Killed to DEATH
Speedevil asks: What have you killed? Accidentally, or on purpose. Concepts, species, a man in Reno, the career of a well-known entertainer, or anything else.
( , Thu 22 Dec 2011, 13:18)
Speedevil asks: What have you killed? Accidentally, or on purpose. Concepts, species, a man in Reno, the career of a well-known entertainer, or anything else.
( , Thu 22 Dec 2011, 13:18)
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Not even funny in retrospect really
And I’ve been humming and hahing about posting this, but given the level of poor posts this week, I might as well.
It’s one of those things that people say without really thinking about, and when it’s in a film or TV programme, it’s always a huge joke, but believe you me, when it happened in real life, it was anything but.
It all started seven or eight years ago, about a year after I’d been divorced, and a few months into my online dating adventure. My low self-esteem was gradually picking itself off the ground as I discovered that there are a lot of men out there with lives a whole lot more pathetic than mine was. At least I had a job I liked and kids I loved etc. I’d got back into yoga and had joined a gym, was swimming three lunchtimes a week, cut booze down to half a bottle on Friday nights, and yes, I was meeting men on a regular basis – some of whom I spent the night with, a couple even lasted a month or two.
Then I met Bob; he was fifteen years older than me, which I didn’t mind. He had impeccible manners and because he was in his early sixties, he made me feel young. Also, he was recently retired and long divorced, he had a lovely house in Chiswick, a very nice Mercedes and a boat he kept on the river near Henley. This was life as I’d never experienced it – the Royal Opera House, West End shows, posh restaurants, weekends away in nice hotels (when the ex had the kids), and for my birthday, Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, I can’t begin to describe how lovely it was. We had a room as well as a table for dinner. Room? It was a palatial suite, his and hers baths, chaise longue, more cushions than a Habitat sale, and waiting for us as we were shown the suite, a bottle of champagne on ice, which Bob opened as soon as we were alone.
I ran a bath as we sipped champagne and before long, Bob was opening a second bottle as I dried myself seductively on the chaise longue, and as he brought my glass over I clasped him around the middle, undid his trousers and gave him the famous mouth-full-of-champagne-blow-job. He was fit for his age and I never failed to help him rise to the occasion, and this was an occasion all right. Like the gentleman he was, he reciprocated with a long and langourous licking as I draped myself over the chaise and he knelt on a pile of cushions. By this time, he’d shed the rest of his clothes and when I’d come twice in a row, I led him to the bed, climbed onto it and crawled up to the bedhead end on all fours, Bob in hot pursuit. I’ve always loved to be fucked from behind with my arse up in the air, and I was dripping from the licking, ‘Fuck me Bob, fuck me hard’ I growled with my head buried in the pillows. I felt him part my lips and gently push his cock into me, working it back and forth slowly,
‘Fuck me harder!’ and he did, grabbing me by the hips, grunting as he thrust, hard and deep, speeding up as I moved against him, catching the rhythm… ‘Yes, yes, that’s it, harder’
‘Oh God,’ he moaned, ‘Oh yes, oh YES!’
…and then he stopped suddenly, ‘Christ!’ he said before flopping forward onto me.
‘Bob, what are you playing at?’ he was crushing me, ‘Bob?’
No answer, he was gasping, he lurched to the side, pulling out of me and landing on his back next to me, spunk shooting out of his rigid cock, eyes wide open.
I leapt off the bed and rang reception, but by the time the doctor arrived and took over from the duty first aider, he was clearly dead.
Maybe he would have chosen to go out that way, I can’t say, but it put a bit of a dampener on my weekend, I can tell you. Still, the food was gorgeous and luckily, he’d paid up front.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 11:53, 16 replies)
And I’ve been humming and hahing about posting this, but given the level of poor posts this week, I might as well.
It’s one of those things that people say without really thinking about, and when it’s in a film or TV programme, it’s always a huge joke, but believe you me, when it happened in real life, it was anything but.
It all started seven or eight years ago, about a year after I’d been divorced, and a few months into my online dating adventure. My low self-esteem was gradually picking itself off the ground as I discovered that there are a lot of men out there with lives a whole lot more pathetic than mine was. At least I had a job I liked and kids I loved etc. I’d got back into yoga and had joined a gym, was swimming three lunchtimes a week, cut booze down to half a bottle on Friday nights, and yes, I was meeting men on a regular basis – some of whom I spent the night with, a couple even lasted a month or two.
