Beyond the Horizon

Part 1

One of the lessons you learn after years of driving is that at some point or another, you’re going to experience the pain of repetition and predictability. Even when I first started off on the journey, I never had a destination in mind. It’s like as soon as I sat down and closed the door, it was getting hazy. It’s apparent to me now that from the moment I turned that old key and fired her up I was totally unsure of to exactly where I thought I was going. Driving is one of my greatest pleasures. There’s a sincere innocence in the act of driving. I lost sight of much of that, and from time to time I wasn’t sure if I was even in control. From a certain perspective the relationship between the machine and it’s controller breaks down, and it can become objectively difficult to distinguish which is driven by which.

To be fair, the warning signs were all over the place. It felt like I couldn’t go more than ten seconds without some sign, a precaution, a rule, a rule of thumb, a word of advice whispered in confidence. I always did my best to be a responsible driver. For the longest time I did my best to obey all the rules of the road, back before I knew better, or perhaps until I thought I knew better. Experience is the greatest teacher, not to mention the harshest. It’s common knowledge that to learn from experience makes even the worst decisions worthwhile. Sometimes it’s simply the only thing that one can take away from the curveballs so often thrown one’s way. The problem for the unwise lies in working out what lesson the accused is to take away from his crime. For the introspective the problem is rarely not seeing the problem at hand. They can even take precautions to make sure that one accident is never repeated, by not repeating whatever lead to disaster the first time around. For the experienced, and by that I mean the scarred, the disfigured, those drivers who possibly still hurt every waking day of their lives, there are an entirely different set of problems, regardless of their ability to learn from past experiences. The problem faced by the salty, by the ones who well and truly drove around that block more than they care to admit, is the inability to disengage from what they think they know best, and in doing so they find themselves sat exactly where they were before they even released the handbrake. One cannot escape his past, cannot escape the stupid things they did. But to make matters worse, they begin to see that so many of the reflective, glaring, fluorescent signs they are bombarded with as they hit the highway begin to contradict each other. They blur, they all look the same, sound the same. It seems impossible to follow one highway code without breaking another. At first, one particularly thoughtful individual might find, there seemed to be one over-arching Way. The irrefutable Tao of the road. The one true way. I miss that idea. I’ve reached a point where no matter how hard I try and see things as I used to, either I changed, or the rules did.

And so those rare unfortunates may find the signs begin to undermine each other. Slow down, but speed up. Be cautious, but never so more than you’re being brazen. Make sure to flaunt every last thing you have and haven’t ever done, because nobody likes It when you brag. And so experience fails you. It begins to lie to you, and even when you’re aware that there is clearly deception afoot, you become a man looking at a map with no reference as to where in the fuck they actually are. It’s at this point in my career as a driver that I also realised that for all the years I had been driving, I could not remember where I was going. I knew that I had been driving for a very long time, and I think at certain points I had stopped off at places, and I still remember the people I picked up. Some of them drove with me for the longest time. I always liked having passengers, but sooner or later, the destination is reached, and the journey has come to an end. But I digress. At a certain point, I found myself lost. It was the worst kind of lost, in that not only did I not know at all where and when I was, but in that I had totally forgotten where I had originally intended to go. I could not even remember at what point I had forgotten everything about myself. All I knew was in looking in the mirror, I was sure I didn’t recognise myself. I could not even describe the person who stared back at me. The Driver was a man about which you could say so much, but I’m quite certain that none of the obvious things you could gleam from that countenance were objectively correct. Nothing I’ve ever experienced has been quite so simple as that. First impressions are hard to resist, however. In a way it didn’t matter that I’m sure in some ways I recognised the Driver’s face, because from the moment I met his eyes with mine, I knew he’d always be a simple mystery to me, destined to be my enemy, the one who knew me the best.

He had the look of the man who has learned from experience as he lit that cigarette. The glow from the lighter revealed a face older and more weathered than I’m sure my own face was. He looked bad. I was certain he didn’t have the slightest good intention in mind for me, and yet everything in his eyes and in the tone of his voice struck me as sincere and well meaning. He spoke to me as if he knew me. We’re on the road now aren’t we? I’ve always loved these warm nights, the heady smell in the air. He grinned, and his eyes lit up. I suddenly felt thirsty. Thirstier than I’ve ever felt in my life. There was adrenaline coursing through my body now, and most of my worry had suddenly receded. As he rolled down the window, an old and child-like excitement crossed his face, as a child who is told on Christmas day that the best present has been saved to last. What does it even matter where we’re going? The pleasure’s in the driving. It’s also in the uncertainty. We passed a strange scene by the side of that long road. This struck me because until now it had all been so blank. There was a cow being led down the road by two men, one in front, and one following up from behind. We passed so quickly that the image struck me as an old black and white picture would have, fixed in my mind without the suggestion of fading. It was like some grim scene from a foreign abattoir, and I felt my spirit drop, knowing where the cow’s destination lay despite all his ignorance. He looked complacent if not slightly confused as to his predicament, being lead by his handlers as he was. For some unknown reason, I honestly felt very sad for him. Then I laughed. Fucker should have evolved faster. I couldn’t but help show the slightest disapproval, even if deep down something in me knew it was true. It would be pretty much the same if the boot was on the other foot. Or hoof. You get my drift. I laughed again, and I wasn’t sure if it was humour or desperation I heard in that laugh. It sounded strange to me, but laughs always sound strange when you really listen to them. Everyone knows what a laugh means, but that shit can’t be found in any dictionary I ever heard of.

