picture
For @subtlepen, who has the best tumblr. 

He’d been bad.
He’d been awful, and he knew it. 
He was supposed to do exactly as she instructed, to wait for her, to be kneeling and hard and desperate when she got home. Instead he gave in to his baser urges, jerked off on his own and fell asleep naked on their bed. When he woke up to a sharp pinch on his inner thigh, his heart sank.
"I’m sorry," he stuttered. "I didn’t mean to—"
She was angry, her eyes narrowed into slits, and his words trailed off. He braced himself for a tirade, for a physical punishment, for whatever she felt he deserved. 
She turned away.
"Please, I’m sorry," he whispered, rising up to his knees on the bed. "I thought if I came once, I could last longer—I could take the edge off. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Please, I’ll do anything, I—"
"Shh," she snapped. "Bad boys don’t get to beg."
He swallowed a whimper, sat back on his haunches and tucked his hands under his knees. 
"And don’t tell me you’ll do anything,” she said, rolling her eyes. She kept them locked on his face even as she rummaged in the bottom drawer of their dresser. “You couldn’t do one thing. You couldn’t even do the one thing I asked of you, which was what?”
"Wait for you," he whispered, head bowed. 
"Wait for me," she mimicked. "All you had to do was wait, and you would have found out exactly what I had planned for you tonight." She pulled a few lengths of rope out of the drawer—the harsher, rougher ropes they’d long ago stopped using in favor of finer, softer ones. 
"I’ll make it up to you."
"Too late for that now," she said, pushing him forward onto the bed. He went willingly, his hands lax at his sides, letting her move his body how she wanted it. "What if I like it when you wait for me? When you get so excited you come right away, and I get to work you back up slowly, make you come again? What if that’s what I spent all day thinking about?"
He groaned, his cock starting to thicken up beneath him at the thought of her sitting at her desk at work, planning what she wanted to do to him.
"Well, you’ve ruined your own fun, but I won’t let you ruin mine." She pulled his hands behind his back and wrapped the rope around his wrists, doing it quickly, harshly, with less care than she usually took.
When his hands were bound, she tugged and pulled at his body until he was resting on his side, facing the wall. Then she knelt down until she was at his eye level, tilted her head so he couldn’t avoid her gaze. 
"I’m going to get myself off, just like you did," she said, cupping his cheek. "And you won’t get to touch, or taste, or even see."
He choked back a sob, panicking, opened his mouth to protest. He shuddered when she pressed a single finger to his lips. 
"Shh. You were bad, but you can be a good boy for me now if you do as I ask."
He gasped, blinking away tears, and focused on her face. His breath was coming too fast, but he focused on her, matched his breaths to hers, and felt his body start to calm. 
"Eyes on the mirror, don’t move." She kissed the tip of his nose and turned to rummage in the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a vibrator and a small bottle of lube, making sure he could see what she chose, and then walked right past him. 
He lost sight of her when she rounded the corner of the bed, moved to the other side behind his back. She was careful to stay out of his line of sight in the mirror as she undressed—he only caught a quick glimpse of smooth, bronze skin as she settled into her plush reading chair on the other side of the room. 
She’d punished him before—she’d brought him to his knees, left his ass bruised for days, made him scream and cry.
This was by far the worst thing he’d had to endure.
He heard everything—her sweet sigh as she relaxed into the chair, the click of the cap on the bottle of lube, the slick sound of her fingers moving over her flesh and the hum of the vibrator. His dick was impossibly hard and he could do nothing about it—he couldn’t even rut against the bed in the position she’d left him in. Every new sound was a fresh wound, reminded him of his failure and what he’d lost. 
She said nothing until the very end—until the humming of the vibrator got louder and her breath came faster. 
"This could be you," she gasped. "This should have been you making me come."
When she was spent, when she crawled up onto the bed behind him and spooned him gently, he told her again.
"I’m sorry."
"I know." She kissed his shoulder and reached down between them, tugging at the ropes until they came loose. She tossed them aside and moved him gently, maneuvering him until his arms were in a more comfortable, natural position. She wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed tightly. "I forgive you."
Her fingers crept down over his stomach and brushed against his aching cock. He hissed at the soft touch, aching for a much firmer one, but pushed her hand away gently despite his need.
"I’d rather wait, if that’s okay?" he asked tentatively.
"For what?" she murmured, peppering the back of his neck with kisses.
"For tomorrow… or the next day, or… whenever we do this again. I want to wait for you."
He felt her smile against his skin, ignored the ache in his groin in favor of the warmth of her approval. “Okay,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

For @subtlepen, who has the best tumblr. 

