SirDouglasLoft
New member
- Jul 4, 2008
- 6,876
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Valentine Days - PAH !.
- Thread starter Uncle Spielberg
- Start date
ben andrews' girlfriend
Nurse Laura
Is it a dead cert that she will give me the best blowjob of my life
Mate, if she hasn't already given you the best in your life, then she won't ever!
SirDouglasLoft
New member
- Jul 4, 2008
- 6,876
Well, I beleive she can perform better than what she has done in the past.
Although the first was a memorable one.
SirDouglasLoft
New member
- Jul 4, 2008
- 6,876
Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
I can't begin to tell you how good it is.
Incredible spectacle, eyeboggling stage effects, overpowering music. I went in thinking it wouldn't really be my type of thing, but I bloody loved it. Its sooooPERB.
Proper romance
*sigh*
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London Pompous
Active member
- Feb 16, 2008
- 660
I no longer believe in Valentine's Day. First off, let me just say that I'm not usually the jealous type. I have a wonderful marriage that's fulfilling in every way, so I have little reason to complain. It's just that, for some reason, I can't shake the feeling that Debs, my beloved hot, horny housewife of 21 years, has been spending an awful lot of time on the phone lately.
I almost hesitate to bring all of this up. After all, the last thing I want is to come off sounding like one of those boring, middle-aged husbands who become paranoid that their undersexed housewives, being the cum-crazed slurp-sluts that they are, may be seeking affection elsewhere.
I like to think I'm a trusting husband, one who doesn't get all suspicious about my dripping, fuckable wife's outside hobbies or interests. Obviously, in a mature relationship, partners need to give their dirty little spouses plenty of room to grow and explore on their own. But, lately, when I see her disappear into the bedroom at three in the afternoon clutching the cordless dildo-phone and wearing stiletto heels, a see-through lacy lingerie ensemble, and crotchless peek-a-boo panties, I can't help but wonder if something is going on.
I suppose she could be talking to her sister Linda. But would Linda really need to hear Debs describe her outfit in such lascivious detail? One time, I asked Debs about it, and she said she was just talking to E-On people about our electricity bill. But would the electric company need to know that she was on all fours, bucking like a bronco while working a six-inch buttplug in and out of her quivering, spasming arse? I guess there's no reason for her not to tell them, but, still, it didn't seem all that relevant. At least for the purposes of that conversation, anyway.
Again, let me stress that I'm a very open-minded person: When the shaved Asian sluts moved in next door, lots of people in the neighbourhood worried about property values going down. But at that month's neightbourhood watch meeting, I stood up and said, "Look, I don't care if they're Asian or any other ethnicity, what's important is that they're shaved sluts, just like the rest of us." The way I look at it, God made all of us–whether soaked, slippery sex-sirens or hard, horny man-meat–from the same rubberized latex cloth.
My wife and I get along just fine with the double-f***ing hot black studs who live down the block, and we've even attended some of their no-holes-barred hot-tub parties. But now that I think about it, there have been some odd moments. The last time we attended one of their all-anal fuckfests–I love neighborhood get-togethers, because they give me an excuse to whip up a pot of my famous Withdean hot-pot!–I was standing in the living room admiring their drapes when I suddenly realised that everybody else had disappeared into the Jungle Room for what seemed like a pretty long time. My wife didn't reappear for at least 40 minutes!
Then there was that trip to Worthing last summer, when we met those 15 exotic international stewardesses and that boatload of gang-bang sailors on the beach. A young, friendly bi-curious lifeguard had invited them on a boat trip to a deserted beach he knew about, and he was nice enough to ask if we wanted to come along. My piles were acting up that day, so I politely declined and headed back to the hotel, but my wife decided to go. I didn't mind, but then she yammered about it on the phone for the rest of the trip! It was nothing but boatload of sailors this, giant human pyramid of stewardesses that. Could this marriage be in trouble?
My family is very important to me. I dearly love my two barely legal virgin bikini twins. (The day they won the wet-T-shirt tag-team mud wrestling championship was one of the proudest a father could have.) And our eldest son Dean has grown up to be a fine young super-hung lawyer who believes in uncompromising discipline, both in and out of the courtroom, so I feel safe in saying that my wife and I raised our children right.
