my sister says she keeps getting hit on by creepy guys. i told her she keeps giving every signal that she wants to be flirted with and she should seriously analyze why she needs that attention. then I jerked off to this picture of her

Jamilla’s crucifixion

Jamilla was already awake when the sunlight entered her cell. After the Romans had captured her a week ago at the villa of her master, they had locked her up in there. They had stripped her and tied her up tightly, her hands behind her back, she was forced to sit here in this dark cell. She have had a lot of time to think about what has happened, and, more important, the things to come. At first she had been scared to death by the thought of being crucified, but right now she had found peace with it. Jamilla knew what she had done, and she also knew that she deserved nothing better. There was no doubt that, if she was to be killed, it would happen out there for every one to see. She was just to beautiful to let her die in here. After all she was the most beautiful girl in and around the city, In fact the thought of starving in here scared her even more than a public humiliation. Being tied up all the time and at least raped and tortured, imagine taht! No, no, all well considered, crucifixion was the best she could hope for. At least her pain would be over in a few days instead of years. She didn’t dare to think that the soldiers wouldn’t come for her.

But then the door opened and a couple of men gave entered her cell and removed the ropes from her hands and feet. Jamilla felt some sort of relief when she left the cell. They would not let her starve. Thus far she had been very lucky. It was only now that she realized that nobody had abused her until now. She wasn’t raped, she hadn’t been whipped. The fact of being nude don’t scare her, as a slave girl she has experienced this form of humilation many times, it was usual for the female to walk nude trough the city up tot he crucifixion side, while the men are allowed to wear a loincloth.

As they came out of the dark hallways into the inner yard of the camp, Jamilla spotted a long, thin, wooden cross lying on the ground. “Pick it up!” one of the soldiers said. Jamilla walked towards the cross and lifted it on her shoulder. There was no use in trying to resist, which would only make it worse for her. Two soldiers came standing next to her and one of them hung a wooden plate around her neck with her name, her age and her crime carved in it. Jamilla expected them to push her forward in to the streets of the city, but they didn’t. Both of the soldiers were looking at a little door behind them. As Jamilla looked at it as well, she saw an other soldier coming out with a hammer, a ladder and a basket with nails. Long heavy spikes…

“So it ’s going to be a full nailing” Jamilla said to herself. Until now she had hoped that they would only use ropes or at least only nail her hands, but as she could count more than two nails, she knew she wouldn’t be that lucky. The soldier loaded the gear on a donkey and the other two gave Jamilla a gentile push on her shoulder. “Let’s go.” They said and the campgates opened.

Jamilla carried her cross through the narrow streets of the city. It wasn’t very heavy but despite the early hour the sun was already shining hot. As she came closer to the crucifixion site, more and more people were watching and following her, yelling things at her. She noted the views of the men, on her slim body, her well-shaped breasts, with the long nipples. Her master has pierced them years ago, she has to wear rings there, and the nipples has grown considerably. Except her long hair, her body has been shaved completely, even if the pubic hair has started to grow back, her crotch is visible for everyone.

“Look at you, you stupid basterds,” Jamilla said to herself “ shouldn’t you be working? No you just want to see me suffer, you want to hear me scream on the cross, you want to see the extreme fear in my eyes when they nail me to it. Well screw you! You think I’m afraid but I’m not, you think I’ll beg them for mercy, beg them not to nail my feet, but you’re wrong, wrong, wrong! I won’t. In fact I’ll show you that it doesn’t scare me, I’ll show you how a proud girl faces her destiny!”

As she took the last turn to the marketplace, Jamilla felt this strange sensation in her underbelly. She knew she was walking her last few steps ever. On the market place, one of the soldiers gave the order to stop right in the middle of the square. She let her cross slip to the ground, took a few steps back and looked at the people that came to see her humiliation. One soldier held a hand on her shoulder and took back the wooden plate as the other one unpacked the gear. The third one began to declare her verdict and why she deserved it. During that time Jamilla realized that the strange feeling in her underbelly wasn’t fear as she thought it was, but pleasure. Her crotch has become wet, she noticed it. Every single person on the square wanted to see her young, nude body exposed on the cross. She knew she turned on every man that came to see her today, but none of them would ever have her. She would remain an unreachable ideal forever. She knew she could give them a spectacle they would never forget, that would make every other women look like durt.