He’d been bad.

He’d been awful, and he knew it. 

He was supposed to do exactly as she instructed, to wait for her, to be kneeling and hard and desperate when she got home. Instead he gave in to his baser urges, jerked off on his own and fell asleep naked on their bed. When he woke up to a sharp pinch on his inner thigh, his heart sank.

"I’m sorry," he stuttered. "I didn’t mean to—"

She was angry, her eyes narrowed into slits, and his words trailed off. He braced himself for a tirade, for a physical punishment, for whatever she felt he deserved. 

She turned away.

"Please, I’m sorry," he whispered, rising up to his knees on the bed. "I thought if I came once, I could last longer—I could take the edge off. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Please, I’ll do anything, I—"

"Shh," she snapped. "Bad boys don’t get to beg."

He swallowed a whimper, sat back on his haunches and tucked his hands under his knees. 

"And don’t tell me you’ll do anything,” she said, rolling her eyes. She kept them locked on his face even as she rummaged in the bottom drawer of their dresser. “You couldn’t do one thing. You couldn’t even do the one thing I asked of you, which was what?”

"Wait for you," he whispered, head bowed. 

"Wait for me," she mimicked. "All you had to do was wait, and you would have found out exactly what I had planned for you tonight." She pulled a few lengths of rope out of the drawer—the harsher, rougher ropes they’d long ago stopped using in favor of finer, softer ones. 

"I’ll make it up to you."

"Too late for that now," she said, pushing him forward onto the bed. He went willingly, his hands lax at his sides, letting her move his body how she wanted it. "What if I like it when you wait for me? When you get so excited you come right away, and I get to work you back up slowly, make you come again? What if that’s what I spent all day thinking about?"

He groaned, his cock starting to thicken up beneath him at the thought of her sitting at her desk at work, planning what she wanted to do to him.

"Well, you’ve ruined your own fun, but I won’t let you ruin mine." She pulled his hands behind his back and wrapped the rope around his wrists, doing it quickly, harshly, with less care than she usually took.

When his hands were bound, she tugged and pulled at his body until he was resting on his side, facing the wall. Then she knelt down until she was at his eye level, tilted her head so he couldn’t avoid her gaze. 

"I’m going to get myself off, just like you did," she said, cupping his cheek. "And you won’t get to touch, or taste, or even see."

He choked back a sob, panicking, opened his mouth to protest. He shuddered when she pressed a single finger to his lips. 

"Shh. You were bad, but you can be a good boy for me now if you do as I ask."

He gasped, blinking away tears, and focused on her face. His breath was coming too fast, but he focused on her, matched his breaths to hers, and felt his body start to calm. 

"Eyes on the mirror, don’t move." She kissed the tip of his nose and turned to rummage in the drawer of her nightstand. She pulled out a vibrator and a small bottle of lube, making sure he could see what she chose, and then walked right past him. 

He lost sight of her when she rounded the corner of the bed, moved to the other side behind his back. She was careful to stay out of his line of sight in the mirror as she undressed—he only caught a quick glimpse of smooth, bronze skin as she settled into her plush reading chair on the other side of the room. 

She’d punished him before—she’d brought him to his knees, left his ass bruised for days, made him scream and cry.

This was by far the worst thing he’d had to endure.

He heard everything—her sweet sigh as she relaxed into the chair, the click of the cap on the bottle of lube, the slick sound of her fingers moving over her flesh and the hum of the vibrator. His dick was impossibly hard and he could do nothing about it—he couldn’t even rut against the bed in the position she’d left him in. Every new sound was a fresh wound, reminded him of his failure and what he’d lost. 

She said nothing until the very end—until the humming of the vibrator got louder and her breath came faster. 

"This could be you," she gasped. "This should have been you making me come."

When she was spent, when she crawled up onto the bed behind him and spooned him gently, he told her again.

"I’m sorry."

"I know." She kissed his shoulder and reached down between them, tugging at the ropes until they came loose. She tossed them aside and moved him gently, maneuvering him until his arms were in a more comfortable, natural position. She wrapped an arm around his waist and squeezed tightly. "I forgive you."

Her fingers crept down over his stomach and brushed against his aching cock. He hissed at the soft touch, aching for a much firmer one, but pushed her hand away gently despite his need.

