cup back in directly after getting off, taking advantage of the extra elasticity and lubrication. So, there you have it: the cup was not lost, but forgotten. Let’s say misplaced. Er, properly placed.

brain on drugs

brain on drugs with side of bacon

brain on tha good shiz, by teenyxvon

FUCK SELF SILLY (March 2014)
It happened to me—again. Except in reverse!
Friday night I stayed out all night doing coke. Which I never ever do. Except like once every three years. My friends didn’t leave ‘til 10 in the mornin’. 10 in the mornin’. So whatcha wanna do?' target='_blank'>sheeet, I got a pocket full of rubbers… No. I lay in bed wide awake and restless, slept soundly for an eternity, and woke up at like 8pm then proceeded to be completely useless. I was like, me so horny but me so stationary. So I pulled out my vibrator and tried to get off without moving and without removing my menstrual cup. My greatest accomplishment of the day: making my clit as numb as my nose had been the previous evening. But, hey, one day last week my greatest accomplishment was watching the music video for Sonic Youth’s Bull In The Heather 30+ times! 10. 20. 30. 40. Fuck. This. Shit. I need penetration.
I relocated to the bathroom, where I peed (bowels empty! cocaine purity!), removed my period underwear with 3-inch-thick overnight pad, and hopped into my shower. And by ‘shower,’ I mean ‘sanctuary of pleasure a relief.’ Leaning back on my step stool, I aimed the shower spray at my clit and inserted my silicone husband, Tom. Felt a little dry, which wasn’t a huge shock. Figured my period was over, so spat on Tom directly then squirted a few drops of liquid lube on his head. Sliding right in, he fucked me silly. As he pounded against my cervix, I experienced more pain than normal. That’s to be expected, though, between the bleeding heart tenderness and downright cervical position. NBD: it hurt sooo good!!! I gripped harder and pulled him in closer. As my body met his, I contracted then relaxed like a cockroach going into rigor mortis (literally, “rigidity of death”). By the time I came to, all the life had seeped out of me. I was at peace. Absentmindedly, I stuck in a thumb and pulled out a plum. No, I slid an errant finger in, examined it, and was delighted but bemused to find only wetness, no blood. My period has begun a day late so I wasn’t sure how I felt about it drying up a day early. Should I be concerned? Upon further inspection, AHA! I had left my menstrual cup inside me. Neglected to remove it. In a fit of passion. Drug daze. These are the glory days.
Tracing my finger around the rim, it didn’t budge. Practically fused with my cervix. Effectively turned into a diaphragm—a barrier method. Protecting me from my wildest dreams—of ejaculating dildos, semen seepage. If it weren’t for the little holes around the rim designed for breaking suction, it would be a legit method of birth control. Jammed in, does not dislodge. A friend once told me about how when' target='_blank'>she got fitted for a diaphragm, the presentation of samples was the most effective birth control. Diaphragms ranged in diameter from that of a menstrual cup to that of a BABY’S HEAD! The good news is that my vagina ain’t no longer a midget. When expanded, it could accommodate a cup and a dildo, though thankfully not a human head.
Never fear. My period was not over. Game onnn.
The next day, when I emptied out my cup and nothing spilled out, I encountered the longest strand of mucusy blood I’ve ever seen. Had to play tug-of-war with it to detach it from me. It was like an endless string of spaghetti or one of those rainbow ribbons that clowns pull out of their mouths. Freed, it was the menstrual version of the cervical mucus I get when ovulating, just as high in spinnbarkeit and even more fun to play with. Wish I had had a camera with me. Contemplated preserving the red rope and hobbling to my bedroom with my pants around my ankles to grab my phone, but didn’t want to leave a Hansel and Gretel trail. Someday.