Yes,, I would take advantage of her predicament . ♂♀

Dunno what to call you guys, but whatever, I need help.
My girlfriend has a younger sister that's pretty fucking hot.

I'd pursue her but I really like the girl I'm with now and so I don't wanna break it off just to have a fun time fucking her sister.

Here's the kink, well, it's mostly my doing...
Her sister, we'll call her Celeste(because it's close to incest) has some fucking amazing tits, I noticed this, basically from the first time I met her.

Well, I would bring Celeste casually like I was going to make a comparison but then I would say, "well, actually I can't cause I've never really looked..."
I would do this for ANYTHING.
Her hair, face, outfit, absolutely anything.

Eventually my girlfriend, call her Megan, was like "well, next time we're around each other just look at her -insert whatever here-."

Prime example, Megan and I were talking about her tits, she wants a reduction, I say fuck no. These were her exact words, "well, next time we're all out, look at Celeste's boobs(she doesn't like the word tits), they're completely natural." So, of course, I'm going to... I get to openly check out Celeste and talk to Megan about it with no repercussions... So we go out for dinner one night and after we leave Megan says the following, "so did you?"
I play dumb, "did I what?"
"Look at her boobs, dick!"
"Oh, yea, they look alright I guess, but they can't be real..."
Megan stares at me and says, "I'm going to figure out how to get you around her without a bra... They're real." I brush it off, but I grin on the inside a little, my plan is starting to work...

I keep this up and then I start talking about her ass, her legs, anything...
Megan thinks nothing of it, until one day... She asks me this, "what do you think about Celeste?"
"She's a cool girl, I wouldn't date her but she's chill and whatnot.."
"No, would you fuck her..."
"What? Where is that coming from, babe?"
"Because I had a dream about us having a threeway..."

FUCK. YES.

It took a little longer than I wanted, but it finally fucking worked.

So now here's my predicament and where I need help, I want to make it happen, but Megan has had a lesbian experience before and it didn't end well so she's super hesitant about sexual contact with another female... I want it to happen, she seems to as well, but she's starting to get a little "slow" in advancing towards it.

How do I make this happen, I know I'm going to have to get a little bit of liquor involved to loosen everyone up but I need help.

Anyone in Mid Michigan, in or near Roscommon County a Dom. That seeks a Slave to use and degrade? I love to experience new things at least twice even if I think I wont like them. I seek a Strict Dom Male, Female, Trans or even a Lesbian solo/couple. Open to many things including Rough Play, Predicament bondage, Degradation and humiliation and more.

Haven't had any play or action in over 7yrs, Would love to find someone for Regular session and also open to a Long Term Relationship.

Hello everyone, I'm looking for a bit of help. 

Recently I went for a week away with my wife to a sunny island. It was a very nice hotel with a pool and it also has a private beach. Between the pool and the beach, these places got me into trouble with her. I got into trouble because she said that I was staring at women who were around the two places, the beach and the pool. Well, I probably was looking, sorry, I was looking, but to be honest there was some really not looking chicks there. I tried to tell her that she's only thinking this but one bay at the beach I just couldn't help myself but look and she cough me. It really wasn't anything but a look but that didn't go down well at all.

Just to let you know, my wife is really sexy looking. I'm definitely punching above weight. But she didn't forgive me for quite a time, I had to keep my eyes looking down at my toes for the rest of the stay.I'm going to post a couple of photos just to let you see my problem that I was dealing with. Looking at these, I want to know how could a red blooded man not look and definitely I was wishing for just 1 hour with the one on the beach.

The first is at the hotel. There were many looking like this.

The second is the one at the beach and  I'd love a hour with. I only saw her once.

The third is some sneaky photos I took of my wife changing. You can see that she's sexy, well I think so anyway.

Please let me know what you think of my predicament andwhat would you do?