"I’d rather wait, if that’s okay?" he asked tentatively.

"For what?" she murmured, peppering the back of his neck with kisses.

"For tomorrow… or the next day, or… whenever we do this again. I want to wait for you."

He felt her smile against his skin, ignored the ache in his groin in favor of the warmth of her approval. “Okay,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

(Source: steelinkandkink)

10:23 pm: sadtomatoff275 notes

Link

bonoboist said: You are my new favourite tumblr! (Please could we have an About you too? It's really nice to imagine the person behind the selection of pics.)

Awww thank you! I am going to try to write more, I love doing these. :)

10:09 pm: sadtomatoff2 notes

picture HD
For @subtlepen, who still reads these. Het, NSFW.
"On your knees."
Her voice is sharp, commanding. I can’t see her—she just walked into the room, and my back is to her—but I know her spine is straight, her shoulders set.
I drop down to my knees and rest my hands behind my back. Her footsteps are quiet as she approaches—no heels today?
"Good boy." She stops behind me and lays her hands on my shoulders. I draw my strength from her praise and focus on her voice, even though my body wants nothing more than to relax against her. "I’m going to tie your hands." 
She kneels behind me and wraps something soft around my wrists. When she slips a small bell into my right hand I know that I won’t be able to speak tonight. 
"Did you wonder why I asked you not to undress completely?" she asks, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck before standing up. "Hmm?" 
She plays with me, ruffling my hair and rubbing my shoulders, scratching at my skin with her short, blunt nails. Slowly, she circles around until she’s standing in front of me. 
I’m not sure if I’m allowed to smile, but I can’t help myself.
"Hi," she whispers, bending low to brush my lips with hers. Her forehead touches mine for just a second, and then she stands. When she speaks again, she uses the firm voice I’m used to when we’re together like this.
"I wanted you to keep these on," she says, resting a slender foot on my thigh, "so we won’t be distracted by your cock. I  won’t be using it tonight."
I inhale sharply. She’s made me wait before, kept me on the edge until she’s done playing with me, but she’s always let me come. This is new, and I’m not sure if I can do it—if I can stay focused if I know she won’t let me get off. 
She grabs my chin, tilts my head, and forces me to look her in the eye. “You’re mine. Say it.”
"I’m yours," I promise. The words are enough to center me again—to remind me that even if she doesn’t let me come, she’ll take care of me.

She pulls her clothes off, tosses them aside, and steps in close. Not close enough—I have to lean in and lift myself up off my calves to fit my mouth to her body, to earn her taste on my tongue. 
Sometimes what she asks of me is difficult, mentally and physically. Sometimes I think I’ll never get through it, I’ll never be enough, I’ll never satisfy her.
She always proves me wrong.

For @subtlepen, who still reads these. Het, NSFW.

"On your knees."

Her voice is sharp, commanding. I can’t see her—she just walked into the room, and my back is to her—but I know her spine is straight, her shoulders set.

I drop down to my knees and rest my hands behind my back. Her footsteps are quiet as she approaches—no heels today?

"Good boy." She stops behind me and lays her hands on my shoulders. I draw my strength from her praise and focus on her voice, even though my body wants nothing more than to relax against her. "I’m going to tie your hands." 

She kneels behind me and wraps something soft around my wrists. When she slips a small bell into my right hand I know that I won’t be able to speak tonight. 

"Did you wonder why I asked you not to undress completely?" she asks, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck before standing up. "Hmm?" 

She plays with me, ruffling my hair and rubbing my shoulders, scratching at my skin with her short, blunt nails. Slowly, she circles around until she’s standing in front of me. 

I’m not sure if I’m allowed to smile, but I can’t help myself.

"Hi," she whispers, bending low to brush my lips with hers. Her forehead touches mine for just a second, and then she stands. When she speaks again, she uses the firm voice I’m used to when we’re together like this.

"I wanted you to keep these on," she says, resting a slender foot on my thigh, "so we won’t be distracted by your cock. I  won’t be using it tonight."

I inhale sharply. She’s made me wait before, kept me on the edge until she’s done playing with me, but she’s always let me come. This is new, and I’m not sure if I can do it—if I can stay focused if I know she won’t let me get off. 

She grabs my chin, tilts my head, and forces me to look her in the eye. “You’re mine. Say it.”

"I’m yours," I promise. The words are enough to center me again—to remind me that even if she doesn’t let me come, she’ll take care of me.