Right now Jamilla realized that her time had come. The third soldier reached the end of his speech.

Jamilla knew what she had to do, she would show the crowd she was not afraid. Slowly she walked towards the cross, looking at the soldiers. Then she turned around, looked at he crowd and went lying down on her cross. Before one of the soldiers could grab her, she placed both of her wrists on the crossbeam, waiting for the nails.

The soldier that was going to nail her held back his two accompagnons. “No, no, don’t grab her. I want to see if she really can take this.” Jamilla looked at him as he put the first heavy spike right on top of her wrist. There was no one holding her wrists in place, yet she did not pulled them away, when the soldier raised his hammer for the first blow. Jamilla looked closely as the point of the first nail was driven into her wrist. “Aagh!” The pain was more than unbearable, it didn’t just stay in her wrist. Like water spilled on a flat stone, the pain started to run in various directions, all through her body. Yet the nail had only cut a few muscles and flesh. Right now he was only pushing on her wristbones, slightly driving them apart. As much as Jamilla was suffering, she couldn’t move her arms. She could only watch how the hammer came down a second time. This time the nail crushed her wristbones. Jamilla could feel the couldnes of the steel against her bones. Again she could not hold back a short scream. The pain had now turned into a supernatural form of agony. One of the soldiers who was standing next to the cross, noticed how Jamilla was rubbing her beautiful bare feet over the sand in a useless attempt to lighten the pain. Although the nail hadn’t reached the beam yet, she managed to keep her tortured wrist in place. Her most beautiful body was already covered with sweat when the hammer came down for the third time. Finally the nail came out of her wrist again and made his first contact with the crossbeam. Jamilla felt a bit relieved because she thought the wrist part was over. Once the nail was through, it would be easier to bare. But she was wrong. The hardness of the wood made it very hard to finish the job. The executioner needed six more blows to get her wrist fully nailed to the beam, every blow causing Jamilla more and more pain in addition to the already unbearable agony…

At the first blow, Jamilla had pulled back her second wrist. “Aagh!” A short scream escaped her mouth every time the nail went deeper. Finally the last blow was given and the executioner stood up. Shortly he admired his work, then he walked over to the other side of the beam to nail her other wrist. Jamilla didn’t know how she did it, but she had managed not to cry. Although only one of the four nails was in place, she was already covered with sweat. She looked at her unnailed wrist once more, then she placed it on the crossbeam as she saw the executioner approached with the second nail. He looked at her beautiful young face while he went across her wrist with his fingers to locate the bones. When he found the right spot, he place the nail on it, held his hammer high up in the sky. Then he waited for a moment to see if Jamilla really wouldn’t pull down her arm now that she knew what it felt like to have one nailed wrist. Then he started his horrible job.

Jamilla thought she knew what she had to expect, but no one could ever get used to a sudden explosion of pure pain like that. Again her short screams filled the air, again her beautiful bare feet rubbed against the sand, but yet the agony seemed like at least a thousand times worse. Again she felt how the nail crushed some of her bones and drove others apart. It was in this pure sensation of nothing-but-absolute-agony- that Jamilla realized something strange. With every blow she screamed her little “AaAgh’s” as a message to every one on the square that she couldn’t take it any more. But now she realized, as her pain reached a new, horrible peak with every other blow that she wanted more. Though the agony made it quite impossible to keep her wrist in place, as long as the nail hadn’t pinned it to the wood, Jamilla realized she was able to do so, because she loved it. From this moment one, she could kill and love the executioner for what he was doing to her at the same time. She hated and admired him because he was able of hurting her like this. Though her agony reached unknown hights with every blow, she couldn’t wait for the next one. She watched closely how the nail disappeared deeper into her wrist and into the wood. When the executioner stood up after the nailing, Jamilla felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. Her body was under tension, shivering, excited, despite the heat her nipples remain hard all the time, and she notes that her juice has started to leak.

