[the-night-picture-collector]

[classyartgallery]

Olga Solarics & Adorja’n von Wlassics, founder of the Atelier Manassé , Vienna,  1922-1938

by  Studio Manassé

[on-her-knees-to-please]

You used to be one of my favorite blogs, then you got all boring

Ah I feel that. Aging will do that to ya

[ms-gg-lane]

Hahahahaha

[forever-blondie]

Brooke Shields and Debbie Harry, 1978

[ms-gg-lane]

It’s embarrassing how often I think “I should fuck the Uber driver”

[forever-blondie]

Debbie Harry, 1978

[bohemianbowie]

[forever-blondie]

Debbie Harry photographed by Lynn Goldsmith - 1978

[writingdirty-deactivated2024051]

First Day of School

It was the Sunday before “the big change.”

After years of working at an office job she hated, my Julie was going to back to school full time to finish her master’s degree.

The shift to a “one income household” really wasn’t that much of a big deal. We didn’t have kids and I was doing well, plus she had been saving up for years.

Still the day before her first class was nervous. It was a big change. I kept teasing her about “starting at a new school.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll make friends,” I said to her, eliciting an eye roll.

“Just try and sit with cool kids at lunch,” I recommended as we settled into bed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll park a block away when I pick you up, so I don’t embarrass you,” I promised and she groaned.

“You’ll always find a way to embarrass me,” she said, hitting me with a pillow.

In the morning, I was up early as always, and found her eyes were already open.

“First day of school, kiddo,” I said, turning and kissing her on the forehead.

She looked at me with a strange look, something almost angry. She pushed out her bottom lip.

“I don’t wanna go,” she whined in a voice that was very unlike her.

“You don’t want to go to school?” I said with a laugh.

She shook her head and pulled the blanket up over her face.

I ducked under the blanket and met her in the near darkness.

“It will be okay,” I whispered, cuddling up to her.

“Nope. Not going,” she said with a huff.

“You have to go,” I said with faux seriousness.

She pushed me with her shoulder.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said in a little girl voice.

I turned towards her and grabbed one of her wrists.

“Is that so?” I asked.

She pushed me with her free hand and I grabbed that one too.

“You can’t make me go,” she said between huffs and puffs as she tried to get away.

“You’re not even my real dad,” she said as she struggled.

I almost laughed. I was certainly game to play, but she’d never mentioned this game before.

“You still have to go to school,” I said, getting on top of her and pushing her wrists down.

“I don’t have to do what you say,” she said petulantly, cutting her eyes and sticking out her tongue.

I sat up and pulled her around, dragging her over my lap. I let go of one of her wrists and spanked her hard on the ass once and then twice.

She was only wearing a loose pink t-shirt, which rode up as she squirmed and whined and tried to cover her butt.

“Stop!” She shouted and I paused.

She looked back at me, eyes full of rage, then she smiled.

“Sucker,” she said and twisted out of my grip, wrestling me down until I was laying on the bed.

“You’re not my real dad, you can’t make me, you have to do what I say or I’m never going to school,” she said with a gleeful pout.

Wondering where she was going with the game, I let her hold me down.

She sat on my chest and pulled my hair and slapped me a little across the face. She kept saying “you have to,” as she did.

Then she moved up, my body tensing as I realized what she was doing. Her thick thighs were on both sides of my head and her pussy covered my mouth.

All the fight left me as my brain focused on one thing, kissing and licking her pussy. It was one of my favorite things and when she was on top it pushed every other thought out of my head.

I struggled to find all of her little spots, all the places and angles I had learned over our relationship. I teased her, I dipped my tongue into her, finally I sucked on her clit just barely grazing it with my tongue.

“You have to do this every morning. You have to make me come or I won’t go to school,” she said, her voice far away and dreamy.

I liked when she wrapped herself in her own dirty little fantasy and I got to play along. The dirtier the better. All of her little whispers as I struggled to breath and please her at the same time made me harder and harder.

“Not my real dad, fuck, keep sucking, mmm,” she said as she ground down on me.

“You better make me come or I’ll tell,” she said as her voice broke and her breathing became more and more labored.

When her thighs closed in on me and her hands when to hold my head in place I knew she was getting close. I focused on keeping my tongue going, even though it was now burning for constant motion.

When she came she yelled “fuck,” so loud it seemed to shake the walls.

Then she was laying next to me, pushing my face away, gasping for air.

I rolled over on top of her, pulling her shirt up and taking delicious hand full of her tits. My hard cock was sticking out of my boxers and made contact with her wetness.

She smiled up and me and in a flash rolled out from under me and stood up.

“Look at the time! I have to jump in the shower. First day of school, can’t be late!” she said with a red face and a huge grin.

She looked down at my cock.

“Aw, poor thing. Will you be a good boy and make sure he is hard and ready for me when I get home tonight? I promise I will be a good girl and take care of him real good if you wait for me,” she said sweetly, leaning down and giving the head of my cock one torturous kiss.

“I-but-please,” I said trying to form a sentence that might get her to just touch it for one more second.