She pulls her clothes off, tosses them aside, and steps in close. Not close enough—I have to lean in and lift myself up off my calves to fit my mouth to her body, to earn her taste on my tongue. 

Sometimes what she asks of me is difficult, mentally and physically. Sometimes I think I’ll never get through it, I’ll never be enough, I’ll never satisfy her.

She always proves me wrong.

(via subtlepen)

09:38 pm: sadtomatoff3,466 notes

picture HD
ba-zn-ga:

 

I never tumblr anything anymore but I could not resist. @donnersun this could be be Hoechlin. Just saying.

ba-zn-ga:

 

I never tumblr anything anymore but I could not resist. @donnersun this could be be Hoechlin. Just saying.

(via billiforce1)

09:14 pm: sadtomatoff28,478 notes

picture HD
Three tours.
Three times he’s come home to me—but this time is special, because he’s here to stay.
It’s special because it’s not a just a break. It’s not a few days or a few weeks carved out of months spent missing each other, worrying about each other a half a world away.
It’s special because this time, for the first time, I got to pick him up at the airport. I stood proudly, waiting with the other families, with wives and girlfriends, parents and kids. I got to run into his arms, hug him in his uniform, knock his beret off with the force of my kiss. 
It’s special because he’s here for good. He’s home.
"I can’t sleep," he murmurs, even though we’ve thoroughly exhausted each other. "Your bed is too comfortable."
"Our bed," I remind him, reaching over to pull him closer. He snuggles into my side, kisses me sweetly, and throws one leg over mine. 
"Ours," he sighs.
I wrap my arm around his neck and tickle the barely-there hairs on the back of his head, wondering idly how long his hair will take to grow in. 
"We can buy a new one if you want," I tell him. "A futon or something. A bed of nails. Couple of sleeping bags on some plywood."
"I like this bed," he murmurs. "Smells like you."
"I missed you," i whisper, touching my lips to his forehead. His only answer is a happy, sleepy snuffle. "Welcome home."

Three tours.

Three times he’s come home to me—but this time is special, because he’s here to stay.

It’s special because it’s not a just a break. It’s not a few days or a few weeks carved out of months spent missing each other, worrying about each other a half a world away.

It’s special because this time, for the first time, I got to pick him up at the airport. I stood proudly, waiting with the other families, with wives and girlfriends, parents and kids. I got to run into his arms, hug him in his uniform, knock his beret off with the force of my kiss. 

It’s special because he’s here for good. He’s home.

"I can’t sleep," he murmurs, even though we’ve thoroughly exhausted each other. "Your bed is too comfortable."

"Our bed," I remind him, reaching over to pull him closer. He snuggles into my side, kisses me sweetly, and throws one leg over mine. 

"Ours," he sighs.

I wrap my arm around his neck and tickle the barely-there hairs on the back of his head, wondering idly how long his hair will take to grow in. 

"We can buy a new one if you want," I tell him. "A futon or something. A bed of nails. Couple of sleeping bags on some plywood."

"I like this bed," he murmurs. "Smells like you."

"I missed you," i whisper, touching my lips to his forehead. His only answer is a happy, sleepy snuffle. "Welcome home."

(Source: hempmaniac, via unapocaluce)

10:05 pm: sadtomatoff345 notes

picture
Oh holy crap. There is some good porn on tumblr today. #penis #yum #nsfw

Oh holy crap. There is some good porn on tumblr today. #penis #yum #nsfw

(via diearabelladie)

07:28 pm: sadtomatoff5,189 notes

picture HD
This is one of the sexiest non-porn pictures I’ve ever seen. (Still a little NSFW)

This is one of the sexiest non-porn pictures I’ve ever seen. (Still a little NSFW)

(Source: forgiveandforgets, via billiforce1)

07:16 pm: sadtomatoff4,338 notes

picture HD
I just. I can’t. I just can’t. Guh. Arms. 
I need to move to a country where rugby is a thing. 

I just. I can’t. I just can’t. Guh. Arms. 

I need to move to a country where rugby is a thing. 