Yet every time I hear my cock-craving housewife grinding away on her "King Dong" maximum-width double-dildo while supposedly putting in the weekly order at Tesco dial and collect, my suspicions grow. Maybe it's my fault: I'm a dedicated career man who may be spending too much time down at the cock-ring and novelty-penis-enlargement-device factory to give her the attention she needs. I don't mean to neglect her hot pussy and enormous, eager tits, but, hey, as the office joke goes, somebody's got to make the 14-inch miracle horse cocks. But perhaps all the lonely hours she's spent waiting for someone, anyone to fill her juicy cunty lips with a steaming-hot load of jizz-juice have taken their toll, causing her to rethink certain aspects of our relationship.
Maybe I'm just being silly. After all, we've had a great marriage, built on a bedrock foundation of friendship, trust, and carnal forbidden lust of the most depraved sort. And even though things aren't quite as spicy on the romance front as they once were, I still make time to shoot a huge load of dripping hot cum all over her face whenever we can manage a special night of "quality time" away from work and the kids.
But, still, I don't know. I'm probably being paranoid, but I just can't figure what she's doing on the phone for so long every day. I swear, if I had £1.50 for every minute I've spent worrying about this, I'd be a rich man!
I almost hesitate to bring all of this up. After all, the last thing I want is to come off sounding like one of those boring, middle-aged husbands who become paranoid that their undersexed housewives, being the cum-crazed slurp-sluts that they are, may be seeking affection elsewhere.
I like to think I'm a trusting husband, one who doesn't get all suspicious about my dripping, fuckable wife's outside hobbies or interests. Obviously, in a mature relationship, partners need to give their dirty little spouses plenty of room to grow and explore on their own. But, lately, when I see her disappear into the bedroom at three in the afternoon clutching the cordless dildo-phone and wearing stiletto heels, a see-through lacy lingerie ensemble, and crotchless peek-a-boo panties, I can't help but wonder if something is going on.
I suppose she could be talking to her sister Linda. But would Linda really need to hear Debs describe her outfit in such lascivious detail? One time, I asked Debs about it, and she said she was just talking to E-On people about our electricity bill. But would the electric company need to know that she was on all fours, bucking like a bronco while working a six-inch buttplug in and out of her quivering, spasming arse? I guess there's no reason for her not to tell them, but, still, it didn't seem all that relevant. At least for the purposes of that conversation, anyway.
Again, let me stress that I'm a very open-minded person: When the shaved Asian sluts moved in next door, lots of people in the neighbourhood worried about property values going down. But at that month's neightbourhood watch meeting, I stood up and said, "Look, I don't care if they're Asian or any other ethnicity, what's important is that they're shaved sluts, just like the rest of us." The way I look at it, God made all of us–whether soaked, slippery sex-sirens or hard, horny man-meat–from the same rubberized latex cloth.
My wife and I get along just fine with the double-f***ing hot black studs who live down the block, and we've even attended some of their no-holes-barred hot-tub parties. But now that I think about it, there have been some odd moments. The last time we attended one of their all-anal fuckfests–I love neighborhood get-togethers, because they give me an excuse to whip up a pot of my famous Withdean hot-pot!–I was standing in the living room admiring their drapes when I suddenly realised that everybody else had disappeared into the Jungle Room for what seemed like a pretty long time. My wife didn't reappear for at least 40 minutes!
Then there was that trip to Worthing last summer, when we met those 15 exotic international stewardesses and that boatload of gang-bang sailors on the beach. A young, friendly bi-curious lifeguard had invited them on a boat trip to a deserted beach he knew about, and he was nice enough to ask if we wanted to come along. My piles were acting up that day, so I politely declined and headed back to the hotel, but my wife decided to go. I didn't mind, but then she yammered about it on the phone for the rest of the trip! It was nothing but boatload of sailors this, giant human pyramid of stewardesses that. Could this marriage be in trouble?
