Well this would work. Go about your business, suddenly see something that calls on you to do something super. Just shimmy on down to skin. Painted on skin.
Don’t have to worry about a costume rubbing you annoyingly under your clothing, or worry about it creating odd dents in your outerwear. And, most importantly, don’t have to spend all that time trying to come up with some mystical clothing item that can withstand the speeds to which you can reach flying, running, deflecting bullets off your bullet-proof skin. And being Supergirl, don’t have to worry about having your costume add extra protection.
Though, I’m not sure how long that paint would last. And afterwards you’ll probably be standing around basically naked. Not exactly sure where you would hide the outfit to resume undercover mode.
Just probably keep an igloo down at the South Pole, or something. Zoom faster than the speed of light. Put on clothing. Zoom back. Find your clothing in tatters. hmm.
Option two: Zoom to apartment in the city. Attempt to figure a way to get into your apartment without anyone seeing you. And without keys.
I suppose the easiest option is just to get a job as a lifeguard on a nude beach.
nylongrl-what-i-like: ”Now We’re ‘cookin’”
LOVE the outfit..
hmm. That last outfit I reblogged at the office, this one at home.
50, And this is something I would totally wear.
Ah yes, now that’s something I’d like to see more often.
I never reblog these type of things, but, eh, I’ll give it a test.
Kind of neat how the text warps like that. Makes it look like an oddly artistic display of text. I can’t actually read it like that, though so … a moment …
Ha. Failed. I failed. Copy and pasting strips out who said what. Well, at least I can read. Another moment. Reading.
Oh, that’s actually pretty neat. Actually reads like a story. There’s changes in the feel of the authors, but not enough to break the flow.
I wonder if there’s a way to find more multiple author stories, like this one here, elsewhere on Tumblr.
I had posted this before, but the interactive fantasizing that followed is really fun.
she’ll never even know who is looking at her and stroking her, unless she can identify the occasional giggle or laugh or whiff of cologne or perfume. she may know whose cum is dripping down her face and neck but she’ll never know who sees her as a cum covered and obedient slut.
Wish I could think coherently, all I can seem to do is tremble excitedly. The idea, the situation, everything about it …
Mmm… you’d know me. I’d be the one gripping your hair with one hand, and reaching down with the other, using my first and ring finger to spread your lips and pull up, exposing your clit so I could lightly tickle it with the fingernail of my middle finger, whispering about how messy you look, how wet you are, how I’d shove my fingers into your cunt except that it’s more fun to tease you, letting your g-spot ache, untouched.
Breath catching, body trembling as the fingers pull at her, teasing. Panting faster as she hears the whispers, feels the fingernail tickling. Whimpering softly as she shakes in pleasure at the touch, at the humiliation, in the need to feel the fingers in her, touching her aches. Her needs.
A sudden jerk on the rope attached to her cuffs, wrenching her shoulders and making her gasp and lean forward. There’s more than one chuckle in the room at that, and a woman’s voice murmurs something about getting that mouth down where it can be useful again. The fingers on her bare, smooth sex vanish as she’s slowly winched up into a strappado—and then, when she’s bent over far enough that her pussy pouts between her legs, they return. Or is it the same hand at all? This one likes to circle her clit and slide one thumb just inside her, teasing her slippery entrance but still not giving her the penetration she wants. Someone’s lacing fingers into her hair and tilting her head up, pushing her mouth down to be used properly, and the sounds coming out of her are nothing like a civilized language.
Gasping and trembling in pleasure and need, whimpering softly as her clit is circled but not touched, as she is teased but only barely penetrated, as she is lined up for perfect use, mouth down, opening hungrily, pussy on display to be taken, used, teased. Body pulsing in need, squealing in pleasure and as she is left dangling without anything entering her mouth, gasping and wiggles, tries to express her need coherently and fails.
The squeal muffled, then, as her face is lowered to nestle in the warm velvet of a wet pussy. Does it belong to another slave or a Mistress? Does it really matter? The slippery tang of arousal fills her mouth and nose, even as the thumb in her cunt pushes deeper, sliding up against her g-spot with a firm pressure but frustrating slowness. A wooden switch begins tracing up her flank to her left breast, a tacit threat. Someone chuckles, “what are you waiting for?”