(Source: , via diearabelladie)

07:08 pm: sadtomatoff168 notes

picture
"Shove over," she hisses, crawling back into the too-small bed. 
"It’s so early," he moans, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Turn off the lights."
"That’s the sun, baby." 
"Turn it off."
"Turn off the sun?" she asks, giggling as she snuggles closer. She throws a leg over his and he follows suit, tangling them up in a knot of sleep-warm limbs. "Tell your mom to put up real curtains."
"This is like, her sewing room now," he says. "I need sunglasses."
"The sun isn’t that bright," she argues.
"No, but your legs are blinding." 
She kicks him, then digs her toes into the the thick muscle of his calf. He laughs and kicks back.
"You love my pale legs," she gasps, slapping his hand away when he tries to tickle her.
"So white," he teases, smoothing his hand down her side and over her creamy thigh. He turns into her and presses his lips to her neck, and his touch turns softer. "I do love your pale legs," he says, fingertips swirling patterns on her knee. 
"Stop," she breathes, wiggling away. "Don’t get me started. Your whole family’s down the hall."
"We can be quiet."
"You’re never quiet," she accuses. His fingers inch up her thigh, and despite her protest, she lets her legs fall open. "And you make me… not quiet."
"I know." He grins and kisses down her jaw, then tugs down the neck of his high school track team t-shirt to kiss her collarbone. "I love it when you make those dying elephant noises."
"Shut up!" she laughs. "It’s better than that girly little squeak you make when I put my finger—"
"Shhh, you’re gonna wake everyone up." He nips at her earlobe and presses his thumb to her clit through the black cotton of her underwear.
"We can’t have sex in here," she warns, pushing down against him. 
"Just let me make you come," he whispers, lips warm against her throat. "If you’re lucky, I’ll let you suck me off in the shower later."
"Oh please? Please can I?" she says, giggling. Her laughter stops abruptly when he slips his fingers under the fabric, and he smiles when and she makes the bitten-off little moan that he loves so much.
"So wet," he murmurs, dipping a finger inside and then dragging it up to her clit. "Mmm. Were you having dirty dreams about me?"
"Mmm, yeah."
"About what?" He pushes two fingers inside, curls them forward, listens for the happy gasp she makes whenever he finds the right spot.
"Sucking you off in the shower," she says, laughing breathlessly.
"Bet that wasn’t it." He bites her shoulder, then licks over the barely-there marks from his teeth. 
"I don’t remember," she says, her breath coming faster. She’s lifting her hips to meet his hand, arching and circling to get more pressure.
"Bet it was filthy." He smiles when he feels her fingers start to bump against his, knowing that she’s too close to be patient now. "Was I fucking you?"
She doesn’t answer, too far gone. She curls up, wraps one arm around his neck, and moans against his shoulder. 
"Was I fucking you hard, baby?" he whispers, lips soft against her ear. She groans long and loud, the sound barely muffled. "Good, so good," he murmurs, encouraging her as she comes against his fingers and her own. 
She falls back against the pillow, gasping and glowing, and he strokes the inside of her thigh as she comes down. 
"That was pretty quiet, right?" she asks.
"Uh, no," he laughs. "We probably woke up the whole house."
She rises up on one elbow and smiles down at him, auburn curls falling over her face. She kisses him sweetly, then rolls her eyes at his huge, satisfied grin. “You don’t have to look so smug about it.”

"Shove over," she hisses, crawling back into the too-small bed. 

"It’s so early," he moans, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Turn off the lights."

"That’s the sun, baby." 

"Turn it off."

"Turn off the sun?" she asks, giggling as she snuggles closer. She throws a leg over his and he follows suit, tangling them up in a knot of sleep-warm limbs. "Tell your mom to put up real curtains."

"This is like, her sewing room now," he says. "I need sunglasses."

"The sun isn’t that bright," she argues.

"No, but your legs are blinding." 

She kicks him, then digs her toes into the the thick muscle of his calf. He laughs and kicks back.

"You love my pale legs," she gasps, slapping his hand away when he tries to tickle her.

"So white," he teases, smoothing his hand down her side and over her creamy thigh. He turns into her and presses his lips to her neck, and his touch turns softer. "I do love your pale legs," he says, fingertips swirling patterns on her knee. 

"Stop," she breathes, wiggling away. "Don’t get me started. Your whole family’s down the hall."

"We can be quiet."

"You’re never quiet," she accuses. His fingers inch up her thigh, and despite her protest, she lets her legs fall open. "And you make me… not quiet."

"I know." He grins and kisses down her jaw, then tugs down the neck of his high school track team t-shirt to kiss her collarbone. "I love it when you make those dying elephant noises."

"Shut up!" she laughs. "It’s better than that girly little squeak you make when I put my finger—"

"Shhh, you’re gonna wake everyone up." He nips at her earlobe and presses his thumb to her clit through the black cotton of her underwear.