Maggie's imprisonment Part II

The went down many stairs to an area that was lit by electric lights. Then they went through a doorway and went down another set of stairs to an area that no electric lights at all. The only light came from a torch in the hand of one of the men.     They went down a long flight of stairs and ended up in a long hall way with doors lining both sides. They took her to one of the doors and threw the door open. "Welcome to your cell, Maggie," one of the men said.    Although Maggie's cell was completely devoid of light, she had gotten a very good look at it when she had first been chained up. The room was about 3 meters deep and about 2 meters wide. The ceiling was about 3 meters high. There were no windows at all and the only door to the cell was made of solid iron. The walls were made of large stone blocks, held together with old mortar. There were no modern conveniences in the cell. No electric lights, no running water, no toilet. There were no creature comforts either. No bed, no chair, not even a pile of straw to lay on.
The one thing the cell did possess was shackles. Four heavy and shining shackles to be exact. Two shackles hung from the upper part of the wall opposite the cell door, they were passed through huge metal rings, which were fixed in it. The shackles were separated in this way for app. 60 cm. Two other shackles were attached at the lower part of the wall, their chain passed only through one ring. The shackles were opened, with a joint at the side of the connection to the chain. They positioned Maggie directly beneath the shackles, her back to the wall.    
Then they uncuffed her wrists, they were hurting after being mistreated the whole time. The skin was bruised and swollen. Maggie's right arm was raised to the dangling shackle pulling it down, until the other shackle hit the metal ring with out loud clanking sound. They wrapped the metal shackle around her wrist, and pressed it firmly together. It closed with a clicking sound and fitted tightly around her narrow wrists, pressing firmly in the bruised skin there.     Maggie looked at her slightly upraised arm. She saw the shackle locked around her wrist. As the men walked to her left side, she gently shook her raised arm.     The iron chain rattled gently in response.     Suddenly the movement of her left arm brought her attention to her left. It was raised over her head to the other shackle which was pulled down. The rings were fixed very high und the shackle’s chain was short, show she was lifted up to stand on her forefeet. She watched with sick fascination as the shackle was locked down around the left wrist. It was just as tight as the right shackle was. The sounding of its closing mechanism was clearly audible for everyone.     Maggie was standing on her forefeet like the letter Y with her arms chained in the air. She looked at her upraised arms one last time and she became aware of the captors kneeling in front of her. She heard the shackles at her feet moving and she looked down. They uncuffed her ankles, then took one shackle, wrapped it around her right ankle and locked it the same way like the others. This ankle shackle was even tighter than the wrist shackles, pressing ugly in the damaged skin. It hurt like hell, and she began to tremble. She noted that there was an obvious distance between the last open shackle and her left ankle that still was free. When they pulled this shackle down, the locked shackle started to torture her right ankle severely and she had to lift herself upon her toes. Only now the men were able to lock also the last shackle.
They had finished their work, they lifted up and went back. They seemed to be satisfied with the results. Maggie was moaning intensely, because her body stretched and the tight shackles biting in her wrists and ankles.
One of the men said: “These shackles are really tight, aren’t they? Well, that’s the way all the prisoners here are treated. You will get used of them after a while. The locks are closed permanently, so you won’t never get free again.Maggie understood now what has happened: These strangers have fixed her body at this wall in this nasty cell in a painful way, she never won’t be able to get free by herself and no one will find her here down in this hidden dungeon. This was insane! She started to scream until one of the men hit her in her face. Then she felt in silence. In her head a strange mood emerged, it seemed that she separated her mind from her body.
    Maggie closed her eyes, expecting to feel something. Anything. Maybe he was about to place a blindfold over her eyes. Maybe he was about to inflict some type of painful stimulus. But there was nothing but the sound of the door closing behind her. Maggie opened her eyes to look, but with the torch gone from the room, she truly realized how totally dark the cell was. Undeterred, Maggie tried to look behind her best she could, but with absolutely no light in the room, she saw nothing.     Although she could see nothing, she could still hear. She heard the sound of the iron door closing behind her. She heard the sound of a deadbolt lock being thrown closed. Then she heard the sound of a large sliding lock being engaged. Finally, she heard was could only the sound of a large iron bar being lowered over the door.    Three locks made certain that the door would never open from the inside.    Then there was nothing but silence in the cell.    And that was it. Maggie was chained up. A 21st century woman chained in a 13th century dungeon cell. These huge shackles around Maggie's wrists and ankles held onto Maggie just as tightly today as they had done for years. Times and technology may have changed, but the shackles were just as effective on Maggie as they had been on girls in days gone by. He whole body was stretched by standing on her toes.
    Maggie would experience three phases of captivity during these first twenty hours.  The first phase began only a few seconds after the door was closed. Once Maggie realized she was alone, naked, and chained in a room that there was no way she could leave, pure terror overcame her and she began screaming.     She screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed for help. She screamed obscenities. She screamed out all manners of words. She screamed out noises. She shook the chains that kept her arms stretched up. She shook the chains that kept her legs shackled to the floor. She shook them with all the strength that she had. She screamed out pleas for help. She screamed out curses and threats. She literally screamed until she totally lost her voice. Every inch of her naked body became covered in sweat as she exerted all of her strength in an attempt to break her bonds. Her mussels began to cramp, especially in the calves.    That was the first hour of her captivity. A panic attack. A mental breakdown.    Absolute. Terror.    Her voice now silenced, the second phase began: crying. Silent tears fell as she first thought about her three children and her husband. She thought of friends and family members and coworkers. She thought of the Disney vacation the family had taken last year and how they had plans to save up enough money to go in another 3 years. She thought of her pet cat. She wondered if her family knew she was missing. She wondered if the police were searching for her. She wondered again where she was.    Tears flowed unobstructed, as her shackled hands made it impossible for her to wipe them away. Mucus began flowing from her nose. Salty tears didn't stop for three hours. That was the second phase.    The third phase was silence. She had no strength to shake her bonds. She had no voice to make noise. She had no more tears to weep. She stood there and thought about her predicament. She had no idea what the future had in store for her, but she figured it was bleak.     After 20 hours standing in chains, Maggie was exhausted, sore, aching. Maggie was defeated.     There was no way she could ever escape the cell, even if she could somehow remove the shackles that secured her hands high over her head and her bare feet to the wall. Her shoulders ached intensely, her hands and feet feel cold and numb now, there must be swollen. Her struggling against the shackles have damaged the skin at her wrists and ankles, because every movement of her hands and feet, including of her fingers and toes, is really painful. How long can she stand this? And what will happen if she remains shackled like this for the rest of her life.
There was absolute silence in the cell as Maggie held her breath and listened. She couldn't hear anything outside of her cell. For all she knew there was no world outside of the dungeon. There was just her, waiting, chained in Maggie's cell.