Jamilla looked at her beautiful nude body as the soldiers made preparations to pull up the cross. With her arms spread out like this above her head and her legs a bit opened to feel the sand under her feet for the last time, both her beautiful small breasts with their long and hard nipples and shaven pubic were exposed to the crowd. Yet Jamilla felt no shame, she felt only pain and a deep desire for more pain. Two soldiers were tying ropes to both ends of the crossbeam while the third one was placing some small pieces of wood at the bottom of the longpole so that the cross wouldn’t slide over the sand when they tried to raise it. Then they attached the ropes to their donkey as well. Then the executioner kneeled down at Jamilla’s feet. He grabbed them by the ankles and measured the length of her legs. He placed her feet on the longpole, right next to each other, so that her legs were slightly bent. He looked at it, changed the pose a bit, released her feet and carved a little bit of wood out of the pole, where he wanted her feet to be when he nailed them. Jamilla had observed his actions very well. For a moment she thought he was going to nail her feet before they raised the cross. She had loved the feeling of his hand around her feet. The two soldiers made the donkey pull up the cross while the executioner made sure the longpole would slip into the hole that was dug for it. As they raised her cross and her feet left the ground for the last time, Jamilla felt how her weight was no longer carried by the thin longpole but only by the two spikes that pierced her wrists. She had to scream. Little yelps of both extreme agony and pleasure escaped her mouth while the donkey was raising her cross. As her cross was almost in a complete vertical position, Jamilla spotted the carve made by the executioner to indicate the intended position of her feet. While the soldiers were making sure the cross wouldn’t fall back if they cut the ropes, Jamilla tried out her final footpose. With her feet against the longpole and her legs opened widely because of the roundness of the longole, she decided that it was both a humiliating and an exciting pose. Jamilla looked at her elegant ankles and her adorable toes. Soon her most beautiful feet would be nailed. To feel once more the pain of really hanging on a cross, she moved her legs away from the longpole, so that they were just hanging on either side of it. Now the executioner placed his ladder against the cross and climbed up to fulfill his duty.

As the executioner reached the final step of the ladder, Jamilla lowered her left foot and placed it right on the spot the executioner wanted it to be. He put the nail right on the most central spot of her foot, slightly adapted its pose so that the toes were really pointing towards the ground. Then he began the nailing. Once again Jamilla experienced a wave of fresh agony running through her body. Again she felt how the nail pushed against the bones of her foot and crushed them with the second blow. Again she let out her little yells every time the nail went a bit deeper. Even when the nail entered the wood after the third blow, she didn’t dare to put any weight on it. Her foot was causing her the same amount of agony as both her wrists. Oooh, she loved crucifixion right now; She thanked the people that invented this heavenly torture from the bottom of her heart as the final blows were given. As the executioner finished the nailing of her left foot, Jamilla felt a bit sad. Now her other foot was the only thing left. After that, her agony would slowly fade away … So she put her other foot right next to her nailed one. The executioner brought out the last nail. Jamilla closed her eyes as her bully raised his hammer. Very intensely she tried to analyze the waves of pain that were caused by the final spike. As the bones of her right foot were crushed she couldn’t hold back a small yelp. Also when she felt how the nail tore the skin of here sole apart, she simply had to release a little “ Ôah!” As the nail was driven further into her foot and the wood of the longpole, Jamilla first realized she was being put to death in the most cruel, horrible and agonizing way known in the whole of the Roman Empire, and that she just loved it. The soldier smashed the nail a bit deeper for the last time. Then he went down a few steps and nailed the wooden plate that quoted Jamill’s crime, name and age to the longpole, right underneath her beautiful, nailed feet. “Jamilla, twenty one year old, blonde slave, murder, theft and arson.” Then he stepped down, took away his ladder and together with one of his fellows he went back to the camp. The third one staid to guard Jamilla so that no one would get her down of there.