My family is very important to me. I dearly love my two barely legal virgin bikini twins. (The day they won the wet-T-shirt tag-team mud wrestling championship was one of the proudest a father could have.) And our eldest son Dean has grown up to be a fine young super-hung lawyer who believes in uncompromising discipline, both in and out of the courtroom, so I feel safe in saying that my wife and I raised our children right.
Yet every time I hear my cock-craving housewife grinding away on her "King Dong" maximum-width double-dildo while supposedly putting in the weekly order at Tesco dial and collect, my suspicions grow. Maybe it's my fault: I'm a dedicated career man who may be spending too much time down at the cock-ring and novelty-penis-enlargement-device factory to give her the attention she needs. I don't mean to neglect her hot pussy and enormous, eager tits, but, hey, as the office joke goes, somebody's got to make the 14-inch miracle horse cocks. But perhaps all the lonely hours she's spent waiting for someone, anyone to fill her juicy cunty lips with a steaming-hot load of jizz-juice have taken their toll, causing her to rethink certain aspects of our relationship.
Maybe I'm just being silly. After all, we've had a great marriage, built on a bedrock foundation of friendship, trust, and carnal forbidden lust of the most depraved sort. And even though things aren't quite as spicy on the romance front as they once were, I still make time to shoot a huge load of dripping hot cum all over her face whenever we can manage a special night of "quality time" away from work and the kids.
But, still, I don't know. I'm probably being paranoid, but I just can't figure what she's doing on the phone for so long every day. I swear, if I had £1.50 for every minute I've spent worrying about this, I'd be a rich man!
Last edited:
Scotty Mac
New member
- Jul 13, 2003
- 24,405
its threads like this that make me realise why uncle spielberg is one of my favourite posters
Stumpy Tim
Well-known member
Because he makes you feel better about yourself?
Uncle Spielberg
Well-known member
- Thread starter
- #110
Kick me when I'm down Tim. Karma.
Uncle Spielberg
Well-known member
- Thread starter
- #112
Give US a break, he seems like a decent bloke
Thanks. I think his comment says more about the sort of bloke he is than the sort of bloke I am.
Curious Orange
Punxsatawney Phil
Well, no, because that is a part of who you are. I guess I'm fortunate that my lady is football friendly, and is actually quite keen to come and see the Albion in action!
(so fish 'n' chips and MotD for us tonight! (hopefully))
WEll i don't know you personally US but you come across as a decent bloke so you're more th an alright by me.
Stumpy Tim
Well-known member
Come on Gareth... don't get upset by a tongue-in-cheek comment. I was only joking. You'll come out the other side one day fella
Uncle Spielberg
Well-known member
- Thread starter
- #116
Well the football is over. I am not going to La Piazza. My ex is probably getting ready to go out with her new Man and end up shagging him tonight. What do I do tonight ?. Any ideas.
defrocked priest
Father Footy
Uncle Spielberg, you need a mercy shag. Are there any prostitutes in Southwick?
defrocked priest
Father Footy
very funny
Pah indeed...
Today I was going to buy a car, clean the house, do a little groceries to make a lovely dinner, and by now Arthur was to be in his pj's ready for bed and I could have a nice long bath with glass of champagne before ckooking dinner....
DID I GET ANY OF IT DONE AT ALL!! Not on your life...
Just because I only have a modest budget to spend on a car doesn't mean I want something the dog has chucked up in and the horse has shat on, after its done 103k miles...
Ok so I did a little cleaning, but Zef said he'd be home with the other car so I could do the groceries at 2pm - WHAT TIME IS IT NOW??
poo poo bum!!
Today I was going to buy a car, clean the house, do a little groceries to make a lovely dinner, and by now Arthur was to be in his pj's ready for bed and I could have a nice long bath with glass of champagne before ckooking dinner....
DID I GET ANY OF IT DONE AT ALL!! Not on your life...
Just because I only have a modest budget to spend on a car doesn't mean I want something the dog has chucked up in and the horse has shat on, after its done 103k miles...
Ok so I did a little cleaning, but Zef said he'd be home with the other car so I could do the groceries at 2pm - WHAT TIME IS IT NOW??
poo poo bum!!