Christon can stick that finger where the sun don't shine
Christon can stick that finger where the sun don't shine
Zoeken
Ontdek nieuwe mensen, nieuwe verbindingen te maken en nieuwe vrienden maken
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My own outfit tonight is the usual liturgy of satin devotion: full length satin slip beneath a long, bias-cut satin kaftan in the same deep cocoa family, sleeves falling past my knuckles in heavy, liquid folds. Satin gloves to the elbow. Satin socks sliding inside satin lined house slippers. Even the thin belt I tied at the waist is doubled satin cord. I have not worn anything else cotton, wool, denim, polyester in years. Skin has forgotten every texture but this one. There, resting on a perfectly smooth, shimmering brown satin pillow, sits the mannequin headform. Draped across it is the headscarf fresh from its tissue paper cradle only an hour ago. The silk satin is so densely woven, so exquisitely finished, that it looks poured rather than cut and stitched. I approach the mannequin headform with deliberate slowness, my satin gloved fingers trembling just enough to send faint shivers through the fabric. The spotlight above casts a warm, golden halo, making the brown satin headscarf and hijab gleam like polished mahogany. The pillow beneath them is plush, yielding slightly as I lift the scarf first careful, so careful not to crease its pristine folds. It unfolds in my hands like a living thing, cool and heavy, the weave so tight it feels like liquid silk against my palms. I pause, holding it up to the light. The edges are hemmed with invisible stitches, the kind only a master tailor would bother with. No fray, no flaw. Just endless, unbroken sheen. My breath catches as I imagine the transformation ahead the ritual that turns ordinary skin into something exalted, wrapped in satin sanctity. First, the preparation. I glide to the satin draped vanity nearby, where my tools wait: a small satin pouch of pins, each head coated in matching brown mother of pearl, a fine misting bottle of distilled water scented with a hint of vanilla to enhance the fabric's natural luster; and a full length mirror framed in burnished brass, its surface polished to reflect every nuance. I sit on the satin stool, my kaftan pooling around me in soft waves, and begin with my face. A light dusting of translucent powder to mattify the skin no shine but satin's own allowed. Then, the undercap: a simple brown satin skullcap I slip on, smoothing it flat against my scalp until it's seamless, invisible. Now, the headscarf. I fold it diagonally, creating a perfect triangle, the hypotenuse edge aligned with mathematical precision. I drape it over my head, the point falling down my back like a veil of night. The front edge rests just above my eyebrows, cool against my forehead, and I cross the ends under my chin, pulling them taut but not tight enough to hug, to cradle. The hiss of satin on satin is intoxicating, a whisper that echoes in the quiet room. I tie a loose knot at the nape, then tuck and pin the excess fabric into soft pleats, fanning them out like wings. Each pin slides in with a satisfying click, securing the shape without piercing the illusion of fluidity. I stand and turn to the mirror. Already, the transformation stirs: my features soften under the frame, eyes sharper in contrast to the rich brown. But it's incomplete. The hijab waits on the mannequin, its longer lengths beckoning. I retrieve it next, unfolding the rectangular expanse yards of satin, bias cut for drape. This is the heart of the ritual, the layer that envelops and defines. I position it over the headscarf, centering the wide edge along my hairline, letting the bulk cascade down my shoulders and back. The weight is luxurious, grounding, like being swaddled in opulence. I wrap one end across my chest, over the opposite shoulder, then bring the other around to meet it, creating a crossover that hints at modesty but screams indulgence. Pins again strategic, hidden hold the folds in place: one at the temple, another under the chin, a third securing the tail at my back. Adjustments come in waves. I smooth with gloved hands, coaxing out ripples until the surface is flawless, a continuous flow of brown that catches the spotlight in undulating highlights. A spritz from the bottle, just enough to set the sheen without dampening. I step back, then forward, turning side to side. The mirror shows perfection: head to toe in satin, the new pieces blending seamlessly with my kaftan, as if I were carved from a single bolt of fabric. The ritual peaks in movement. I walk the room's perimeter, feeling the hijab sway with each step, the subtle friction of layers building a symphony of sound rustle, slide, sigh. It's meditative, this pacing, a communion with the texture that owns me. No exposed skin, no interruption; just satin encasing, protecting, obsessing. Finally, satisfaction settles. I return to the spotlight's center, the mannequin now bare beside me, its pillow dimpled from absence. The darkness beyond