I wrote a KotH fan fic years ago then forgot about it. Just added a part 2. Enjoy!

Nights in Arlen
A KotH sex story
By: null

It was about 9:30 PM on a Tuesday night in Arlen, TX. Luanne Platter and her friend Jaime are sat on Jaime’s 2nd floor apartment balcony. Not a big place at all but Jaime kept it clean and welcoming. Hot but with a nice breeze blowing, the two of them are in shorts and sneakers. Luanne decided on a black bra and white tank top for her visit. Jaime’s was the last place on earth where Luanne felt comfortable and somewhat normal. Jaime has on a hoody but her D breasts are not easily stashed away.

“It’s getting late Jaime… I have to go soon” said Luanne as she tapped out another cigarette from her friends pack, her 3rd that hour.
“Do you want to go to Sugarfoots tomorrow? I’ll give you a ride. I definitely saw a ‘help wanted’ sign. They would hire you in a second!” said Jaime, Luanne’s friend of a few years. Not as pretty as Luanne but built the same way and on par mentally.
“I don’t know. I guess. I hate waiting tables. It’s like being a servant. You have to be happy when you’re really not.”
Luanne was visibly troubled and her friend was getting worried. Luanne had been broken up with Lucky for two months. Even before her and Lucky hit the rough patch that led to their parting ways her attitude had been different. Not the happy, blissfully clueless, piece of southern thickness those who know her have come to expect and love. These last few months she’s always seemed preoccupied and when questioned dismissive and distant.
“Luanne, what’s wrong? You’re not being Luanne. Are you still hung up on Lucky?” asked Jaime.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Jaime.”
Jaime grew worried and decided to change the subject.
“So do you want to go to Luke’s Saturday night? He and his friends are crazy! We need to just wear next to nothing, go there, and show off. Then leave early. They’ll be so about us then we’ll just leave!” Jaime envisioned their victory and laughed. Her chest bouncing as she didn’t have any support on.
“I don’t know, maybe.” Luanne responded, blankly, as she finished another of her friend’s cigarettes.
Jaime was sure a wild night of flirting and showing off followed by an abrupt departure would be just what Luanne needed to get her back on the right track. She felt accomplished already. In the way that she and Luanne’s type often do as they envision their future through rose colored glasses.
“Alright, I gotta go. So you can give me a ride tomorrow?” asked Luanne, with a curious increase in vocal energy that Jaime could not explain.
“Anytime, just call. I’m off all day.”
Luanne made eye contact with Jaime for the first time in 15 minutes.
“You’re the best” said Luanne.
Jaime felt sad at that moment. It confused her as this small compliment should have lit her up. It didn’t and it was the way Luanne said it. As if it meant something more than a simple thank you. She stood up and squeezed Luanne tight. Their breasts each flowing outward as they tried to escape the pressure of the embrace.
“I love you girl… you know that right?” asked Jaime.
“Yea, I love you too Jaime. Mind if I take a cig for my walk home?”
“Take them. I have a carton in the fridge.”
“Thanks” Luanne responded, relieved. She squeezed back to equal Jaime’s embrace.