HUMAN IN PUBLIC (July 2009, March 2010)
I have a policy against wanking in public places, obviously. First of all, public restrooms are gross. Second, you know how it takes people longer to pee if there is someone in the stall next to them? Well, the thought of someone listening and wondering what you are doing in there for so long, or surprising you in the middle, is enough to leave me panic stricken. Lastly, getting off sitting on any toilet is gross for girls because our body parts are in between our legs. If you wanna finger yourself, you have to reach down into to the toilet bowl to get all up in there.
Sometimes I get my period, however, and all bets are off. I used to do editing work and light writing for this guy in his East Village apartment. He trusted me to work on my own time—sometimes at home and sometimes at his place. His landlord had won awards for being the worst ever (I think he had made the Village Voice). They were in the midst of a legal dispute on account of adjusted rent commensurate with health hazardous living conditions. There was some issue with construction that was causing questionable dust (asbestos) to come up through his floorboards and permeate his air. My boss’s temporary remedy was to cover his entire floor with butcher paper. Bathroom included. I admired his aim and that of everyone else who worked at his place. There was not a single drop splattered.
On one fateful day I was getting my period when he asked me if I could stay an hour later than planned. Yes, but I could not imagine making it through another minute without relief. I had sort of been counting down the minutes until I could go home and get off. When he told me he was running to the post office across the street, he’d be back in five, I had no choice but to dismiss myself to the bathroom. So tightly wound, I knew I wouldn’t take long. Thirty seconds after the front door shut, I had already unzipped and begun wanking on the toilet. Not fast enough. Bad position. Wrong angle. I kneeled down in front of the toilet, hovering over my pants, so in the event of any blood or bloody cum drippage, his minimalist floor decorations would not turn into a canvas of kids’ doodles—an amateur Jackson Pollack. On my knees with my thighs pressed together, I came quickly enough so I didn’t look like a flushed mess by the time my boss got back. Sweet, sweet relief.
It’s a slippery slope, that illicit masturbation racket. Fast forward 8 months to the 2010 Eastern Psychological Association conference at the Marriott Brooklyn Bridge. My grad school classmates and I were supposed to meet there on the second day of the conference and have comped dinner in Downtown BK afterwards. The first night I got there late to catch a movie about people with disabilities who struggle to be recognized as sexual beings—Sarah Barton’s Untold Desires (1994). So late there was no one at the registration desk to accept my money; I slipped into the screening room unnoticed. By the time the movie was over, the hotel was desolate. There were few conference attendees who lingered, nevertheless anyone I recognized. And that’s when it happened. I’m not sure if I went to the bathroom with explicit intention or I ended up there, surveyed the scene, and thought ‘scot-freeeee!’ Once I had it in my mind set on it, it didn’t seem like there was any alternative. I couldn’t imagine taking the subway home in my state. I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO BE HUMAN IN PUBLIC! All signs pointed to my vagina. The bathroom was nice—luxurious. Single stalls with those slatted doors going all the way from floor to ceiling. Private. I leaned back on the toilet, thought of one of my friends, moved my hips back and forth, squeezed my legs together, and rolled into an orgasm. Whew. Done. Didn’t even have to take my cup out or anything. Just sorta jostled it around inside me. Cleaned up; scanned my blank reflection in the mirror; counted myself bright, shiny, and new; emerged gracefully, all tension gone. Felt a little bold, like I could be this calm and composed always. If only all public bathrooms were so lovely.
To be clear, it wasn’t a sexy movie. Certainly not intended to arouse. I mean, there was one MILF I was kinda into, her legs didn’t work and she spoke about how she and her husband accommodated by arranging her in different positions. Which of course led to you picturing her all arranged, spread open—ready. That’s not what got me all worked up, though. I was stricken by period madness. Seriously, sometimes it just seems like all the blood pools in your pants and all your thoughts cluster there. If you could just orgasm, the energy would dissipate and you could move on with the rest of your life. Power to the people! Blood to the brain!
A few months prior, my friend Libby and I had seen Beeswax as part of the Reel Abilities Film Festival (Hey there, Alex Karpovsky).
March 4, 2010

Katie: i think i’m seeing another film about disabled sex tomorrow night. this one probably not quite as hip.
Libby: HAH, how do you find out about these things? Is there a disabled sex mailing list I should join?
Katie: i found out about disabled sex flick #1 from the gender studies listserve, and disabled sex flick #2 is playing at the eastern psychological association convention. so, total coincidence. but if i keep attending these events, people are going to think i have a disability fetish. disabled sex seems to be the topic du jour of indie movies. i don’t tell hipsters what to do with their art.

Guys, I swear I’m not into disabled sex! Though once upon a time I was accused of fucking like a cripple.

I’ve Been Playing With My Creamy Little Cunt All Day And My Clit Is Throbbing For More Wanna Hear Me Squirt Or Lick My Pussy Juice Off My Toy MMMMM I Taste So Yummy!!