"We can’t have sex in here," she warns, pushing down against him. 

"Just let me make you come," he whispers, lips warm against her throat. "If you’re lucky, I’ll let you suck me off in the shower later."

"Oh please? Please can I?" she says, giggling. Her laughter stops abruptly when he slips his fingers under the fabric, and he smiles when and she makes the bitten-off little moan that he loves so much.

"So wet," he murmurs, dipping a finger inside and then dragging it up to her clit. "Mmm. Were you having dirty dreams about me?"

"Mmm, yeah."

"About what?" He pushes two fingers inside, curls them forward, listens for the happy gasp she makes whenever he finds the right spot.

"Sucking you off in the shower," she says, laughing breathlessly.

"Bet that wasn’t it." He bites her shoulder, then licks over the barely-there marks from his teeth. 

"I don’t remember," she says, her breath coming faster. She’s lifting her hips to meet his hand, arching and circling to get more pressure.

"Bet it was filthy." He smiles when he feels her fingers start to bump against his, knowing that she’s too close to be patient now. "Was I fucking you?"

She doesn’t answer, too far gone. She curls up, wraps one arm around his neck, and moans against his shoulder. 

"Was I fucking you hard, baby?" he whispers, lips soft against her ear. She groans long and loud, the sound barely muffled. "Good, so good," he murmurs, encouraging her as she comes against his fingers and her own. 

She falls back against the pillow, gasping and glowing, and he strokes the inside of her thigh as she comes down. 

"That was pretty quiet, right?" she asks.

"Uh, no," he laughs. "We probably woke up the whole house."

She rises up on one elbow and smiles down at him, auburn curls falling over her face. She kisses him sweetly, then rolls her eyes at his huge, satisfied grin. “You don’t have to look so smug about it.”

(via billiforce1)

04:04 pm: sadtomatoff25,473 notes

picture
*FLAIL*
manly man + snuggly pup = dead sadt

*FLAIL*

manly man + snuggly pup = dead sadt

(Source: queenofyen, via whispsofinvisibleme)

08:48 pm: sadtomatoff3,275 notes

picture
She would never lie to her husband.
He’s a good man, the best man, the father of her children and the only person she can imagine spending her life with (and it’s a good life: her job is fulfilling, her kids are endless sources of giggles and pride, she’s the HBIC of the PTA, and all the moms on her block are envious of her still-lithe figure.)
The thing is—and it’s the only thing, honestly—that she gets this ache that won’t go away. Sometimes it starts as a twinge and builds gradually over time, and sometimes it’s sudden and deep, desperate and all-consuming.
Those are the times when she tells her husband, “I think I need a girls’ weekend.” 
He knows exactly what she means. They’ve discussed it a thousand times—mostly at the beginning of their relationship, negotiating boundaries, needs, limits—but they don’t say it out loud anymore, now that little ears seem to be everywhere.
She needs someone else. Just for one night, every few months, just long enough for her to surrender, submit, and find herself again. 
"Okay," he says, squeezing her arm affectionately. His smile is sad—always a little sad, but never worried or afraid anymore. He knows this is a part of her that will never go away, a part of her that he can’t satisfy—that only one person really can.
"Next Saturday Abby has a sleepover," she says. "I could drop her off, go to Krista’s, and… and I’d be home by Sunday at noon."
"Yeah, that sounds good. Max and I will work on the treehouse or something. Eat beef jerky. Do guy stuff."
She leans in and rests her head against his shoulder. “Do you know how much I love you?” she whispers. 
He wraps his arms around her waist and hugs her tightly. “Can’t be more than I love you.”

She would never lie to her husband.

He’s a good man, the best man, the father of her children and the only person she can imagine spending her life with (and it’s a good life: her job is fulfilling, her kids are endless sources of giggles and pride, she’s the HBIC of the PTA, and all the moms on her block are envious of her still-lithe figure.)

The thing is—and it’s the only thing, honestly—that she gets this ache that won’t go away. Sometimes it starts as a twinge and builds gradually over time, and sometimes it’s sudden and deep, desperate and all-consuming.

Those are the times when she tells her husband, “I think I need a girls’ weekend.” 

He knows exactly what she means. They’ve discussed it a thousand times—mostly at the beginning of their relationship, negotiating boundaries, needs, limits—but they don’t say it out loud anymore, now that little ears seem to be everywhere.