---

As Luanne walked home one thought, and one thought alone, was dominating her. She literally had to shake her head once in an attempt to push it away. The wind was calmer now. It was summer so kids were out playing hide and go seek. She saw a young boy find and start chasing a younger girl. The young girl was laughing uncontrollably as the boy tackled her onto the grass. Luanne was struck with a profound feeling of nostalgia. As she watched her steps she reminisced on her summer nights as a young girl running from boys. She tossed a cigarette butt into a drain. She crossed her arms under her breasts and her cleavage grew. The good memories of summers past were distorted then gone, replaced by a knot in her stomach. She had begun to hate her body. She hated that her breasts were so big. At one time they were such a source of confidence and pride. Now they disgusted her. As she thought about this she almost wanted to uncross her arms as she could not even stand indirectly touching them. She hated her golden blonde hair. A feature all of her girlfriends constantly said they wished they could have. “You can fucking have it” she thought. Anymore she just wore it in a lazy pony-tail. She hated her thick, round, protruding ass. Something most girls would hate but she loved once upon a time. An asset guys in her area were most keen on. She knew what she had and she flaunted it. Now, it was most decidedly a hate filled relationship. With her chest she could cover up, which she did when she was anywhere but at Jaime’s. But with her ass there was nothing she could do. All of her clothes were what they were. Short, tight, or revealing. In most cases all of the above. As she thought about her wardrobe she began to hate the girl she used to be. This caused her to tear up a little as the thought of hating ones younger and more innocent self is tremendously complicated and confusing. Luanne would never think on that sort of ‘meta’ level but she did know what she felt and it was weird. As she turned down the alley behind Rainy Street her steady pace was significantly slowed as her eyes met the yellow walls of the Hill residence off in the distance. Red truck parked in the driveway. For a second all thoughts and feelings were absent as if she were a deer in headlights. Slowly a feeling of dread surrounded her. She had been down this alley hundreds of times. If she had any talent in her hands she could draw it from memory. That said, for the past few months it has felt absolutely alien to her. She tightened the cross under her pale, ample boobs and began the final trek home. She was sick to her stomach now. She felt sweat beginning to accrue on her forehead. Her jaw was tight. Her hands were clenched. This all became apparent at once as she landed her first step on the driveway.
“Luanne!”
She felt as if she was hit on the back of her head as all the feeling of the past minute was instantly gone.
“Luanne look!”
She turned and looked towards the sound of her name. Bobby and Joseph were running toward her. Bobby was holding something in his hands.
“Bobby, what?” Luanne called out half in a daze having come from the mind state she was in.
“It’s a frog we found down by the Johnsons pond. Look how big it is!” Bobby cried.
Bobby and Joseph arrived at where Luanne was standing sweating and dirty. In Bobby’s hands was a rather massive green frog.
“Bobby that’s gross” Luanne said half aware.
“Do you think Dad will let it in the house?”
Luanne felt a quick jolt of electricity shoot from her head to her toes when Bobby mentioned him.
“I don’t know Bobby. Maybe you should let Joseph keep it tonight and find out in the morning. He might be sleeping” Said Luanne with ulterior motives for keeping him unbothered if at all possible.
Suddenly aware that he’s been mentioned by Luanne Joseph’s gaze was broken away from her thick round ass.
“Yea, my dad won’t care!” he stammered trying not to lose the image of Luanne’s deeply defined ass crack and underwear lines in her tight red cotton shorts.
“OK, Joseph. We can keep it at your house. But if my dad says it’s OK he’s moving in tomorrow! Now come on your mom got us hot pockets for the sleep over!” Bobby cried.
They both ran off towards Dale’s house. Joseph clumsily looking back at Luanne then disappearing behind his dads minivan. Luanne felt sick again as a result of seeing the dead insect on Dales truck. “He’s gross” she thought as she considered the type of guy who would have that on his truck. Then she turned and walked towards the sliding glass doors. Now sick to her stomach for another reason.

---

The light were on but nobody was in the kitchen. The thought had occurred to her to rip one final cigarette before she went in but at this point was numb and plus Aunt Peggy didn’t want her sneaking cigarettes in the back yard anymore. The numbness was slightly lessened at the thought of Aunt Peggy. Basically Luanne’s mom now she felt close to her but more on a friendship level. She thought Aunt Peggy was one of the most intelligent people in the world even though most of the world thought, while friendly in her own way, she was an over confident windbag. Suddenly Luanne became aware she was standing at the sliding glass door looking into the house but unable to open the door. She was temporarily frozen in time as she neither wanted to go in nor continue to stand there looking like a weirdo. As she began to raise her hand to the door the light went off in the kitchen. Luanne stood there with her hand on the door handle for a few seconds. Then she slowly opened it. There was no risk of creaking or grinding as he kept everything in perfect working order. This thought caused knot to return. She slowly closed the door behind her and locked it. As she walked to the doorway to the living room she could hear Aunt Peggy talking to herself. Something about “fixing something when he should be in bed”. The acute awareness that often goes with sneaking around suddenly fell out of her. Numbness was all that was left. He was awake. In the garage. The sweat returned to her forehead. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to talk to Aunt Peggy in this state so she waited in the dark kitchen until she heard Aunt Peggy in her bedrooms bathroom then slipped into her bedroom. She shut the door and leaned against it. No lock on the door. There used to be one until a few months ago. She started crying quietly. She sat down on her bed and took her shoes off. She had white ankle socks on with pink paws dotted throughout. She peeled off her red shorts and dropped them into her hamper. The white cotton underwear matched her socks. She slipped on Jaime’s Arlen High sweatpants and got under her covers. She felt exhausted from the mental anguish of the past hour. Foolishly she held onto a single hope as she always did at this moment. Laying on her side in her room in his house she hazily stared at the clock on her night stand. Cigarette smoke and winterfresh gum on her breath. The clock read 10:32 PM…

>Part 2<

There was a tap at the window. Luanne cast a hazy look towards the sound.
“Luanne!”
She had not gained focus yet as she slowly rolled to a seated position and rubbed her eyes.
“Luanne! It’s Lucky! Come to the window.”
The voice of her ex-boyfriend somehow filled her with joy. She walked over to the window.
“Luanne… I’m an idiot. I nearly lost the best thing in my life. And for what? A bunch of losers? I need you back, Luanne. Will you come away with me?”