swallows everything else, leaving only this: me, ritually reborn in brown satin, ready for whatever devotion the night demands.My own outfit tonight is the usual liturgy of satin devotion: full length satin slip beneath a long, bias-cut satin kaftan in the same deep cocoa family, sleeves falling past my knuckles in heavy, liquid folds. Satin gloves to the elbow. Satin socks sliding inside satin lined house slippers. Even the thin belt I tied at the waist is doubled satin cord. I have not worn anything else cotton, wool, denim, polyester in years. Skin has forgotten every texture but this one. There, resting on a perfectly smooth, shimmering brown satin pillow, sits the mannequin headform. Draped across it is the headscarf fresh from its tissue paper cradle only an hour ago. The silk satin is so densely woven, so exquisitely finished, that it looks poured rather than cut and stitched. I approach the mannequin headform with deliberate slowness, my satin gloved fingers trembling just enough to send faint shivers through the fabric. The spotlight above casts a warm, golden halo, making the brown satin headscarf and hijab gleam like polished mahogany. The pillow beneath them is plush, yielding slightly as I lift the scarf first careful, so careful not to crease its pristine folds. It unfolds in my hands like a living thing, cool and heavy, the weave so tight it feels like liquid silk against my palms. I pause, holding it up to the light. The edges are hemmed with invisible stitches, the kind only a master tailor would bother with. No fray, no flaw. Just endless, unbroken sheen. My breath catches as I imagine the transformation ahead the ritual that turns ordinary skin into something exalted, wrapped in satin sanctity. First, the preparation. I glide to the satin draped vanity nearby, where my tools wait: a small satin pouch of pins, each head coated in matching brown mother of pearl, a fine misting bottle of distilled water scented with a hint of vanilla to enhance the fabric's natural luster; and a full length mirror framed in burnished brass, its surface polished to reflect every nuance. I sit on the satin stool, my kaftan pooling around me in soft waves, and begin with my face. A light dusting of translucent powder to mattify the skin no shine but satin's own allowed. Then, the undercap: a simple brown satin skullcap I slip on, smoothing it flat against my scalp until it's seamless, invisible. Now, the headscarf. I fold it diagonally, creating a perfect triangle, the hypotenuse edge aligned with mathematical precision. I drape it over my head, the point falling down my back like a veil of night. The front edge rests just above my eyebrows, cool against my forehead, and I cross the ends under my chin, pulling them taut but not tight enough to hug, to cradle. The hiss of satin on satin is intoxicating, a whisper that echoes in the quiet room. I tie a loose knot at the nape, then tuck and pin the excess fabric into soft pleats, fanning them out like wings. Each pin slides in with a satisfying click, securing the shape without piercing the illusion of fluidity. I stand and turn to the mirror. Already, the transformation stirs: my features soften under the frame, eyes sharper in contrast to the rich brown. But it's incomplete. The hijab waits on the mannequin, its longer lengths beckoning. I retrieve it next, unfolding the rectangular expanse yards of satin, bias cut for drape. This is the heart of the ritual, the layer that envelops and defines. I position it over the headscarf, centering the wide edge along my hairline, letting the bulk cascade down my shoulders and back. The weight is luxurious, grounding, like being swaddled in opulence. I wrap one end across my chest, over the opposite shoulder, then bring the other around to meet it, creating a crossover that hints at modesty but screams indulgence. Pins again strategic, hidden hold the folds in place: one at the temple, another under the chin, a third securing the tail at my back. Adjustments come in waves. I smooth with gloved hands, coaxing out ripples until the surface is flawless, a continuous flow of brown that catches the spotlight in undulating highlights. A spritz from the bottle, just enough to set the sheen without dampening. I step back, then forward, turning side to side. The mirror shows perfection: head to toe in satin, the new pieces blending seamlessly with my kaftan, as if I were carved from a single bolt of fabric. The ritual peaks in movement. I walk the room's perimeter, feeling the hijab sway with each step, the subtle friction of layers building a symphony of sound rustle, slide, sigh. It's meditative, this pacing, a communion with the texture that owns me. No exposed skin, no interruption; just satin encasing, protecting, obsessing. Finally, satisfaction settles. I return to the spotlight's center, the mannequin now bare beside me, its pillow dimpled from absence. The darkness beyond swallows everything else, leaving only this: me, ritually reborn in brown satin, ready for whatever devotion the night demands.
