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  • Posts Tagged ‘word slut’

    the beat goes down– tag cloud poetry

    Friday, November 11th, 2011

    weight lifted– our mission found a release in wondering hours
    recede that true beloved bond, slipping shivers
    closing and covering sacred scabs of anticipation
    soaked in a wander land of liberation and rain

    shards of perpetual sexuality exploring girth and inches
    a symbolic flesh beatdown explained my nakedness
    solid blocks of matter holding friction and breaths
    accessible dreams linger, measuring the source of falling stars

    open hands and mouth fuck cock and feel fingers in my culture of pussy love
    slut opens her mouth for a moment strong- with a deep swallow
    clasped, harder around the mouth that peaks– logic crawls in his jeans
    monumental motions fuck hidden oceans making my surrounding grow

    beautiful working slut fumbling for memories of our elastic night
    “choke me” whispered the slut- my melded tears of trash living in strange times
    evaluate my strength, grace, solidity– shelve my distracted to concentration
    erotic dreamers unbutton and display commitment and dissemination

    bitch with the breath of rosebuds and sunshine– she grinds images
    debates the sun, spreads her thighs, feeds her man until she moans
    close slits of eyes– the weight fills in gliding long movements pour into her
    spreading realized throbs rock perfectly inside twirling pools



    walking

    Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

    images teasing soaking my core
    white process and power heartache
    sexual slit late touches experience fire
    camera face shoots the morning

    thick orgasm moves
    rhythm pulls art
    thinking slides legs open

    electric drips innocence
    gratification–slipping regret
    curve simultaneously giving

    erection told
    breath and words decide
    men walk raw

    personal moaning plunge and spread
    dragging my archive for the complete entry
    break the mystery love–fueled–fed
    hungry fascination releases wanting energy

    image by Anastasii Mikhailov

    poem part of Cadavre Exquis Web 2.0 word slut experiment.

    compelled wayward

    Friday, April 30th, 2010

    It’s the last day of National Poetry Month, so one last Cadavre Exquis Web 2.0.

    Have a wonderful sunshine filled weekend– you know what would make a sunshine filled weekend even more wonderful? Some sweet pussy licking, eating, devouring, drinking… especially that of the library girl variety.

    much love,
    vix

    Compelled Wayward

    unspeakable every time–slightest call, indicative mashups
    entities valid–viscous states in dynamic unison
    dwindling like sucked freedom and previous hope

    sweeter more powerful–like childhood. alive.
    self gratification advertised– thrill merged by a soft tongue
    easily shared a forgotten genre unleashed, mingled, rubbing, sinking
    dreams regain connection–wildly adopt, filling pools at dawn

    increasingly partaking in astounding meat and honey
    individual producer–giver of slippery simple covered cocks
    glam slap–perfect humiliation showing repository language
    grasses panting, beam erupting, prelude to flooding

    inseparable manly leading days, pixels of yesterday
    sexuality spills wayward– compelled blue– slightly contorting
    solidity popping, distracting, snapshots–tangled I oblige

    urge

    Saturday, April 24th, 2010

    More Cadavre Exquis Web 2.0/National Poetry Month fun.

    Urge

    thinking started in the pages of my core
    images teasing, sent innocent–soaking
    monumental emotion eaten

    beget lewd shocks-spot wireless configuration
    exhibitionist habit, location representation, learning belief
    drippy and playful–connect addicted hue
    countless parts, pebbles, numbing in response

    climax eventually–rigidness dissipated. end.
    incident of virtual fools trash, flipping players, tilted secret branch
    accurate fragmentation is an urge–to bend control
    twisted excitement removes women

    racing, yelling, sleek, turgid, ignite portions of my abused flower
    submission of a chiseled boy–hours plucked, dissolved
    the tough create tumultuous blurred ripples

    image by Samantha Doll

    Year

    Thursday, December 31st, 2009

    I have just realized that is was a year ago yesterday that I began writing this blog which started out on Google’s blogspot until they gave me the boot (fuckers). Only just recently do I feel past all the technological fucked aspects and that I am getting back to this personal word expression.

    It has been an eventful year indeed. I have been such a fantastic slut in all kinds of ways, the tally is astounding. I feel like I should break into my own rendition of Julio Iglesias, to all the cock I’ve sucked this year, who traveled in and up my back door, I’m glad I made them cum, I dedicate this bum to all the cock sucked before.

    There has been; threesomes, group play, vacation sex, vacation based in sex, public displays of feeling, tasting and fucking, blow jobs in cars and alleys, I have -again- opened my mind to the back door by realizing the joys of getting my tightest space taken care of, late night rendezvous with wild haired men, a few married men, bend-over boyfriends longing for me to ride it home, wrestling matches, porno’s produced,  online and phone sex, random bouts of finger fucking myself in the stacks, panties left in appropriate library books for a lucky patron to stumble upon, sexual request made and performed, thousands upon thousands of photographs taken of my Vixen self -alone and with-, video clips featuring many a girl grunt like cum behavior,  and of course all the time I spend with myself (quality kitty time).