Hey Boys
I’m Raven a slutty ebony phone sex nympho who loves to masturbate. Giggles I don’t know about you, but masturbating by myself is HARD work. I just can’t seem to get it right. So for me Guided masturbation Phone Sex is the way to go. I love talking to you about stroking your cock in long, soft motions. All the while I touch my chocolate clitty. Rubbing it just for you. Does it make your cock hard knowing that you have the full attention of a sexy teen slut like me? You might not want to admit it but you’re addicted to guided masturbation phone sex aren’t you? There’s something about a hot barely legal teen like me getting you so worked up that your cock feels ready to explode. LOL I’m the perfect little jack off instructor are you ready for your first lesson?? . Lay back on that bed and get your big hard cock all greased up then wrap your hand around that dick and start stroking just how I tell you as you picture my hot honey coated body slowly undressing in front of you.
I want you to picture my legs spread open exposing my pretty pussy lips and my swollen creamy clitty, pussy juice glistening as I play with my tiny coco titties. I want you to stroke your cock a faster, but don’t touch the tip. Refrain from touching the head of your cock. That is where my mouth goes.That’s right, my mouth. I am a rock star at sucking hard cocks the boys call me the deep throat specialist so don’t be scared to fuck my mouth deep and hard whores like me love it LOL!!. Close your eyes and just think of me tugging at my chocolate nipples. As i rub my clit with my finger. Bringing me even closer to an orgasm. I want to scream my orgasm out to you while you are on the phone with me. I want to moan and scream your name as I’m squirting pussy juices all over my fingers.I am going to beg you to cum now. You have been masturbating long enough. Building it up long enough. Stroke the head of your cock faster. Twisting your hand, with my spit lubing your hand up. That’s right baby, jerk that cock. Harder and faster baby, i want you to shoot your hot load all over me pretty face. I’m a total cum slut and I love facials giggles. Ready to just let go and have guided masturbation phone sex? I want you to stroke your cock for me, just the way I want you to. I have many ways to guide you so that you can get the perfect explosion when you are all done. You will be craving the sound of my sexy voice every time you get in the mood for hot phone sex. When you get too close,

I may just have to stop you, unless you are being a good boy. Your hand will be filled with all of your tasty juices as you grab your dick and stroke that cock under my control.I may even be so turned on from guided masturbation phone sex that I may even start to grab my pussy and masturbate right along with you. I love to feel the tips of my fingers sliding up and down my swollen clit. I also keep my huge dildo right next to me just in case I get in the mood to pound my wet pussy. I know you would love to hear how wet my tight young pussy gets is while I slide my toy in and out of me.Just because you are sitting home alone doesn’t mean you need to stroke that hard cock alone. Call me  for some guided masturbation phone sex and let me take care of the hard work;)  I love to have a cock hard and ready for me to guide to complete pleasure.  My pussy is soaking my panties thinking of telling you how to make that cock cumm.