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The rain came down in silver sheets, turning the cobbles into black mirrors that reflected the sodium glow of the single working streetlamp. I leaned against its rusted iron, the cold metal biting through the heavy layers of satin and chiffon like it wanted to remind me I was still flesh under all this funeral drag.
I took a long drag on the cigarette, the cherry flaring briefly under the edge of my veil. The black chiffon draped across my face softened the world into shadow theatre, everything a little unreal, a little safer that way. My lips, painted the color of dried blood, left a faint crescent on the filter. I exhaled smoke that twisted upward to join the mist, two kinds of fog becoming one.
They called me Valentine in the old precinct days, before the badge became a liability and the mirror became an accusation. Now I was just Val to the few who still owed me favors, or the ones who needed someone who didn't flinch at the smell of blood and cheap perfume. Tonight the city smelled of both.
The gown dragged behind me like a widow's promise, long black satin, ankle-skimming, catching what little light there was and throwing it back in wet, liquid gleams. The blouse beneath frothed with rococo frills, glossy and ridiculous against the grime. Mourning attire from a century that knew how to grieve properly. I wore it because it fit the part I was playing: the ghost who refuses to lie down.
Somewhere in the alley behind me, my wardrobe waited in a condemned boarding house door half off its hinges, the only bright thing inside a floor length rainbow satin dress hanging like a forgotten carnival prize. Long sleeves, high ruffled collar, shimmering like oil on water. I kept it there the way some men keep a pistol in a drawer. A reminder that colour still existed, even if I only visited it in the dark.
A low rumble rolled through the street. The red double decker bus, the corpse of the only one left running those nights, it lay half-buried in fallen brick and twisted rebar two blocks down. Its paint had rusted to the color of old blood; one headlamp still flickered like a dying eye. No one bothered to tow it anymore. It was just another corpse in the landscape.
I flicked ash into a puddle. The cigarette hissed and went out. That's when I saw her silhouette at the mouth of the alley, trench coat too big, heels too high for the broken pavement. She moved like someone who knew she was being watched but couldn't afford to run.
She stopped under the cone of lamplight, rain tracing black rivulets down her face. Mascara already surrendered hours ago.
"You're late," I said, voice low, muffled by chiffon.
"You're early," she answered. Her eyes flicked over my outfit, the veil, the frills, the shine that didn't belong here. She didn't laugh. Smart girl. "They said you were... particular about appearances."
"They say a lot of things." I pushed off the lamppost. The gown whispered against itself with every step. "You got the envelope?"
She reached inside her coat, produced a slim packet sealed with red wax. Her hand trembled just enough to notice.
"Inside is everything, names, dates, the garment dress warehouse on Cutler Street. They think they're untouchable because they own half the magistrates and all the shadows." She swallowed. "But they killed my sister. Slowly. For asking too many questions about the satin shipments."
I took the envelope without looking at it. Slipped it inside the satin folds where a heart should be.
"And what do you want from me?" I asked.
"Justice." The word sounded small and antique in her mouth. "Or revenge. Whichever comes first."
I studied her through the veil. Young. Broken in the right places. The kind of client who pays in blood or tears, sometimes both.
"Revenge is expensive," I told her. "And justice... justice is just revenge wearing prettier clothes."
She met my eyes, dark eyeliner smudged into war paint. "Then I'll pay the price."
I nodded once. The rain drummed harder, like applause for bad decisions.
"Go home," I said. "Lock the doors. Burn anything with your name on it. I'll find you when it's done."
She hesitated, then turned and walked back into the dark. Her heels clicked once, twice, then nothing.
I lit another cigarette. The flame briefly illuminated my reflection in the wet lamppost glass: black lips, darker eyes, a widow who never married, a detective who never solved anything clean.
The city exhaled around me, smoke, rain, rust.
I started walking toward Cutler Street.
The rainbow dress in the wardrobe would have to wait another night.