She needs someone else. Just for one night, every few months, just long enough for her to surrender, submit, and find herself again. 

"Okay," he says, squeezing her arm affectionately. His smile is sad—always a little sad, but never worried or afraid anymore. He knows this is a part of her that will never go away, a part of her that he can’t satisfy—that only one person really can.

"Next Saturday Abby has a sleepover," she says. "I could drop her off, go to Krista’s, and… and I’d be home by Sunday at noon."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Max and I will work on the treehouse or something. Eat beef jerky. Do guy stuff."

She leans in and rests her head against his shoulder. “Do you know how much I love you?” she whispers. 

He wraps his arms around her waist and hugs her tightly. “Can’t be more than I love you.”

(Source: susurros, via inspirerae)

08:12 pm: sadtomatoff360 notes

picture
"What do you take pictures of?" She steadies a trembling hand against the kitchen table, wrapping it securely around the glass of lemonade she isn’t drinking. He’s already swallowed his in one long gulp.
"Anything," he says. Fuck, his eyelashes are long. “Everything.”
"For school? The yearbook or something?"
He smirks. “No. Those fascists wouldn’t know a good photograph if they saw it. Every year they print pictures of the same five girls making duck faces and the white kids from the football team trying to look gangsta.”
"Oh, right," she says. Briefly she tries to remember the photos in her high school yearbook, but it’s been years since she’s looked at it. 
Tyler picks up his camera, points it at her. “I look for true beauty,” he says, pressing the shutter. 
She flinches and turns her head. 
"Don’t do that. Look at me." His voice is steady, commanding, and she can’t ignore it. He was a kid, just a pretty teenage boy mowing her lawn twenty minutes ago, and now he’s talking to her like a lover; like no one’s talked to her in far, far too long.
She stares down the lens and he snaps picture after picture.
"I need better light," he says, looking around the room. He gets up and offers her his hand, but she’s lost control of her limbs and can’t lift her arm to take it. He wraps his cool fingers around her wrist instead, and tugs her up out of her seat. 
He leads her through the house until he finds what he’s looking for—a big window in the spare bedroom. She can see the abandoned lawnmower in the yard.
"Here," he says, backing her up against the wall. He’s too close, his chest inches away from hers. He smells like cologne and fresh cut grass and sweat and man and she shudders when she thinks about that, because she’s not even sure if he is a man. He’s a senior, definitely, but he could still be seventeen—a teenager. A boy.
"Like this," he says, putting a hand on her waist and pushing until she cocks her hip just how he wants. "Don’t move."
He backs up a few paces, and she bites her lip to stop a whimper from escaping. His bicep flexes as he lifts the camera, and he stares intently at the LCD screen on its back as he takes more photos.
Her mind starts to wander as he moves around the room, looking for different angles. Can he see how hard her nipples are through her t-shirt? Is it terrible that she wants him to see? Is this all they’re going to do or is he going to want more? Can she make a move, or does that make her a predator? If she fucks him, will anyone find out? Will his mother come over here and scream at her? 
He sets the camera down on her grandmother’s antique dressing table and moves closer. 
"Take this off," he says, tugging at her white t-shirt.
"No," she says, only able to muster up a tiny whisper.
He grabs her wrist again and uses it to move her, flipping her around until she’s facing the wall. He drops her hand and cups her ass through the too-short denim shorts she saves for days when he comes over. “Will you let me do it?”
She can’t bring herself to say yes, but slowly she lifts her arms up over her head.
His hands smooth up over the curve of her ass, then slip underneath her t-shirt. She shivers as the air hits her bare skin, and he keeps sliding her t-shirt up slowly and steadily, stopping only to unclasp her bra. 
She lifts her arms and lets him pull the t-shirt and bra up and off. She starts to turn, but he presses his body against hers, keeping her in place. 
"You’re so sexy," he says, big hands clutching at her waist, smoothing up over her stomach to cup her breasts. "I see you watching me, you know."
"Fuck…" she mutters, arching into his hands. He tugs at her nipples simultaneously, one hand a mirror of the other. She feels his cock hard against her ass, his lips trailing wet kisses down her neck, and she’s certain there’s supposed to be something wrong about this but she can’t remember what it is.
"Do you want me to fuck you here or in your bedroom?" he asks, one hand dropping down to pluck at the button of her shorts. 
She likes that he doesn’t give her an out. 
It makes it easier.
"In my bedroom."
He spins her around quickly, takes her breath away.
"Let’s go."

