Archive for the ‘hustlers taboo’ Category

Husband In Bondage

Sunday, February 24th, 2008

My wife, Diana, and I are swingers and as such we have quite
a lot of sexual adventures. We both love threesomes as well as
swinging with other couples. Linda, one of my wife’s friends has
fucked me many times and I love to screw her any time she comes
over to visit. She is a sexual powerhouse with beautiful breasts
and a smooth firm ass that is near perfection.
One day, late in the afternoon, I had just taken a shower
and had lain down to take a short nap, as we had planned (or so I
thought) to go out and party that night. When I awoke I found
myself tied, with neckties to the bed. Diana was smiling at me
and then I saw Linda looking at me as well! I said, “I hope you
girls aren’t planning anything painful for me”. Linda winked at
Diana and coyly whispered “Not as long as you’re a good little
boy and do everything we tell you”. I was a little astonished to
find myself in this position but decided to go along with it as I
had very little choice anyway. (more…)

Cruel Feminist

Sunday, August 5th, 2007

I have always been into feminism. Being a feminist does not
mean that I am quite as radical as the other women in the
movement. But I do have one radical purpose in life, and that is
to make men my sex slaves.
It’s not that I hate men. On the contrary, I don’t think
that I could live without them. But on the other hand, I live
for the opportunity to have them serve me as their mistress. I
haven’t had any trouble finding males to do my bidding. I’ve got
a stable of four male slaves right now. They are only too happy
to come to me on their knees and do everything that I command of
them. (more…)

Doctor Tushy Reviews

Tuesday, June 27th, 2006

Doctor Tushy

Placement position : XXX Reviews >> Fetish

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Title
: Doctor Tushy Site Reviews


Girls get their physical examinations. They strip down and put on a medical robe and are then brought into the exam room where they receive a complete checkup

This is a real exclusive content. I ve not found anything like that on the net. Men, ever seen girls examined by gynecology doctors? I guess not, judging from my experience…
Once I drove my wife to a clinic, and waited for her in the corridor, right near the door and all the time I had an itch to stand up and open the door and watch what the doc did with my wife. And all the time I had my dick up. After that I bought a speculum and exmin my wife myself from time to time – its exciting.




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Male Gynecology Exams…

Sunday, May 28th, 2006

Triytgb riubtier eirt er e ir i tire reiy eitie ei5 gieig 65ie. ei9rtb gie 5re ihe i5
eeiuyrbibi ie h ie i.

Male Gynecology Exams…

Tuesday, May 9th, 2006

Triytgb riubtier eirt er e ir i tire reiy eitie ei5 gieig 65ie. ei9rtb gie 5re ihe i5
eeiuyrbibi ie h ie i.

Teachers Daughter

Saturday, May 6th, 2006

Ask any teacher what the worst day is, and surprisingly few will remember the first day of work. The rumble in their tummy as they stand before a blackboard for the very first time, alone and without a supervisor seems to fade for them. It has never faded away for me, and I recall it vividly.
In my case it was even worse than average. I had come back to my hometown after graduating college; disappointing my parents who had expected me to move out and be a big success “away” somewhere. I explained that I’d come home to “give something back to the community”, but it was complete balderdash. What I was really doing was burying myself in my work, trying to avoid admitting something that no-one else knew.
In college I had become Mistress to a lithe blond tart named Jacqueline “Tennisball” Turner. In some way, we’d been very much in love. I’d revelled in every whipping or spanking I gave her. She gloried in the loving abuse I heaped on her. But eventually I’d convinced myself that this wasn’t what I wanted.
I was a “normal” woman, with normal desires. I wanted a husband and kids and. . . .And I wanted Tennie, or piggy, as I’d sometimes called her, crawling to lick a pair of black leather boots with four-inch heels that clung so tightly to my legs that my slave often had to yank them off me while I broke the suction with a shoehorn. I wanted her head bobbing vigorously between my thighs as the little electric shocks of pleasure shot from my clitoris. I wanted to hang her from the ceiling beam of my little house and beat her ass raw for breaking dishes, to set her impossible tasks and punish her for failing at them.
But I wanted other things too: the touch of her breath on my neck when I let her sleep in my bed; the soft look in her eyes when she knelt at the foot of that bed with my morning coffee; the contented hum of her when all the happy violence was over, the sweat and sometimes tears dried, and she cuddled into my arms during decompression.
And I wanted all of this while leading a June-Cleaver-with-a-career existence? It was too much, and I knew it. But while I sorted all this out I still had rent to pay, first to my parents, then to a landlord, and finally to a mortgage company. I found a job at a high school in town (not the Catholic school I’d attended, but a newer secular school called Park West Secondary).
On the first day of classes, I was way too early. Only the school custodian was in the hall as I entered the Old Building (the one built in 1976 was the New Building) and made my way to room 108 West. The classroom was empty, and I unlocked the door but left the light off. Instead I went to the door at the back of the class. In other days it would have been a storage space. The teacher I had replaced, one Mr. Carruthers, had been in the habit of smoking a pipe quietly in there while grading papers, and the room had that lovely “gentleman’s club” smell of old leather armchair, shoe polish, and pipe tobacco. It’s a smell I’ve always associated with luxury.
There was a little narrow window facing the soccer field, and long shelves of dusty textbooks along the wall with the door in. I put my necessary things into the desk and cupboards, my clipboard, a pack of marking pens, chalk (any teacher will tell you, you bring your own and hoard your supply), and my coffee mug.
My coffee mug.