Some colours aren't meant to be worn in the light.The rain came down in silver sheets, turning the cobbles into black mirrors that reflected the sodium glow of the single working streetlamp. I leaned against its rusted iron, the cold metal biting through the heavy layers of satin and chiffon like it wanted to remind me I was still flesh under all this funeral drag. I took a long drag on the cigarette, the cherry flaring briefly under the edge of my veil. The black chiffon draped across my face softened the world into shadow theatre, everything a little unreal, a little safer that way. My lips, painted the color of dried blood, left a faint crescent on the filter. I exhaled smoke that twisted upward to join the mist, two kinds of fog becoming one. They called me Valentine in the old precinct days, before the badge became a liability and the mirror became an accusation. Now I was just Val to the few who still owed me favors, or the ones who needed someone who didn't flinch at the smell of blood and cheap perfume. Tonight the city smelled of both. The gown dragged behind me like a widow's promise, long black satin, ankle-skimming, catching what little light there was and throwing it back in wet, liquid gleams. The blouse beneath frothed with rococo frills, glossy and ridiculous against the grime. Mourning attire from a century that knew how to grieve properly. I wore it because it fit the part I was playing: the ghost who refuses to lie down. Somewhere in the alley behind me, my wardrobe waited in a condemned boarding house door half off its hinges, the only bright thing inside a floor length rainbow satin dress hanging like a forgotten carnival prize. Long sleeves, high ruffled collar, shimmering like oil on water. I kept it there the way some men keep a pistol in a drawer. A reminder that colour still existed, even if I only visited it in the dark. A low rumble rolled through the street. The red double decker bus, the corpse of the only one left running those nights, it lay half-buried in fallen brick and twisted rebar two blocks down. Its paint had rusted to the color of old blood; one headlamp still flickered like a dying eye. No one bothered to tow it anymore. It was just another corpse in the landscape. I flicked ash into a puddle. The cigarette hissed and went out. That's when I saw her silhouette at the mouth of the alley, trench coat too big, heels too high for the broken pavement. She moved like someone who knew she was being watched but couldn't afford to run. She stopped under the cone of lamplight, rain tracing black rivulets down her face. Mascara already surrendered hours ago. "You're late," I said, voice low, muffled by chiffon. "You're early," she answered. Her eyes flicked over my outfit, the veil, the frills, the shine that didn't belong here. She didn't laugh. Smart girl. "They said you were... particular about appearances." "They say a lot of things." I pushed off the lamppost. The gown whispered against itself with every step. "You got the envelope?" She reached inside her coat, produced a slim packet sealed with red wax. Her hand trembled just enough to notice. "Inside is everything, names, dates, the garment dress warehouse on Cutler Street. They think they're untouchable because they own half the magistrates and all the shadows." She swallowed. "But they killed my sister. Slowly. For asking too many questions about the satin shipments." I took the envelope without looking at it. Slipped it inside the satin folds where a heart should be. "And what do you want from me?" I asked. "Justice." The word sounded small and antique in her mouth. "Or revenge. Whichever comes first." I studied her through the veil. Young. Broken in the right places. The kind of client who pays in blood or tears, sometimes both. "Revenge is expensive," I told her. "And justice... justice is just revenge wearing prettier clothes." She met my eyes, dark eyeliner smudged into war paint. "Then I'll pay the price." I nodded once. The rain drummed harder, like applause for bad decisions. "Go home," I said. "Lock the doors. Burn anything with your name on it. I'll find you when it's done." She hesitated, then turned and walked back into the dark. Her heels clicked once, twice, then nothing. I lit another cigarette. The flame briefly illuminated my reflection in the wet lamppost glass: black lips, darker eyes, a widow who never married, a detective who never solved anything clean. The city exhaled around me, smoke, rain, rust. I started walking toward Cutler Street. The rainbow dress in the wardrobe would have to wait another night. Some colours aren't meant to be worn in the light.