"What do you take pictures of?" She steadies a trembling hand against the kitchen table, wrapping it securely around the glass of lemonade she isn’t drinking. He’s already swallowed his in one long gulp.

"Anything," he says. Fuck, his eyelashes are long. “Everything.”

"For school? The yearbook or something?"

He smirks. “No. Those fascists wouldn’t know a good photograph if they saw it. Every year they print pictures of the same five girls making duck faces and the white kids from the football team trying to look gangsta.”

"Oh, right," she says. Briefly she tries to remember the photos in her high school yearbook, but it’s been years since she’s looked at it. 

Tyler picks up his camera, points it at her. “I look for true beauty,” he says, pressing the shutter. 

She flinches and turns her head. 

"Don’t do that. Look at me." His voice is steady, commanding, and she can’t ignore it. He was a kid, just a pretty teenage boy mowing her lawn twenty minutes ago, and now he’s talking to her like a lover; like no one’s talked to her in far, far too long.

She stares down the lens and he snaps picture after picture.

"I need better light," he says, looking around the room. He gets up and offers her his hand, but she’s lost control of her limbs and can’t lift her arm to take it. He wraps his cool fingers around her wrist instead, and tugs her up out of her seat. 

He leads her through the house until he finds what he’s looking for—a big window in the spare bedroom. She can see the abandoned lawnmower in the yard.

"Here," he says, backing her up against the wall. He’s too close, his chest inches away from hers. He smells like cologne and fresh cut grass and sweat and man and she shudders when she thinks about that, because she’s not even sure if he is a man. He’s a senior, definitely, but he could still be seventeen—a teenager. A boy.

"Like this," he says, putting a hand on her waist and pushing until she cocks her hip just how he wants. "Don’t move."

He backs up a few paces, and she bites her lip to stop a whimper from escaping. His bicep flexes as he lifts the camera, and he stares intently at the LCD screen on its back as he takes more photos.

Her mind starts to wander as he moves around the room, looking for different anglesCan he see how hard her nipples are through her t-shirt? Is it terrible that she wants him to see? Is this all they’re going to do or is he going to want more? Can she make a move, or does that make her a predator? If she fucks him, will anyone find out? Will his mother come over here and scream at her? 

He sets the camera down on her grandmother’s antique dressing table and moves closer. 

"Take this off," he says, tugging at her white t-shirt.

"No," she says, only able to muster up a tiny whisper.

He grabs her wrist again and uses it to move her, flipping her around until she’s facing the wall. He drops her hand and cups her ass through the too-short denim shorts she saves for days when he comes over. “Will you let me do it?”

She can’t bring herself to say yes, but slowly she lifts her arms up over her head.

His hands smooth up over the curve of her ass, then slip underneath her t-shirt. She shivers as the air hits her bare skin, and he keeps sliding her t-shirt up slowly and steadily, stopping only to unclasp her bra. 

She lifts her arms and lets him pull the t-shirt and bra up and off. She starts to turn, but he presses his body against hers, keeping her in place. 

"You’re so sexy," he says, big hands clutching at her waist, smoothing up over her stomach to cup her breasts. "I see you watching me, you know."

"Fuck…" she mutters, arching into his hands. He tugs at her nipples simultaneously, one hand a mirror of the other. She feels his cock hard against her ass, his lips trailing wet kisses down her neck, and she’s certain there’s supposed to be something wrong about this but she can’t remember what it is.

"Do you want me to fuck you here or in your bedroom?" he asks, one hand dropping down to pluck at the button of her shorts. 

She likes that he doesn’t give her an out. 

It makes it easier.

"In my bedroom."

He spins her around quickly, takes her breath away.

"Let’s go."

(via diearabelladie)

09:36 pm: sadtomatoff771 notes

picture HD
I’m not big on F/F but daaaaaaaamn. Mostly clothed. attn: @einfach_mich 

I’m not big on F/F but daaaaaaaamn. Mostly clothed. attn: @einfach_mich 

(Source: pedrocostaneves, via unapocaluce)

08:35 pm: sadtomatoff6,376 notes

picture
I added an Epilogue to Between Pleasure & Pain. It’s smutty. 

I added an Epilogue to Between Pleasure & Pain. It’s smutty. 

10:17 pm: sadtomatoff

picture HD
goldgunsboys:

♥

goldgunsboys:

07:07 pm: sadtomatoff63 notes