Then I met Bob; he was fifteen years older than me, which I didn’t mind. He had impeccible manners and because he was in his early sixties, he made me feel young. Also, he was recently retired and long divorced, he had a lovely house in Chiswick, a very nice Mercedes and a boat he kept on the river near Henley. This was life as I’d never experienced it – the Royal Opera House, West End shows, posh restaurants, weekends away in nice hotels (when the ex had the kids), and for my birthday, Le Manoir aux Quat' Saisons, I can’t begin to describe how lovely it was. We had a room as well as a table for dinner. Room? It was a palatial suite, his and hers baths, chaise longue, more cushions than a Habitat sale, and waiting for us as we were shown the suite, a bottle of champagne on ice, which Bob opened as soon as we were alone.
I ran a bath as we sipped champagne and before long, Bob was opening a second bottle as I dried myself seductively on the chaise longue, and as he brought my glass over I clasped him around the middle, undid his trousers and gave him the famous mouth-full-of-champagne-blow-job. He was fit for his age and I never failed to help him rise to the occasion, and this was an occasion all right. Like the gentleman he was, he reciprocated with a long and langourous licking as I draped myself over the chaise and he knelt on a pile of cushions. By this time, he’d shed the rest of his clothes and when I’d come twice in a row, I led him to the bed, climbed onto it and crawled up to the bedhead end on all fours, Bob in hot pursuit. I’ve always loved to be fucked from behind with my arse up in the air, and I was dripping from the licking, ‘Fuck me Bob, fuck me hard’ I growled with my head buried in the pillows. I felt him part my lips and gently push his cock into me, working it back and forth slowly,
‘Fuck me harder!’ and he did, grabbing me by the hips, grunting as he thrust, hard and deep, speeding up as I moved against him, catching the rhythm… ‘Yes, yes, that’s it, harder’
‘Oh God,’ he moaned, ‘Oh yes, oh YES!’
…and then he stopped suddenly, ‘Christ!’ he said before flopping forward onto me.
‘Bob, what are you playing at?’ he was crushing me, ‘Bob?’
No answer, he was gasping, he lurched to the side, pulling out of me and landing on his back next to me, spunk shooting out of his rigid cock, eyes wide open.
I leapt off the bed and rang reception, but by the time the doctor arrived and took over from the duty first aider, he was clearly dead.
Maybe he would have chosen to go out that way, I can’t say, but it put a bit of a dampener on my weekend, I can tell you. Still, the food was gorgeous and luckily, he’d paid up front.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 11:53, 16 replies)
Look everyone, it's KWA telling us how much she enjoys sex again!
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 12:14, closed)
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 12:14, closed)
I'm surprised you made it to the end AB.
I've not read all the posts this week, have you written about how you tried to kill the QOTW through the use of excessively self-congratulatory piss-taking of others' efforts, while failing to add anything amusing of your own?
No? Oh well...
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 13:24, closed)
I've not read all the posts this week, have you written about how you tried to kill the QOTW through the use of excessively self-congratulatory piss-taking of others' efforts, while failing to add anything amusing of your own?
No? Oh well...
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 13:24, closed)
So what?
In a week filled with the pointless and usually painful and gruesome death of animals, I wish there were more stories like this one. It's well-written, it's relevant to the question and it's not 500 words of "kneel before teh sex goddess".
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 13:30, closed)
In a week filled with the pointless and usually painful and gruesome death of animals, I wish there were more stories like this one. It's well-written, it's relevant to the question and it's not 500 words of "kneel before teh sex goddess".
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 13:30, closed)
You know how nobody really wants to live in a house that someone died in?
Well imagine that, but with your cunt.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 12:45, closed)
Well imagine that, but with your cunt.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 12:45, closed)
I see nothing in the OP to suggest
that a vagina, or indeed a woman, was involved in this.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 12:51, closed)
that a vagina, or indeed a woman, was involved in this.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 12:51, closed)
"Like the gentleman he was, he reciprocated with a long and langourous licking as I draped myself over the chaise and he knelt on a pile of cushions... I’ve always loved to be fucked from behind with my arse up in the air, and I was dripping from the licking, ‘Fuck me Bob, fuck me hard’ I growled with my head buried in the pillows. I felt him part my lips and gently push his cock into me, working it back and forth slowly".
What bit of that didn't you read?
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 14:17, closed)
Oh sorry,
What I meant to say was 'I once ran over a hedgehog'.
Just got carried away in the moment.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 13:08, closed)
What I meant to say was 'I once ran over a hedgehog'.
Just got carried away in the moment.
( , Thu 29 Dec 2011, 13:08, closed)
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