    With the last few weeks of celibacy, ok- semi-celibacy, coming to an end I have reflected on this past years slutty ways.  Most of it with fondness and wetness, and only mixed with a lace of shame and disgust. There is not much I would or will change. This year less shame and disgust, less regret-more saying what I want when I want, more quality cock, a nice pussy, a consistent fuck buddy would be nice (one that actually lives by me), more threesomes, sex clubs, I need more spankings, more choking-from your hands and your cock, more more more pussy worship (devour me), and of course some mutual love and respect.  In the contemplation of it all, at the core of it, my mind and pussy are still seeking that good ol’ elusive sweet sweet fuck me all night till’ I am drunk on your cock love.  The sweetest of fuck love, the I want to fuck you all night and again in the morning before and after I make you pancakes kinda love.

    Lastly, I want to thank everyone who has reached out, who reads about my trampy ways, who enjoys watching my girl grunts and those who like their in-box filled with images of my ass. I appreciate all the feedback and compliments, and look forward to another year of spreading my legs and writing about it.

    Here is to; much love and peace,  hard cock and wet pussy, and no hangover into the New Year. Play safe.

    Love,

    Your Library Vixen

    New Years Dick Dance 2008

    It was a long New Years Eve. The next day was recovery and self-indulgent lackadaisical behavior, which consist of music, pizza (how decadent), several bottles of wine, and my date still here from the eve’s festivities. We were relaxed, having fun, romping, taking naughty pictures, grinding and bumping around, stretching my panties down past my ass, but not off. We were listing to every thing from Leonard Cohen to N.E.R.D., to The Ramones, to Duke Ellington. It was all over the place, just like we were.

    I had recently ripped N.E.R.D. Seeing Sound from the libraries collection to my own,  only having  listened to it only a few times. One song I really enjoy is Anti-Matter. A fun kind grind your hips, bump your butt, bounce your head kind of tune, and you know I always get that image of  Pharrell in my head and just how much I would like to have his in dick in my mouth. grrrr

    Leaning  over the desk with my bottom jutting out, panties skewed around my ass and thighs, still doing a slow grind and my cohort behind me with his dick kind of bouncing around me. As I continued my lean over the desktop I thought about a change of pace, just for the moment at least. I hit Anti-Matter, quite a change from the Marvin Pontiac we had just listened to and fucked to– in various situations, positions, bend me over, slow spank me, and smash my face into pillow postures played out to the backdrop of bluesy strange humored slow cries of pain in love that Pontiac belts out.

    When the song began to hit I began to bounce my ass against you at a faster dirtier pace, I could easily feel your dick through your pants, still hard from all the playing we had been up to all day. Bouncing there for a moment, lowering my bum even more, so I could lift your hard dick up with my ass and bounce it in-between my cheeks. It was silly and fun. My ass still bumping to the beat, moving in a laid-back manner, turning around and slowly beginning my descent down your body, pulling my breasts across your chest and then cock as I lowered myself toward the floor. Positioning myself before you, feeling my special New Years Eve panties being stretched from their crooked location of not covering my ass nor below my knees either, my thigh spread around his body.

    I reached the level of  dick; stroking it through the light weight fabric covering, gave a lick then pulled it from behind the clothing. It sprang out quick with comical force. I did not hesitate, I was overwhelmed with hunger, grabbing your cock–moving  to the song, fucking you with my mouth to the beat of Anti-Matter. It is a fast, rock compound, with that strong Pharrell bumpin’ back beat. I was overcome with a feeling of playful, bouncey, mischievous naughtiness, and filled with the vivacity of hard cock. I felt like a stripper, but stripping with my mouth on your cock, a true lap dance. I bounced and bopped my ass to the song. While working your cock with my mouth I imagined you were fucking me and not my mouth, this made me even more excited and more enthusiastic, with my mouth behaving like my pussy would. It was playful, a bit rough, fast paced, side to side, a dance on your dick kind of blow job. It was so fun. When the song ended I raised from my squat still moving to the next song, I straightened my abused panties and teasingly shook my ass around on his cock finishing my New Year’s dick dance.

    fantasy fulfilment

    Thursday, December 10th, 2009

    Some of you may know I like to run, well this activity has had to be put aside for awhile due to some stupid foot injury and past body abuse, it is making me crabby and bitter. It really is the ONLY activity that completely clears my mind.

    Anyway…

    This setback has me doing double back to back hot yoga classes and behaving like a machine at the robo-gym. These activities do not provide me the same feeling as running and often have me drifting into my pussy and fantasy fucking. When I am in yoga, my mind wanders constantly,  I have written about how I can never keep my mind off of fucking all the bendy yoga men and women. My focus rarely stays on the postures, I’m such an insatiable slut.

    I have discovered that all the hot guys and Ashley, oh sweet ass Ashley–how I missed you so, all go to yoga on Friday nights, so maybe it is will pay off in the long run. Plus it will make me more bendy.