But she was gone and in a moment I heard the shower and my head still echoed the sound of her voice as she came and the wimpers of “you’re not my real dad,” and I screamed into my pillow.

It was going to be a long semester.

[msdarker]

A beautiful shot of someone working on the writing prompt that @writingdirty supplies for Tableaux. 

Jan 2, 2018, photo by @wlodarczyk

[forever-blondie]

Debbie Harry photographed by Eric Kroll - 1991

[catshapedcoffin]

[forever-blondie]

Debbie Harry photographed by Lynn Goldsmith - 1978

[writingdirty-deactivated2024051]

Feast of Fools

In dreams. It was in dreams that I heard the command to awaken. It must have been, since when my eyes did open, I was alone.

In the dark of my bedchamber I rose and felt immediately assaulted by the chill of the winter night. The fire had grown low and only a small red glow of embers lit one corner of my room.

I knew from the fire’s waning and the pitch black outside the window it was still the small hours, not yet near dawn but well past the witching hour.

I heard a buzzing, low but constant, and I knew that far below me, in the great hall of my family home, the feast continued.

The gaiety had gone on all day, as is the want of my parents and their cohorts. Yet it was the final day of carnival and all celebrations should have ended at midnight if not earlier, when Shrove Tuesday came to an end and Ash Wednesday began. I sat in bed considering that. No matter how boisterous and wild my family could be, surely even they would not sin in such a way.

I went to the door of my bedroom. I snuck into the hall, which was empty and silent, save the din from below.

I made my way to the stairs, feeling less of a chill, even though I wore only my nightgown. The halls were warm from the great fires downstairs and the mass of people.

Keep reading

[writingdirty-deactivated2024051]

The Case of the Murder Gloves

They stood on the corner, waiting for the light to change.

Becca was all tits and Genie was all ass. They made for an interesting pair. They were both in black, with heavy makeup, fishnets, and boots.

“So wait, explain it again?” Genie said, trying to catch up with her best friend.

Becca rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I told you, all I know is what I read online, but he is this guy who found these gloves in a vintage shop, like upstate somewhere,” Becca started to explain, looking at the directions on her phone.

“Fuck, this place is in the middle of nowhere, It’s like 12 more blocks. Who lives in the Navy Yards?” she said, crossing another street.

“Oh my God, Becca, wait up! You’re like running. We have 12 blocks! Fuck! So yeah, go on, gloves in a vintage shop?” Genie said, catching up to her friend and pulling on her leather jacket to make her slow down.

“Get off! Fucking whore. Anyway, yeah, so he gets these beautiful red leather gloves and he is like in love with them. He never wants to take them off. He goes home to his wife-”

“Oh my God, Becca, he’s married?”

“Just fucking shut up and listen to the whole fucking story! Jesus,” Becca said, brushing Genie’s hand off her jacket again.

“So he goes home and he is showing his wife the gloves and she thinks they are nice, but not like special of anything, but they start to make out and then without even, like, really knowing it, his hands move up and wrap around her throat,” Becca stops, waiting for the light at the next corner.

“Then what?” Genie asks desperately.

Keep reading

[tdgpresents]

First TDG After-work Mixer of 2018

The first Mixer of 2018, on January 23rd, a lovely Tuesday, is coming up in less than a couple of weeks.

Duck out of the crisp winter air, come mix and mingle, sip and stroll, talk to strangers until they’ve grown into new acquaintances. The cool tucked away basement space surrounds you with walls of wooden panels, lovely leather banquette nooks, peculiar taxidermy, all dimly lit in a golden glow.

Slip behind the frosted glass door goldenly emblazoned “Club and Lounge” at 303 Broome St, New York, NY 10002, and step carefully down the darkened stairs to our Welcome & Door Agent, who will make you feel at home and direct you on your way. Enjoy a lovely sip after work, in a beautiful space, meeting new people in a relaxed ambience filled with like-minded souls both seasoned and simply curious about kink, sexuality, fashion, manners, and etiquette.

Key Details:

Admission is $10, though free for all members wearing a pin.

Two drink specials are available for just a single token (tip included), one whiskey on the rocks and the other a gin-based cocktail.

We’ll have some lovely people wandering with golden trays of entertaining trifles:

Amuse yourself and friends with an assortment of Mystery Photographs for $1 per envelope, or ten for a token. (The new 2017 series is available.)

Pick up a pair of our signature stockings for $15 or one token.

Replace your soiled handkerchief right there on the spot with one of ours for $7 or two for a token.

DEAR MEMBERS: Do be sure to wear your pin and ensure it isn’t forgotten that morning when you leave for your day’s affairs. While you’re welcome to join us without it, entrance is $10 if your forget your pin. Out of respect for our hardworking entrance team, we ask you to graciously contribute should you find yourself forgetful.

Join us, and add your presence to the crowd. I look forward to seeing you there, and enjoying a lovely evening together.

[mabellonghetti]

Debbie Harry of Blondie photographed by Allan Tannenbaum, c.1979