1 Reacties 0 aandelen 3K Views
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Good Morning 😊 Rise & shine with Melanie, in her luxury white satin bow blouse! #BowBlouse
6 Reacties 0 aandelen 2K Views
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A poem hoping many of you will relate,tell me if you relate. Mirror to my soul,don’t flinch- Show her:the girl the glass denies. Lashes like dusk on velvet skin, Cheeks brushed with dawns first rose surprise. Beneath the lie of broad,hard lines she arches-swan neck,lilac throat, breasts soft as secrets,hips that shine in satin light no stranger wrote. The world sees stone;a few hearts know the mirrors truth:her feminine glow.A poem hoping many of you will relate,tell me if you relate. Mirror to my soul,don’t flinch- Show her:the girl the glass denies. Lashes like dusk on velvet skin, Cheeks brushed with dawns first rose surprise. Beneath the lie of broad,hard lines she arches-swan neck,lilac throat, breasts soft as secrets,hips that shine in satin light no stranger wrote. The world sees stone;a few hearts know the mirrors truth:her feminine glow.1 Reacties 0 aandelen 5K Views4
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Don’t be afraid to be yourself #Shine bright like a diamondDon’t be afraid to be yourself #Shine bright like a diamond1 Reacties 0 aandelen 3K Views
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Lip gloss that shines like her obedience Thigh-highs clinging to her shame A collar that says "I'm owned" Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how ******** likes her — Which one’s your favorite, princess? Drop it in the comments —#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood💋 Lip gloss that shines like her obedience🧷 Thigh-highs clinging to her shame🎀 A collar that says "I'm owned"💄 Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how Mistress likes her 💘—✨ Which one’s your favorite, princess? 💋Drop it in the comments 👇—#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood#h Lip gloss that shines like her obedience Thigh-highs clinging to her shame A collar that says "I'm owned" Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how ******** likes her — Which one’s your favorite, princess? Drop it in the comments —#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood
#horny
#video call
1 Reacties 0 aandelen 17K Views2
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#h Lip gloss that shines like her obedience Thigh-highs clinging to her shame A collar that says "I'm owned" Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how ******** likes her — Which one’s your favorite, princess? Drop it in the comments —#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood
#horny
#video call#h💋 Lip gloss that shines like her obedience🧷 Thigh-highs clinging to her shame🎀 A collar that says "I'm owned"💄 Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how Mistress likes her 💘—✨ Which one’s your favorite, princess? 💋Drop it in the comments 👇—#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood #horny #video call
0 Reacties 1 aandelen 44K Views4
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Lip gloss that shines like her obedience Thigh-highs clinging to her shame A collar that says "I'm owned" Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how ******** likes her — Which one’s your favorite, princess? Drop it in the comments —#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood💋 Lip gloss that shines like her obedience🧷 Thigh-highs clinging to her shame🎀 A collar that says "I'm owned"💄 Blush that never fades, just like her need to please“When you're made to be seen, not heard.”Silent. Soft. Stunning. Just how Mistress likes her 💘—✨ Which one’s your favorite, princess? 💋Drop it in the comments 👇—#ObedientPrincess #SissyMoodboard #FeminizationFantasy #SissyAesthetic #SoftGirlObsession #LipGlossObedience #ThighHighDreams #CollaredCutie #MadeToPlease #BimboMood
2 Reacties 0 aandelen 18K Views
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Haiiiii my beautiful awesome worthy-of-self-love CD, TS, TG, NB, Female, Male, None of the Above, In-Between, and All of the Above, people :)
The world is, what it is, lately!
Please try to smile and be happy, be proud of who you are no matter where you are at; and please don't change because of the hateful and small-minded types!
If our community has shown anything, it is that we are resilient AF, we will always take care of one another, we are a rare type that gets stronger when pushed around, and we are experts in knowing almost nothing in life is permanent!
