One of the greatest aspects of having a wife or a husband is not worrying about who you’re going to be boning come nightfall. Why, you’ve got a regular love/snuggle/fuck machine that sleeps in your very own bed! How convenient. Maybe we are on board with this whole marriage thing, after all.
We love babe-flavored things: fingers, lips, mouths, toes, legs, backs, thighs… Well, the list goes on. But our fave babe-flavor is that of fresh pussy. And what better way to sample this delicacy than by having a whole heap of babe all over your face? If you just can’t get enough, well, this one’s for you.
As the sun sets over the horizon, before darkness cloaks all in obscurity and vice, there are a couple golden hours that bridge the gap between day and night. But what is there to do with this betwixting time? May as well bone, as far as we’re concerned. And it looks like we’re not alone!
Oh, ’tis a beautiful place, under a babe. It’s right up there with lounging on the beach, picnicking upon a flower-strewn field, riding in a fast car. But we’d venture to say these other situations find neither babe nor dude nor anything in between feeling so goshdarn lovely as when riding a big, hard cock. Cowgirling, reverse cowgirling, standing up, sitting down: either way you play it, being beneath a babe-on-top is a place we want to be.
Whether Bentley, Honda, SUV or jalopy, our cars are little rolling adventure domes where the
road’s the limit. They can take us across county, state, and
international borders — so why not have them take us to orgasm-town on
the way? There ain’t nothin’ wrong with the scenic route.
Ah, the mythical blonde. There is much lore surrounding these flaxen-headed creatures: do they truly have more fun? Are they really “dumber” than their brunette and ginger-topped brothers and sisters? Do they lead lives of augmented glamour and charm? We can’t speak conclusively on the truth of these fables, unfortunately. But one thing we do know? We can fuck the shit out of them regardless.
You’re supposed to be pure as the driven snow, fresh as a dew-dropped Lily of the Valley, all immaculate innocence embodied in the fleshly form of a babe. Well, though you may not let any prospective suitors beyond the confines of your clandestine dirty flower, that doesn’t mean you can’t sully things a bit yourself with your own pure little fingers. Hey, that’s fair game.
Thanksgiving is just around the corner! And before you go blaming the dog for the missing carrot caper or the displaced dill pickle disaster, maybe check to make sure none of your guests have absconded with said produce to have their way with it. Hey, it’s a time to voice appreciation for all our blessings — and we’re thankful there’s a bunch of stuff around we can fuck.
Ah, handies. A good old handjob may very well have been the gateway drug for many of us pervs when stepping through the threshold of all slutdom. They’re like dipping your toes into just the edge of the lust-pond, a little dalliance before eventually leaping in via cannonball or graceful dive. Yes, with HJs chastity and virginity are maintained! Innocence and virtue? Not so much. But that’s the way we like it.
Oh, you are some dirty, dirty sluts out there. Now, without delving into oft confounding sentiments on the sanctity of matrimony and monogamy at large, we’ve just got to be honest with ourselves and say we love us some bangin’ sluts. Though we may try to hear, speak, and see no evil, uh… that doesn’t mean we won’t masturbate to it.
Flossing your teeth, making dinner, going to work… Oh, obligations that aren’t having sex, how many you are. And though these types of occupations may not be the most exciting, we’re often required to perform them. But that doesn’t mean that between important meetings and bar trivia you can’t get in a quick bang all the while.
Hopefully everyone was up and at it this morning, heading off to the polls to cast their vote. But amidst the clamor of performing civic duty, we mustn’t forget our very important poles (too much?). Well, we believe that even on a day as momentous as today, there’s still plenty of time to squeeze in a little sunrise lovin’.
Ah, boots. Where would we be without them in our hiking, our rainstorms, our equestrian pursuits? And, more importantly, our kinkin’ up the bedroom? They are perhaps the most fetishized item in the shoe world, perhaps because they’re somewhat of a power shoe. We much more respect the authority of a figure in boots than, say, a sandal, or — god forbid — a Croc.
It’s a special moment, when one bids adieu to the virginity of their ass. It’s right up there with your bar mitzvah, high school graduation, first day in the working world. Yes, first-time anal is such a rollicking good time and precious memory that we’d make a decorated scrapbook for ourself if it weren’t too late. Luckily a grand few immortalize their experience for all pervs and voyeurs to enjoy. Thank goodness!
We’ve been going all out for All Hallow’s Eve roundabout Fleshbot HQ — guess we get off on ghouls and spooks and things that go bump in the night. Well, especially that latter part. So let’s delve in, and be the best, most shiningest jack-off-o’-lanterns we can be.
‘Tis the season for spooks and ghouls and the dark side at large. There’s nothing quite like the ambiance afforded by the flickering firelight of a burning candle. This ambiance works well in the genital region too, as it turns out. So let’s cross to the dark side, shall we? We’re playing with fire, where the only burn is the blazing glow of lust we feel.
Last week we were deep in the thick of city living with a sexy tribute to New York. But now we must spread some love to our West Coast babies and see how smutty things can get under that warm California sun. …Quite, as it turns out.
We may be stereotyped as loud, rude, and obnoxious, we may live in a city with more rats than people, and we may reside in overpriced yet undersized apartments — but we’ll be damned if we can’t do some colossal fucking in them, and with flair. For it’s a land glorified by everyone from Sinatra to Jay-Z, full of global-caliber babes and studs, pretty nails and stylin’ duds, all flying across a backdrop of tastefully exposed brick.
Whether you’ve got a set of full sleeves or just some itty bitty paw prints dancing up your sternum, we love ourselves some tatted up babes. Maybe it’s because a little ink shows you’ve got a bit of a devilish side… or at least a decent tolerance for pain. Both those things bode well for us.
It is, indeed, and oh, the things we’ll do with it. When an overwhelming sense of lust is at hand, a quickie’s great to just bang it out and be done. But — how lovely to luxuriate in drawn out, languorous and indulgent bodily pursuits, really taking the scenic route to the land of liberal orgasm. Don’t forget the camera!