    Today’s post is a shameless revival of my blogspot posts, starting with Fantasy Fulfillment originally published on 5/20/09.  I have embedded some older posts from the dead Google blog, detailing my fascination with the lovely Ashley, they tend dip into a dark shade of vixen,  but she makes me crazy what can I say. I have also slipped in few about my love of running and my gym fantasies.  If you have never read them, you know I would love it if you do and I love it to when you read me twice. I like it two times (ok three), it makes me whet.

    Speaking of wet, my pussy was so wet all day yesterday, seriously dripping. Maybe the celibacy is making my pussy crazy and needy. When I finally crawled in bed last night my kitty needed me, we had a nice long fuck, slow, no porn just my imagination. You were there.

    Fantasy Fulfillment

    I have a full fantasy life; in fact I think I tend to walk around in a land of my own fictional creation. My fantasies range from the pure and simple, such as–I want to fall in love and I want someone to fall in love with me, to the complicated and ever elusive, such as–I want to fall in love and I want someone to fall in love with me.

    Lately I have been fantasizing about girls girls girls, one particular girl, the perfectly perfect assed  girl Ashley. So badly do I want to taste of her; I want her to taste me–after I have been thinking about how she would taste, because she makes my kitty oh so wet and steamy. This week I have dipped into fantasies of kidnapping her and making her my fuck toy. Making her hard trained yoga body bend and twist at my sick will. I would, with my partner in crime, like to stalk her, watch what she does, see if she is really as innocent as my mind thinks she is. Then I would like to jump out and scare the shit out of her and shove her in the back of the creepy kidnap van and take her back to my place where we proceed to violate her in all kinds of inappropriate lovely ways. Making her filled with a mix of hate and lust, hate in her eyes and lust between her thighs.

    More, I guess, I would like her to come with me willingly to participate in a fierce rough threesome. I would love for her to willing submit to being tied down, used, abused, humiliated and just downright fucked silly in the most loving of ways. Her, sweet thick cock and me, all of us willing and loving it, soaking all over one another. That sweet cock fucking her from behind, while her face is deep in my pussy, he–with each thrust into her cravenness wet hole, causes her face to push deeper into me, pushing me into an Ashley/cock induced orgasm. Beautiful Ashley bent over, arms restrained behind her back–making shoulders look beautifully strained–curvilinear, ass up, perfect face pushed to the floor–while the throbbing cock willing takes her tightest scared space, causing the juice from her cunt to drip down her solid mass of thighs. She loves it. While I fuck his ever so willing ass, he loving it, me loving it.

    Both of us devoted to working that rock hard cock with our mouths. Watching the lovely Ashley get fucked orally, gagged and choked, her mouth used like never before, her make up falling off her face in a mix of sweat and cum–oh yes please. I would definitely need to take a picture of that; she would look absolutely perfect covered in a hot white load from our still throbbing cock. I would definitely need to kiss, lick and taste that cum dripping from her full lips.

    Our pussies would both be throbbing by now, both of us begging to be fucked, begging to cum. Our sweet stick would have his work cut out for him, but I am positive in his ability to serve us both, equally, causing us both to fly over the top. The three of us fucked, ravaged, wet, messy, cum soaked and completely satisfied in a mass of spent flesh, recuperating for another round.

    Alas this, Ashley, is a complete and unattainable fantasy; a young insanely hot bitch like her will never be a willing participant in such behavior, with me, which again makes me want to kidnap her. So…I resign to my own life, the life of fulfilling fantasy, a life where fantasy is a mutual experience and not just some daytrip in my mind. I will get my threesome, and it will be a mutual experience, something we all want together, and it will be all the better for that.

    765396934b

    bridge

    Tuesday, November 17th, 2009

    I want

    the dynamics of men

    Architects of entity

    agents of duality


    protagonists of vice

    under their eyes

    Antigone like demise

    riveted on the fly


    solid

    fuck

    structure

    I want to straddle someone


    spread myself wide

    look at me

    lids stray and snap

    back to gaze

    edward-steichen

    Kitchen Table Science

    Friday, November 13th, 2009

    Hands griping the back of my neck, pulling me further in, your fingers intertwine their way into my hair–locking, wrapping around a mess of sweaty, matted, sexed out tangles. Pushing–pulling; as my lips work the unexplained, around your solid beam. Filling, tasting the sweet brine dripping from your slit onto my tongue.

    Captivating essence of the man I fuck.

    Your hands spreading me, parting the way, your head lowers into the abyss of ass and cunt. Tongue gliding across the slick tattered pages of my pussy, towards my supernova, then back. Sparking fire to all points–luminosity . Keeping me spread–wide–rough–flesh pulled apart–magnetism of what’s to come pulling us together.

    Spilling out, drizzling on your tongue. Words fall off the paper, like matchsticks tumbling out of their box, hitting the kitchen floor in an ecstatic dance. We do not need them anymore—useless.

    Useless words.

    The scintillation of two becoming one. Connection– you to me, electricity through the night. Magnesium silver-white and dazzling light. One lonely invisible atom, visible. Own it—devour it—fuse. The characters of our elements become a soldering coalescence.

    Burning bright into the night.

    kitchen tab sc

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