Luanne was filled with warmth and hope. She climbed out the window and into Lucky’s outstretched arms. He ran with her to his 4x4 and shut the door. Luanne was absolutely beaming. She was about to crank up the radio when she noticed the display looked weird. It looked like a digital clock. Slowly but deliberately her dream faded and she returned to reality. She had been looking at her clock. 11:17 PM…

As the hope and joy of her dream melted away it was replaced by the cold dread of her dark bedroom. As her mind made the transition she leaned up. There was light coming from underneath the door way. He was still awake. Luanne sat frozen. Listening for any sound. She thought she could hear something but then realized it was her own heartbeat. Pounding in her chest.

“Calm down, Luanne” she thought to herself. “He just forgot to turn off the light.” She could hope.

As she continued to sit there in silence a lack of any sound had a calming effect. Was she in the clear? The second she allowed her anxiety to relent she heard the garage door open. A cold pall was cast over her. Her only reaction was to silently lay back down and curl up. Her pounding heart the singular focus. As it began to echo in her ears all fell silent when she heard her door open. No sound. No feeling. Only the black of her eyelids. It felt like hours to Luanne before she heard her door close. As she listened to him walk to her bedside the chill turned to the feeling of insects crawling up her back. It was all she could do to not physically brush away the feeling he had draped upon her. Heart pounding again.
He stood at her bedside for a full minute. Looking at his prize. The line of her ample body causing his manhood to press against his jeans. He took one final swig from his Alamo can and put it on her bed table. Luanne heard the jangle of his belt as he removed his pants. As ants on her back were now biting her the knowledge of what was about to happen nearly drove her to vomit. She swallowed hard as he slunk under her blanket and pressed his throbbing dick against her. He wrapped his arms around her stomach and began to grind into her large ass. It was at this time that the cold sweat came and all feeling was gone. If Luanne had a mind she would understand that this was a defense mechanism to help her cope with the extreme nature of her predicament. But alas, she does not. However, what was undeniable was the feeling of nothingness that washed over her. He was now holding her hips as he pressed his penis in-between her legs as best as he could while still clothed. He liked the pressure. After a few minutes, another pressure was too much to bear. He removed his boxers. Slid her sweat pants down to her knees and placed his throttled member in-between the soft upper part of her thick thighs. He could feel the involuntary wetness develop through her white cotton panties as he started to dry hump her. Luanne could smell the mixture of his constant bad breath and stale Alamo beer creep down her face as he began to lick her neck and ear. She began to tear up as his hands moved across her stomach to her breasts. He began to fondle her breasts over the bra. As he kneaded her breasts he began to moan in her ear.

“I love you, Luanne” he stammered out as he continued his assault.

The mixture of precum and pussy juice had become audible with his thrusts. Sensing he was close he slowed down. He ran his hands over her stomach back to her thighs. He rubbed them over then moved one hand down to her pussy. The fact that the whole area was moist filled his entire being with excitement and a warped sense of connection to Luanne. “She is enjoying this” he thought to himself. He gently pushed her to the side as he removed her sweatpants and panties. As he laid back down beside her flat on his back he took a deep whiff of the mess she had made in her panties. The unmistakable smell filled him with carnal lust. He adjusted so that he was sitting with his back to the head board and she was sat in-between his legs facing away.

“Luanne? Luanne… are you awake?” he whispered.
Luanne began to cry. The soft whimpers driving Hank Hill to near sexual insanity. He gathered himself.
“Luanne… hold your arms up.” A request that was always made and never followed.

He removed her shirt unassisted and pulled her towards him so that she was sitting on top of his engorged member. Driving it into her mattress. Softly he draped his hands over the top of her breasts and moved up and down over her bra. Hank liked the last little barrier. Soon it was more than he could take. He pushed her forward slightly and unclasped her bra. He moved the straps off her shoulders but was careful not to let it fall off the front. In one fluid motion, he moved his hands from the top of her breasts down. The bra fell to her lap and he fondled her heavy breasts. His fingers rising one by one as he dragged them over her large puffy nipples. Her whimpers became quiet crying. After a few minutes of groping her chest and kissing her neck one of his hands came up to wipe her tears. Her whole face was covered. This made Hank insatiable. He gently twisted her head to the side and began licking the tears from her cheek. Moved to the other side and cleaned that as well. The stink of his drying saliva altering Luanne’s perception. The salty taste in his mouth was the limit. He pushed her slightly forward at the hips and his dick popped straight up. He spun her around so that she was facing him, put her lifeless arms over his shoulders, and pulled her into him. Her chubby pussy lips were now wrapped around the base of his shaft. The heat from it surprised him. He began to involuntarily grind into her. Luanne was looking down, eyes closed, sobbing. Tears dripping from the bottom of her chin onto her breasts. He placed his hands on the side of her face and pulled up. Her eyes would not meet his.

