I am a newly divorced woman, looking to mingle, flirt, and do all of those things I never could when I was married to a boring man for so many years. I got married too young, that was the problem and I never lived, that and my ex-husband was a control-freak with no idea how to please a woman.
Christopher, my boyfriend from years ago isn’t somebody I have spoken to for a while but yet a memory we had together is still etched in my brain and when my gal asks me to tell them something spicy, I just can’t help myself
The last time that we posted my girlfriend shared her desire to be fucked in both of her tight little holes by me and another guy, we had been practicing stretching her out until we got really busy and the fantasy dwindled, but we are back, we are focusing on our sex life and have been all over each other the past couple of days and when my girlfriend reminded me of our submissions
I realized I haven’t ever given my wonderful husband any nude pictures of me and yet he always asks for them.
She is outstanding, she is the best woman I have ever been with. She knows how to please me, she has shown me how to please her and she is so confident and enthusiastic in the bedroom that my entire world has shifted.
Once a month we have one of our friends come to our house and we treat her like a sex slave (with full consent).
I rolled over to my side and watched Allen stroke Claire’s blonde hair. She was smiling and looked beautiful and happy. His green eyes shifted up to look at mine, his eyebrows raised. Sure, this wasn’t most people’s idea of a typical Valentine’s Day, but to me, it was the best way I could have asked to celebrate.
I had been trying to get pregnant for a long time. I was always taking ovulation tests, timing the perfect opportunity to fuck.
We aren’t incredibly serious yet, we decided to just take things slow and casual for the time being and just see where things go.
We had the whole day free and neither of us could make a decision, all we knew is that we were full of energy and undeniably horny.