We will be hurt by back-stabbers, we can be such good hearted people and still, we will often lose family and friends and jobs - simply over clothing and makeup!! But life is short and I wouldn't trade being a shape-shifter for anything I'd go so far as to say that I actually like myself at times (in the right lighting, on perfect makeup days )
I love sunshine, I love my dog, why do her paws smell so good to me? I love slushies, thunderstorms and shiny outfits! ✨️If you have even the smallest amount of love, you remember that you have all of it 🩷Haiiiii my beautiful awesome worthy-of-self-love CD, TS, TG, NB, Female, Male, None of the Above, In-Between, and All of the Above, people :) 💗👋 The world is, what it is, lately! Please try to smile and be happy, be proud of who you are no matter where you are at; and please don't change because of the hateful and small-minded types! If our 🏳️🌈 community has shown anything, it is that we are resilient AF, we will always take care of one another, we are a rare type that gets stronger when pushed around, and we are experts in knowing almost nothing in life is permanent! We will be hurt by back-stabbers, we can be such good hearted people and still, we will often lose family and friends and jobs - simply over clothing and makeup!! But life is short and I wouldn't trade being a shape-shifter for anything 😀 I'd go so far as to say that I actually like myself at times (in the right lighting, on perfect makeup days 💋 ) I love sunshine, I love my dog, why do her paws smell so good to me? 🐾 💖 I love slushies, thunderstorms and shiny outfits! ✨️If you have even the smallest amount of love, you remember that you have all of it ❤️🧡💛💚💙🤍🩷💜
5 Reacties 0 aandelen 10K Views
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Good evening everybody hope those in the UK have enjoyed the hot weather and sunshine over the last week or so not so sunny today but a good excuse to pop on my new green velvet dress which I do already xxGood evening everybody 🥰 hope those in the UK have enjoyed the hot weather and sunshine over the last week or so 😊 not so sunny today but a good excuse to pop on my new green velvet dress which I do ❤️ already xx
12 Reacties 1 aandelen 14K Views
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Todays outing was to Kingston Maurwood and Maiden Castle, near Dorchester. Quite busy both places. Nice walk about, good sunshine. But got windy on the hillfort. Luckily i had the hair clip wig on today so not going anywhere. Todays outfit: skirt and top courtesy of Red Cross charity store or one of the other onesTodays outing was to Kingston Maurwood and Maiden Castle, near Dorchester. Quite busy both places. Nice walk about, good sunshine. But got windy on the hillfort. Luckily i had the hair clip wig on today so not going anywhere. Todays outfit: skirt and top courtesy of Red Cross charity store or one of the other ones1 Reacties 0 aandelen 4K Views
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Catching rays of sunshine...
Feeling happy after a quick walk, last night with leatherette trousers, heels, wig, and false breasts, and today's walk to the shop, in my top, skort & wig (with cap) and Vans.
Dion getting more and more adventurous by the day.Catching rays of sunshine... Feeling happy after a quick walk, last night with leatherette trousers, heels, wig, and false breasts, and today's walk to the shop, in my top, skort & wig (with cap) and Vans. Dion getting more and more adventurous by the day.
1 Reacties 0 aandelen 7K Views
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Evening everyone, hope your all in good spirits and enjoying the sunshine between the rain. Anyone going to the Sparkle Festival in Manchester next month? Wanting to go and i'm looking for recommendations for accommodation fi anyone has any xx
Evening everyone, hope your all in good spirits and enjoying the sunshine between the rain. Anyone going to the Sparkle Festival in Manchester next month? Wanting to go and i'm looking for recommendations for accommodation fi anyone has any xx2 Reacties 0 aandelen 6K Views
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Good evening everyone xxx finally the weekend again. If feels like its been a long week even though I've only done 3 days as i was relaxing in Somerset af the beginning of the week and enjoying the sunshineGood evening everyone xxx finally the weekend again. If feels like its been a long week even though I've only done 3 days as i was relaxing in Somerset af the beginning of the week and enjoying the sunshine
13 Reacties 0 aandelen 5K Views
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Isfortheonceswhodonsenotwant nothingtodowithmeoutorthetransgirlonherewhodontwantnothingtodowithmeonlinehereyoucankissmyassands*********** and suck my ass you mother f****** b****** God bless you and go to hell like I said you can s*********** and my balls you can also kiss it for the damn son don't shine and take that and stick it up your ass or let me put it in a halfway stick it up your f****** ass and s*********** now get the hell out for my back because I'm trying to find the ones that will date me on here please forgive the cousin to the one that won't have nothing to do with it but the ones that will please forgive me and hook up with me and date meIsfortheonceswhodonsenotwant nothingtodowithmeoutorthetransgirlonherewhodontwantnothingtodowithmeonlinehereyoucankissmyassands*********** and suck my ass you mother f****** b****** God bless you and go to hell like I said you can s*********** and my balls you can also kiss it for the damn son don't shine and take that and stick it up your ass or let me put it in a halfway stick it up your f****** ass and s*********** now get the hell out for my back because I'm trying to find the ones that will date me on here please forgive the cousin to the one that won't have nothing to do with it but the ones that will please forgive me and hook up with me and date me0 Reacties 0 aandelen 9K Views1
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Train ride,
Spring day,
Best skirt and Tights....
Why not to stay
stay in the train
To show legs
To shine with knees
And then forget...