Tongue slides along the wet pussy, tracing, exploring, nose inhaling the scent, trying to determine if belongs to someone known. Moaning loudly as the thumb pushes deeper, squeals and shakes as it slides against her g-spot. Tongue eagerly wiggling in the pussy in her face, curls around clit, sucking on it. Trembles as she feels something hard pressing against her breast. Tongue speeds up, while body wiggles against the hand, thumb, pressing against her.
Two fingers on her clit, finally, finally giving her the pressure she wants as she buries her cum-splattered face in that warm pussy. A few heartbeats of pure pleasure, a reward for her obedient tongue, and then—the sound hits her ears before the pain registers, a sharp snap and the glowing sting where the switch met her nipple. “That’s right,” chuckles the male voice behind her, “don’t get too close,” and she realizes that this is the plan: tease her, edge her, and use the stiff little whip to draw her back from it every time.
Wiggling and pressing her face into the pussy. Tongue darting, licking. Moaning in pleasure as she feels the two fingers pressing against her clit. Trembling, licking, edging closer and closer, licking; squeals and whimpers, body shaking as the pain sharply and quickly flows through her body. Whimpers, tears sliding. Pushes forward again, tongue searching for that pussy, returns to licking.
The fingers tease her, toy with her, drive her—then crack, the switch leaving a line of pain on her flank this time, like a whipped horse. The pain hasn’t yet faded when he begins again, manipulating her clit with laughable ease. The woman beneath her is grabbing her hair, pulling her down harder, hips rolling up to grind on her tongue and then let out a strangled gasp; she feels that pussy pulsing against her lips, a cruel reminder of the release she is not permitted. When she’s wrung out every last drop of pleasure, the woman giggles and pulls her up for a deep kiss. “I think this toy deserves to be filled now,” she murmurs upon breaking it, “but whatever with?”
Breathing hard and trembling, feeling the fingers, riding the wave of pleasure, moaning loudly, squeals in pain and whimpers. Whimpering and crying softly as she feels the teasing continue, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, to the denied release. Licking and trembling as she feels the pussy below her pulsing in pleasure. Dangles there after the kiss. Blushing and moaning. Whimpering in need and desire.
Lovely story line. I reblog for two purposes, though.
Firstly, I have been somewhat subtle about it, about where I ‘stand’ in situations like this here, but I suppose this is a good opportunity. Of the people involved, I’d more than likely would be the one in the red dress. As the cruel teaser, I have no response, as my lines are spoken for me. Much better, I should add, than I could have put it.
Though, hmm. I wouldn’t mind watching such an event, therefore being the one biting her lip and sitting there with a leg over her knees. Wait. Leg over her knees. Odd.
Of all the times I’ve seen this picture, this is the first time I noticed the third woman was actually a lot more a part of the action than I originally thought. I mean, looking closely, she isn’t sitting in the seat behind the action. She’s sitting in the seat … wait, the lines of the seat don’t match up. I’m not really sure how this train car is set up. I should have just stuck with being the woman in the red dress. Then I wouldn’t have gazed harder at how the third woman was sitting. Seemingly in a seat behind the action, but with the leg of the woman in the red dress draped over her knees.
Oddly, and I didn’t think this would occur, but this actually leads into my second reason for posting. The woman being teased, being played with, appears to have a patch of hair resting above her dripping pussy. Both camera images, though, shows the woman without that patch of hair.
I really need to stop being so observant.
Tell me, of all the things to be caught on video by all these strangers, what’s the most humiliating? Is it your dumb, tight, bell-bottom jeans? That you allowed yourself to be tied like this in the first place? Your collar? Your exposed tits? Your pussy? The way you’re breathing? The fact that you’re not resisting?
I know what it is! *laughs* It’s the rope of slutty cunt-drool that’s so thick it’s still dangling from your pussy lips halfway down your thighs and staining on your panties, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that you love this, don’t you, toy?