 When you call for guided masturbation phone sex you give control to me.  I let you know how and when to stroke your shaft.  I will control the speed the presure, and the pleasure.  You know how much fun we could have with me telling you every move to make.  As you stroke up and down and roll those balls around lightly, my fingers will be busy rubbing and petting my wet pussy.I want you listening to every detail I tell you for fucking your fist.  You can imagine my tight pussy squeezing and milking that cock.  I love to get you so close then making you stop.  I want you  crazed with lust, and balls full of your hot wet load.  Hearing your moans and grunts, as your breathing speeds up will make my pussy leak with sticky wet juice. Guided masturbation phone sex ensures you or I don’t cumm alone:)  Squeeze that hard shaft for me as you take long slow strokes.  My voice alone describing everything to you will have you on edge  very quickly.  So stop seeking your pleasure alone .I can’t get enough of guided masturbation phone sex nothing seems to turns me on more than hearing you stroking your big hard cock. When I can hear your heavy breathing in my ear, it makes my sweet kitty start getting wetter and wetter.  I don’t know why but I always get so hot horny and wet when I talk dirty that I just can’t keep my hands off my clit.I just have to join in on the fun . Let’s explore together while you stroke that cock and get it throbbing hard.  I want to get my panties wet with my juices and sweat grinding my hips up and down, driving that dildo into my warm slit.  Ummmmm, give me everything you have and  I will tell you how to stroke that sausage of yours.  
I want you to get raging hard and then back it down, to make it last longer until I let you explode all of that creamy treat you have all over your stomach.I’m sure stroking your cock is lots of fun but nothing can compare to a hot guided masturbation phone sex session with me. It’s simple.Listen to my instructions carefully. Go get your favorite lube and assume the position.  All you need to cum harder than ever is great listening skills and and a vivid imagination. Imagine my hot wet mouth covering your cock, covering it with saliva. I will take you to oblivion and beyond. I love to hear my callers melt to the sound of my voice as I give them specific instructions on how to stroke their cocks. You ready to cum hard? Have a few minutes to  and feeling horny, but unsure of what you should do?come let this teen slut  take care of your hard dick for you, with a hot guided masturbation phone sex call. No matter what time of the day or night there are lots of girls available to instruct you on how to stroke & tease your cock, tickle your balls, and of course give you a nice cum countdown as well! Call from the home, office, or even your car! Why masturbate alone when you can masturbate with me?  There is nothing better than laying back, legs spread, with the phone to our ears, listening to each other get off… well maybe one thing, hehe… me actually being there with you. But phone sex is the next best thing when we are so far apart from each other, and it is a fuck ton better than masturbating by ourselves. One thing I love, is when a guy calls me wanting to know how to masturbate — meaning he wants me to tell him exactly how to do it, or if I was there with him, how I would do it. Just thinking about getting my hands or mouth on a big hard dick right now is making my clit throb!!!I am soooo in the mood for some guided masturbation phone sex, are you? Call me 
1888-40-Bunny Ask for RavenYahoo Messenger :RaunchyRaven4uAIM: Raunchy_Raven4u My Other Blog wish list :

FTV Keisha (March 2014)

Videographer/Photographer’s Comments: I picked her up the night before from the airport, her arriving from Tampa. In person,' target='_blank'>she’s a quiet, almost ‘geeky’ girl you’d never think of when seeing her in the porn shoots' target='_blank'>she’s done. Loves movies, sci-fi, wears big glasses… So' target='_blank'>she’s one of the few girls I’m shooting who already is a porn star for the last 2 months, and so not a first timer. I was supposed to shoot her early or perhaps first, but was too busy/booked with other shoots that it fell behind several times. Her ongoing popularity on the internet as well as a horde of member requests encouraged me to book her, even after her being a hardcore porn star for a while. She still comes across as natural, down-to-earth, and able to be herself (which is always a fear of mine — that the girl gets too pornified to be shot FTV-style). After feeding her and getting her comfy that night (and seeing what she brought with her), we start first thing in the morning. With adult talent agents, me & the model don’t get to communicate and prep before the shoot (unlike most of my first time shoots where I answer their queries directly) so the problem always is if she even knows what she’s shooting, and what to bring. The last clip is an outtake of that night, where you can see a more ‘diminutive’ kind of personality and her in her ‘normal’ wear as she arrived from the airport. On the next morning, I pick out one of her cute dresses, and decide to take the plunge and shoot at a very risky open mall location. We start with flashes and upskirt teases, to eventually her masturbating with a vibrator. Timing was perfect — as we finished shooting the photo & video, walking back to the car — two security guards were bee lining to the location we were shooting. It was pretty obvious what we were doing. She was both nervous and excited to experience public nudity for the first time. Back home, I have her try the pink vibrator, which gets her close to orgasm, but wasn’t ideal. She then tried two other vibrators before settling on the vintage vibrator, which ends up bringing her to a very strong orgasm with strong vaginal contractions. Notice the milky juices that flowed both at the mall and during masturbation, as well as how her toes curl up. She’s got pretty petite private parts, and a small clit which we gets close-ups of, as well as four finger stuffing. I noticed a bit of unshaved pubic hair, wanted her to do a little shaving shoot, but she was too shy to do it on camera. Then going kinky she takes her shoe heel and stuffs it deep to its base! We then go for a lunch, which ends up becoming a topless interview, with more flashing around the area (and getting spotted countless times).
Sample FTV Keisha Photos:

Subscribe FTV Girls Today!Watch her masturbating in HD

Subscribe FTV Girls Today!get her videos

Download her HD bating videosYou can see her pussy as close as you can almost feel what she feels
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