Train ride, Spring day, Best skirt and Tights.... Why not to stay stay in the train To show legs To shine with knees And then forget...
2 Reacties 0 aandelen 5K Views
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Morning ladies, looks like a gorgeous day for those of us in the UK (who don't take sunshine for granted!)
Will soon be receiving my high-v neck type size F breast plate, and have a random question..
I've noticed with some silicone forms, chicken fillets etc that they can promote a little odour after a long period, of wearing (say a few hours or more).
So with a full plate arriving, was wondering if any of you gurls had any tips or experience with this? Or am I making something out of nothing?
Oh and here's a tip.. that 6-7" looking dildo on Temu, that looks a hybrid between a penis and a corn-on-the-cob !! Bizarre.. but holy crap, effective! I'll maybe start a tot thread so share faves?
Anyway, for now.. breast plates.. do they smell? I know I'll need to wipe it down with a 'slightly damp cloth', do any of you just jump in the bath or shower? Hood so as that opens further ideas for play 🫢
Have a good one ladies, catch thee Ron, as we say up north.
(I'll catch you later on... for US members who don't get Uk slang;)Morning ladies, looks like a gorgeous day for those of us in the UK (who don't take sunshine for granted!) Will soon be receiving my high-v neck type size F breast plate, and have a random question.. I've noticed with some silicone forms, chicken fillets etc that they can promote a little odour after a long period, of wearing (say a few hours or more). So with a full plate arriving, was wondering if any of you gurls had any tips or experience with this? Or am I making something out of nothing? Oh and here's a tip.. that 6-7" looking dildo on Temu, that looks a hybrid between a penis and a corn-on-the-cob !! Bizarre.. but holy crap, effective! I'll maybe start a tot thread so share faves? Anyway, for now.. breast plates.. do they smell? I know I'll need to wipe it down with a 'slightly damp cloth', do any of you just jump in the bath or shower? Hood so as that opens further ideas for play 🫢😜😍 Have a good one ladies, catch thee Ron, as we say up north. (I'll catch you later on... for US members who don't get Uk slang;)3 Reacties 0 aandelen 8K Views1
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I'm wearing my sparkly sleeveless little black dress from Dorothy Perkins, shiny burgundy patent stiletto court shoes, barely black sheer tights, Max Factor Gel Shine Sheen Merlot nails and toenails,
Sleek Makeup True Colour Lipstick in OMG, short blonde wavy hair and round gold drop earrings.
I'm ready for my cocktail bar date - only in my dreams though.
I'm wearing my sparkly sleeveless little black dress from Dorothy Perkins, shiny burgundy patent stiletto court shoes, barely black sheer tights, Max Factor Gel Shine Sheen Merlot nails and toenails, Sleek Makeup True Colour Lipstick in OMG, short blonde wavy hair and round gold drop earrings. I'm ready for my cocktail bar date - only in my dreams though.
5 Reacties 0 aandelen 10K Views
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"Trade in everything you own, if it ain't brought you nothing but a bad time. Trade in your thinking, change your mind....
Change up the way you dress, running round town looking like a little hot mess.
Change up the blues... change up the blues for a red hot time....
Feels good tonight (feels good tonight), feels right tonight (feels right tonight).
Nothings gonna kill my vibe, cause it feels so good to feel alright..."
(Gunshine)"Trade in everything you own, if it ain't brought you nothing but a bad time. Trade in your thinking, change your mind.... Change up the way you dress, running round town looking like a little hot mess. Change up the blues... change up the blues for a red hot time.... Feels good tonight (feels good tonight), feels right tonight (feels right tonight). Nothings gonna kill my vibe, cause it feels so good to feel alright..." 🎤🤘💋 (Gunshine)
2 Reacties 0 aandelen 3K Views
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"On the beach in the sunshine weather, in the dark of a movie theatre...
Anytime anywhere. Baby i don't care!
In the back of a taxi baby, by the side of the road while waiting...
On the boat, on the train, on the aeroplane..."
(Reckless Love)"On the beach in the sunshine weather, in the dark of a movie theatre... Anytime anywhere. Baby i don't care! In the back of a taxi baby, by the side of the road while waiting... On the boat, on the train, on the aeroplane..." 🎤🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵 (Reckless Love) 🤘💋0 Reacties 0 aandelen 2K Views
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