“Luanne? Uncle Hank loves you. You know that, right?”
Luanne answered with question with more quiet crying.
“Luanne? I don’t want to hurt you. I want to love you. You’ll let me love you, right?”

He did not wait for an answer as his putrid tongue was thrust into her mouth. He began to grunt has his tongue made love to her throat. He had now moved his hands down to her ass cheeks so he could slide her dripping wet cunt up and down his shaft.

“Oh god, Luanne” he stammered as he began to feast on her neck and chin.

It was in this moment that awareness clumsily returned to her. It had never gone this far before. Never this intense. Luanne bravely ventured a quick a look into his eyes and he was not there. They were lifeless. Like a dolls eyes. She had to do something. She had to make a decision. To save the one shred of dignity she had left…

As he was mindlessly grinding her and the pace quickened she whispered, “…Uncle Hank?”

The sound of her whisper somehow shattered through him as he looked up at her.

“Uncle Hank…” she whimpered as she gulped down the putrid mix of his saliva and hers, face breaking out because of all his bacteria.
“…I’ll love you back if you’ll let me, Uncle Hank.”
The statement threw Hank Hill’s mentality for a loop. As he searched for words he noticed her arms slightly tighten behind his neck. It was all he could do to speak.
“How do you want to love me, Luanne?” he asked as he slowly began to grind again.
“Like this…” and with that she began to slowly counter his gyrations.

At this point Luanne stopped crying. Any thought aside from the void caused from being molested by her uncle was a light in the darkness.
Effecting an innocent Texas twang as best she could she asked, “Can we ‘jus rub ‘em together? As she softly but assuredly began to pick up the pace. All in the hope that agreeable vulnerability would calm his carnal lust.

Normally, this is not how Hank Hill operates He needs absolute control. Absolute dominance. But the magnitude of her request had pierced him. Had he finally broken her? These “sessions” have been escalating and getting dangerous. If she had succumbed to him, he had to play his hand right so he didn’t upset the delicate balance.

“Yes, baby. We can.” He answered as he slid down flat on his back.

Luanne wiped her nose with her arm, leaned forward over her uncle so that her heavy breasts were hanging down over him, and began working her hips. Slowly grinding her cunt up and down the length of her uncle’s big dick. Hank Hill had left himself again. Only this time he was in a haze of infatuation. Secure in the fact that he had broken her. She was his. He reached up and cupped her breasts in his hands. Pulled her down slightly and began to suck on her puffy nipples. Popping them as he released her large areolas. As he was tonguing her breasts the sickness returned to Luanne. As with any trauma, being present in the moment invites the pain to come rushing in. She had to end this quickly. She began to roll her wide hips and press down into her uncle’s rock hard erection. Suddenly he stopped sucking her breasts. She cast a quick glance at her uncle and his eyes were closed. He began to gyrate into her deliberately. He grabbed her large warm ass cheeks with his hands and pressed her into him even harder.

Her uncle breathlessly spoke, “Oh baby. Keep loving me.”
His ass was now rising off the bed as his pelvis lifted her with each thrust. So much so that she had fallen forward and they were chest to chest.
“Oh Luanne… oh, God! I’m cumming baby!” he choked out as four ropes of her uncles hot cum forced its way in-between them.

Involuntarily, Luanne rose up off him and the cum began to drop down her stomach. As it began to reach the top of her pussy she cupped in with her hand. She looked at her uncle. His eyes were closed and he had a tired smile on his face. She stayed straddling him. Afraid to move. She silently moved her hand up her stomach to get the rest of her uncle’s sperm off her body and into her hand then wiped it into the comforter. As she did that he looked up at her.

“You’ve made your uncle very happy, Luanne.”

And with that he leaned off her bed. Bent down and put on his jeans. The reality of watching him put on his jeans. The hairy legs and the jangle of the buckle was too much for Luanne. The vomit rushed up her throat and into her mouth. She clenched her lips as tight as she could. Mercifully, her uncle did not look back and silently left her room. Luanne stayed motionless on her knees on the bed. Nose and eyes running from the acidic vomit that had filled her mouth. She listened as she heard the familiar sounds of his “after session” bathroom sounds. As she heard the click of their bedroom door she rushed to the window, threw it open, and let the vomit shoot out of her mouth. Two more rushes after that. When she was done she dropped to her knees and openly wept in the corner of her room. The confusion of what had happened. The absolute disgust at what she did to avoid worse. The panging dread at what she would have to do in the future. All this mental anguish was cascading over her and breaking her soul.

After a few minutes, she got up from the floor. She put on her sweatpants. “Jaime” she thought hazily as the tears rolled down her face. Slunk to the bathroom and showered. Slunk back to her bedroom. Ripped all the blankets and pillows off her bed then laid down in her towel.

As she regained focus she saw the can of Alamo on her night stand. She smashed if off and saw her clock.

12:31 AM.

To be continued.