Hmmm… Just think: These pretty pinks are going to get stripped off, I’m going to use them to wipe up your goo, and then I’m going to stuff your mouth you with your own wet, smelly panties. I think we both know what will happen next, don’t we? Why, your hands will still be tied above your head, unable to prevent all those horny internet fans you’re about to have from watching over and over again how gagging you with your own shame-soaked panties makes that leaky faucet of yours drip even more!kittylexxi:
Trembling, mmphs through her panty gag, blinking rapidly as she moans in pleasure and humiliation. Feeling the train rocking, vibrating as she drips, wishing someone would touch . . would touch her. Looks around, begging, trembling as the camera’s capture her reactions, her need, her desire, her shame.femsubdenial:
The cruel teaser grips your ass cheek hard, holds it, then releases only to grip again in a different spot, randomly, all over your ass and the backs of your thighs, digging her nails in with each squeeze.
“Now, I know you, the cameras, and I know the truth, but I want them to see you admit it. Does it make your naughty little slit even wetter when your ass is grabbed roughly like this?”
I myself fantasize more about a lust god/goddess and the resulting religion, teachings, holidays, and penance, rather than perversion within existing religions, but this one is great!
At first she dreaded every slap, but as the machine slowly sped up, she was amazed and ashamed to find herself wanting more, pushing her cunt higher, wanting faster, harder slaps so she could cum. And that’s precisely when he turned the spanking machine way down, smiling as she whimpered and cursed softly.
“Oh, you’re going to have to work much harder than that, little girl!” he laughed, smiling as he attached the clamps to her rock-hard nipples. As an afterthought, he gagged her, too, then turned the machine up a notch.
Father Sean loved his work at St. Maria Goretti Academy for Girls…
The story was working for me up until the introduction of Father Sean. And the academy of girls. I’m not into perversion within existing religions, myself. The additional “academy of girls” lowers the age too far for me.
I mean, if it had been “Father Sean of Notre Dame University”, it’d be a different matter. Different entirely if it had been Professor Sean of Georgetown University.
No, no. Work better just without that last line. I do not know why I tried to “fix” that line instead of remove it.
Nobody touching her, she tries to wait and rest, but her body has other ideas, automatically squirming and begging to be touched more.
This seems like it could go along with the last thing I posted.
Other than the blindfold. Though I have no problem with it. And the “touched more part.”
I suppose the only things that follow along the same theme as the previous post would be the restraints, the no touching, and the aroused desire.
She liked being the center of attention. Agreeing to be displayed, she expected to be watched, looked at, probably touched. Fingers rubbing against her, entering her, fingering her, pushing her into intense orgasms.
She arrived at the special art gallery, and was immediately taken to a back room. Her breath came in short excited gasps. Quickly stripping down. Light cuffs put on, nothing too heavy, nothing too strenous. Accepting the mask, a little larger than expected.
A nervous, excited mixture as she is lead from the back room out in the gallery. naked. Where people could see her. If anyone else was actually there at that moment in time.
Some slight confusion as she looks around the gallery, seeing interesting artworks. Not much that look very erotic.
Lead into a side room and pressed against the wall. Sealed up in clear plastic like material. Left there.
Sounds from the roadway.
Sounds of people arriving, walking through the gallery.
Some look in her direction. Some laugh, some shrug. Some snap quick pictures, worried, no doubt, about taking pictures in a gallery.
No one comes near. No one touches. Whimpering. Wet. Confused.
Asked if she would be back the next day. No firm plans made.
Aroused. Frustrated. Assumed much which did not happen.
Arrive home. Decide to satisfy the frustrated arousal. Play around online.
Fumbling through pictures found. Zooming around, looking for something. Stopping in shock. Starring. There’s a picture of a woman in plastic. Against a wall. The mask doesn’t really hide the identity. The clear plastic hides nothing. It’s her.
bdsm fetish kink erotica
I’m not much of a bud light drinker, really, not at all. But there’s a very good reason I keep some on hand.
Also the reason I keep some beads on me, but that isn’t a year round thing, beads.
Hypnotizing wiggle there. I just really hope that isn’t the pope on the pendant though.
I do not want to be hypnotized by a golden pope. :(
ooh ooh, look, I’m nude!
I can’t draw. :(
Awwwww she’s such a cute flasher
Is it wrong of me to be focused on the bird? Don’t get me wrong, this is the third time I’ve come across this picture, and I assure you my focus wasn’t on the bird the first two times. This time, though, I’m gazing at the bird, among other things. Wondering if the bird can see from that angle. Does seem to be focused intently.
Bah. There’s only so long I can wonder about the gaze of birds.
I agree with the comment above. Cute flasher.
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