“Rogering” … I think we may have added a new word to the official CF lexicon.
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A Tale of Two Barbs: A Pirate Cay Adventure
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
M
montycrusto
Guest
“Rogering” … I think we may have added a new word to the official CF lexicon.
rogering - Wiktionary
en.wiktionary.org
You’re welcome
M
montycrusto
Guest
I’ve seen some strange looking dildos, but ….
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
M
montycrusto
Guest
ledoux
Governor
Barb's too modest to show you her collection, so allow me:
And you wouldn't believe what's in the other two drawers of her nightstand!
Oh, and Barb, could you share the owner's manual on this one?
I have a pretty good imagination, but, have to admit I'm lost here.
Probably should have paid more attention in anatomy class.
Last edited:
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montycrusto
Guest
Probably should have paid more attention in anatomy class.
Perhaps this
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Well, she does have a "landing strip". Looks like it's open for traffic
Harsh Martinet
Consul
And owned some too
M
montycrusto
Guest
I take NO responsibility for this descent into dildology..
twonines
LIMERICUS
Barb has always been a very talented allrounder!
windar
Teller of Tales
Well, I'm certainly not going to tell you NOT to read the first two stories.
You can read this current one without having read the others, but I think it will be a more complete experience if you read them all. I think you will enjoy them, but only if you like sexual slavery, whippings, canings, pony cart races, sexual slavery, hot college students, you know, that sort of stuff....Here they are:
Spring Break Slaves
First, Happy New Year to all! I wrote this story way back in the 2010s, so if any of the references seem dated that might explain it. Anyway, it's cold and dark, so wouldn't a trip to a luxurious mansion on a Caribbean island sound nice? It certainly did to Tara and her roommate Dee...
www.cruxforums.com
Spring Break Slaves 2: Reporting from Pirate Cay
Sun, sand, palm trees, the soft waters of the Caribbean...Who doesn't love that? OK, a few of the broke college students lured to a rich man's private island as "Companions" have occasionally had to suffer whippings, depraved sexual exploitation, competitions where the losers pay a price, and...
www.cruxforums.com
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
I guess I can put up with that so long as apart from the slavery, sex, torture, whippings and hot college students there is something interesting…. Ok, i suppose I might be able to free up some more reading time
2.
Breathlessly she scurried down the length of Minneapolis-St. Paul airport’s F-Concourse, pulling her wheeled carry-on behind her. She was having a time of it. Weaving back and forth between people was difficult enough, without tottering on heels and coping with her tightly-tailored, mid-thigh-length skirt. Halfway down the concourse, to make better time, she stopped to hop about first on one foot then the other in order to remove her shoes before continuing on.
As it turned out she barely made it. They were about to close the gate when she arrived, but it was still open. Rushing up, she offered some incoherent apologies to the attendant, who waited, thin-lipped, while Barb rummaged in her bag to find her cellphone so she could pass her boarding pass bar code over the little screen.
Once on the plane, she miraculously found a space for her carry-on in an overhead compartment, and then as she squeezed past a gray-haired, we’ll-dressed gentleman to claim her middle seat, she felt him casually palm her left buttock.
“Did’ya have a nice feel there, pervert?” she remarked, loudly enough to be heard from three or four rows away.
He looked her over with appraising, Sinatra-like, clear blue eyes for several seconds before saying with a crooked smile, “The front of your blouse is wide open. Better cover up sweetie!”
Glancing down, she saw that he was right. She had popped three or four buttons, probably while straining to get her carry-on in the overhead compartment, and was shockingly exposed. Hastily she buttoned up, noting how the elderly woman in the window seat next to her was staring at her disapprovingly. Buckling her seat belt, she reached for the inflight airline magazine and buried her face in it.
Once they were airborne, she relaxed a bit, even giving the gentleman alongside her a wan apologetic smile … a peace offering, of sort.
“It’s okay sweetie,” he said, patting her affectionately on the knee. “You’ve got a very nice pair of tits. I enjoyed the show. Where you staying in DC? Maybe we can hook up?”
She said nothing in reply, not wanting to offer him even the slightest encouragement.
He laid his card in her lap, and patted her on the knee again.
Without looking at the card, she stuffed it in her bag, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep for the remainder of the flight.
As they descended low over the Potomac on the approach to Reagan National, she was never so anxious to land. The moment the plane docked at its arrivals gate, she sprang to her feet, vaulted herself into the aisle, grabbed her carry-on, and barged her way past a host of startled and grumbling passengers in order to make her way to the front of the plane.
“Goodbye. Have a nice day,” chirped the Delta flight attendant breezily as Barb departed.
She did not reply.
Checking the time while traversing the concourse, she decided there was sufficient time to check into her hotel and freshen up before her late afternoon appointment. She hailed a cab, indicated to the driver that he was to take her to the Mayflower Hotel on Connecticut Avenue, and settled in for the ride.