For some reason I can't play any video on motherless , the message I get is : "Error loading media: File not found." I recently updated to Firefox 34. Other tube sites are working OK. Anyone has the same predicament or can help out? thanks

I confess I've written a few posts over the years asking for advice on my love life. Sadly, most situations have fallen through before the other person ever finds out I'm a MtF transgender who identifies as being a lesbian. My current predicament is quite different though: not to long ago on FB I came across the profile of a beautiful, curvacious, redhead. One of our mutual friends had commented on one of her statuses and it showed up as he liked this post in my news feed. Just the tiny half inch by half inch profile pic was enough to leave me speechless; I finally believe love at first sight is a real thing. After mustering-up the courage to send her a friend request she accepted and we chatted back & forth for a few days and have a lot in common.

I asked if she wanted to meet, we made a plan, etc; we had an amazing time. When we were hangin out some subjects came up, she is pansexual and I revealed myself as being trans/lesbian. She's very accepting and caring, we even talked about having me over the next time she was having a girls night with her friends. I did kinda spill the beans that I would like to date her, and she said she wanted to hang out more before she decides if she would like try.

We had girls night this last Friday, and I had a lot of fun just being able to be "Lauren" with her and her friends. I want to ask her again about trying a date but don't want to scare off a friend who's been so supportive. Also I'm worried that if I don't make a move soon someone might swoop in.

Me and my wife started swinging few years back. It didnt happen over night, but we somehow got to this point.

Little back story - we are together since high school, married young, and now we are in our early 40s. She was petite, and I am very tall, but over the years she gained weight, and lost a lots of her charm, but I love her, and still find her very beautiful, even though she objectively isnt.

We learned sex together, trying out all sorts of things, which made us trust each other in the explorations of finding new sexual adventures, so the idea of swinging came up, gradually. She found out, through gossip, that one of her co workers (male), did swing with his wife, and that got us to talk about it, laughing at first, but then, through time, came close to that idea.

So we found this small "club", and went to one of the parties, wanting to just observe for starters. And we did, and it was scary, a bit over the top for the both of us, and we spent the night at the bar, where we met this other couple, in the same predicament. Talked all night, got a little drunk, and agreed to meet up, separately, just for the company, since the swinging thing seemed not to be for us.

We didnt call them, I guess they hesitated too, but after some time, she called my wife, and we decided to meet up. Had dinner, at a restaurant, the subject came up, and we kind a all agreed that this thing might be interesting, if neither of us pushes it too far.

It was a journey. We started with being comfortable naked around each other. After some time, we were having sex, each with our own wife, while we were in the same bed. After that, it was just a question when will it happen.

The suspense, the excitement!!!! I was pretty reserved that this thing might work, but the fact that his wife is hotter than mine, this slim, fit body, made me want her so bad. And the sex we had (me and my wife), after those nights with them, was amazing.

I guess we were all a bit scared of each others reactions, and feelings, even our own, that this took a lots of time.

First inter couple contact was in a form of a mutual masturbation. Dear god, it felt surreal. After that,came oral. We would lick each others wifes, and then go back and fuck our own. Then we evolved with getting a bj to completion from each others wifes. And finally, the sex, a true wife swapping, on their king size bed, next to each other.

We started from seeing each other once a month, to twice a month, to every weekend. We became friends, and developed a kind of trust, I honestly thought isnt possible, and I even think that all this made our marriage better - I dont feel bad, neither does she, and our sex life is insane.

Last weekend, we even did anal. It was.... perfect.

The only thing is, that I am now afraid, that sooner or later, this has to end, and that we will never find someone so compatible with us. What will happen after that?

I'm 18 m and I'm stuck in a strange predicament. You see I have trouble with women, not all women, but women I'm attracted to, which is a curse really, because I'm attracted to most women, even the ones who aren't so pretty. When I say trouble, it really comes down to my lack of self-esteem around women, I have trouble talking, much less even getting around to anything remotely romantic. Which is the total opposite when it comes to men/boys. There's not tension, even to get turned down by a guy isn't an issue. I know I can just move on. I'm a virgin really with women, I did some things when I was younger but it was mostly experimental. But I'm definitely no virgin with guys. I've blown young teens to my age guys. Given and taken. And I enjoy it, but it's nothing like the ever elusive pink prize that lies just beneath the cotton confines of their clothing.

I'm certainly not a great looking guy, not ultra buff, but I'm certainly strong, and intelligent. But whatever it is when it comes to communicating with the opposite sex, I was never taught it. There's always so much more to lose when it comes to women. A minefield waiting to be trampled across. I guess what I was meandering around to, while wasting your time with all of this writing. Was what can I do to even get past my own shortcomings and actually have a meaningful conversation with a women, other than a friend, or family member, or even an online conversation(which I can actually talk to women online, even talk about sex.)

So.. nb4 pussy on a pedestal, quit being a pussy, and other really unnecessary comments.

Also, I have plenty of underage sexual encounter stories I can talk about too if anyone wants to. If my earlier ramblings are a good enough example as to my writing prowess. I would be more than glad to help my fellow perverts kill a few million of their potential children.