After a short time freshening up and catching a quick nap in her hotel room, it was time to leave. She went downstairs to the lobby and asked the doorman to hail her a cab.
When it pulled up she got in, and in answer to the driver’s heavily accented, “Where to miss?”, she replied, “The White House.”
Then she settled back in her seat. It was a typically gray, late-January afternoon in DC. Traffic was heavy. She noticed that there were remnant signs of the Inauguration Day festivities here and there, yet to be cleaned up.
She almost wanted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. She was on her way to an appointment at the White House … not just any old appointment … an appointment at the invitation of the newly elected President of the United States … in the Oval Office!
Breathlessly she scurried down the length of Minneapolis-St. Paul airport’s F-Concourse, pulling her wheeled carry-on behind her. She was having a time of it. Weaving back and forth between people was difficult enough, without tottering on heels and coping with her tightly-tailored, mid-thigh-length skirt. Halfway down the concourse, to make better time, she stopped to hop about first on one foot then the other in order to remove her shoes before continuing on.
As it turned out she barely made it. They were about to close the gate when she arrived, but it was still open. Rushing up, she offered some incoherent apologies to the attendant, who waited, thin-lipped, while Barb rummaged in her bag to find her cellphone so she could pass her boarding pass bar code over the little screen.
Once on the plane, she miraculously found a space for her carry-on in an overhead compartment, and then as she squeezed past a gray-haired, we’ll-dressed gentleman to claim her middle seat, she felt him casually palm her left buttock.
“Did’ya have a nice feel there, pervert?” she remarked, loudly enough to be heard from three or four rows away.
He looked her over with appraising, Sinatra-like, clear blue eyes for several seconds before saying with a crooked smile, “The front of your blouse is wide open. Better cover up sweetie!”
Glancing down, she saw that he was right. She had popped three or four buttons, probably while straining to get her carry-on in the overhead compartment, and was shockingly exposed. Hastily she buttoned up, noting how the elderly woman in the window seat next to her was staring at her disapprovingly. Buckling her seat belt, she reached for the inflight airline magazine and buried her face in it.
Once they were airborne, she relaxed a bit, even giving the gentleman alongside her a wan apologetic smile … a peace offering, of sort.
“It’s okay sweetie,” he said, patting her affectionately on the knee. “You’ve got a very nice pair of tits. I enjoyed the show. Where you staying in DC? Maybe we can hook up?”
She said nothing in reply, not wanting to offer him even the slightest encouragement.
He laid his card in her lap, and patted her on the knee again.
Without looking at the card, she stuffed it in her bag, closed her eyes and pretended to sleep for the remainder of the flight.
As they descended low over the Potomac on the approach to Reagan National, she was never so anxious to land. The moment the plane docked at its arrivals gate, she sprang to her feet, vaulted herself into the aisle, grabbed her carry-on, and barged her way past a host of startled and grumbling passengers in order to make her way to the front of the plane.
“Goodbye. Have a nice day,” chirped the Delta flight attendant breezily as Barb departed.
She did not reply.
Checking the time while traversing the concourse, she decided there was sufficient time to check into her hotel and freshen up before her late afternoon appointment. She hailed a cab, indicated to the driver that he was to take her to the Mayflower Hotel on Connecticut Avenue, and settled in for the ride.
After a short time freshening up and catching a quick nap in her hotel room, it was time to leave. She went downstairs to the lobby and asked the doorman to hail her a cab.
When it pulled up she got in, and in answer to the driver’s heavily accented, “Where to miss?”, she replied, “The White House.”
Then she settled back in her seat. It was a typically gray, late-January afternoon in DC. Traffic was heavy. She noticed that there were remnant signs of the Inauguration Day festivities here and there, yet to be cleaned up.
She almost wanted to pinch herself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. She was on her way to an appointment at the White House … not just any old appointment … an appointment at the invitation of the newly elected President of the United States … in the Oval Office!
windar
Teller of Tales
That's the Dorchester of DC!!! Always with the high priced spread, Moore!!!
Seems our residents in rhyming crime have been having quite a time. They’re lampooning this serious story to death over on:
I encourage everyone who would like a good laugh to check it out. @montycrusto and @twonines would be ever so pleased.
Limericks
Despite a blonde moment or two, She is premium crux meat, it’s true, Her sinuous motions Inspire our devotions, That goddess of crux, from Anjou!
www.cruxforums.com
I encourage everyone who would like a good laugh to check it out. @montycrusto and @twonines would be ever so pleased.
M
montycrusto
Guest
Starting here, to be precise
https://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/limericks.6708/post-635900
we are MOST DEFINITELY “reading ahead”!
M
The worrying thing is that nobody noticed!