Although it had seamed a lot longer, her crucifixion had only taken half an hour. Now most of the spectators resumed their work on the market. For Jamilla, the real horror of crucifixion was about to begin. Right now she realized that the pain in her wrists became too much to bare, even for someone who loved it, so Jamilla had to push up on her feet. Putting her entire weight on the nails piercing her feet caused her a wonderful amount of pain, yet she had to let go, if she didn’t want to faint, and she fell back on her wrists. But very soon, again, the pain in her wrists forced her to retry the push up. The Romans had spiked her in a very ingenious way. By bending her legs just a little bit, Jamilla had to face the problem where to put her weight, but she couldn’t suffocate that easy. As she looked around to see what the other people who had watched her crucifixion were doing. Some people were still looking at her, pointing out to each other how well she was nailed. Jamilla herself was also admiring the work of her bully. While she was at it, she saw that she wasn’t bleeding as much as she thought. The only blood Yamilla saw was the blood that had run out of the wounds when the nails were still driven in. Meanwhile the soldier that staid behind walked over to the fountain and took a drink. He didn’t return to the cross but went strait to one of the stalls on the market. He decided to watch over her from there, in the shadow. On the cross, Jamilla was exposed to the sun. Very slowly her bronzed skin was burning. As she saw the guard take a drink, Jamilla became aware of her own thirst. She wondered whether she could ask for some water as well. After a while her thirst became so big she decided to risk it. “Can…can I have some water to, please…?” she moaned. The guard fulfilled her request and put a cup filled with water on the top of his spear. Jamilla drunk it all and asked for more several times, especially around noon when the sun was burning every drop of liquid out of her.

Jamilla now realized that the pain wasn’t fading away at all. She didn’t know why but the spikes kept hurting her as much as they did when they were driven into place. She looked once more to the nails piercing her body. As she could clearly feel, al four of them were smashed through some bones. “I wonder…” she thought. Jamilla tried to move her fingers, but some of them didn’t react to her command. Also her toes weren’t completely movable. The sight of the spikes entering her feet and wrists fascinated her. Jamilla tried to reach the head of the nails in her wrists. Her fingers could only touch the top of the nails. Her excitement still remains, and her crotch has started to leak, she notes the liquid running down the lips, and the it drops down to the sand.

As the sun went down and the market became empty, Jamilla first realized she would never leave her cross again. Even her corpse would be left up there after she died. She wondered what it would be like, if she died. Would she pass out and never awake again? She didn’t know.

Jamilla’s first night on the cross was filled with agony. There was now way of getting some sleep up there. If the pain didn’t keep her awake, then the coldness of the night would make sure she didn’t sleep. The hours passed slowly, way to slowly, but when Jamilla finally thought she was used to it, the first rays of sunlight announced a new day….

As the market became crowded again, people returned to her cross to see how she was doing. "You 're realy enjoying this, aren't you?" Jamilla managed to ask her public. Of course they did. "Guess what," Jamilla moaned as a reply, "so do I..."

According to some spectators who had seen a few crucifixions already, Jamilla was “dancing” real nice. She was pushing herself up on the spikes piercing her feet and falling back on her wrists al the time. Even if she didn’t had to push up to get some fresh air, she still forced herself to do so. It largely increased her pain. It was her second day on the cross, but Jamilla felt far from exhausted. Now she knew why she hadn’t been raped or whipped: If she were still strong when they nailed her to her cross, she would last longer. Once again Jamilla looked at her beautiful body. The nails fascinated her, how they disappeared in her wrists and feet. Only four nails, but they put her in hell. Right now the thought crossed her mind that despite of the fact that she had been drinking quite a lot yesterday, she didn’t have to pee. The sun burned away every single drop of liquid, even the water from the fountain. In the afternoon, Jamilla felt how she was becoming weaker and weaker, how the pain slowly faded. Right now she wished she could live through it al again, from the cell, to the first nail, the moment of triumph when she exposed her completely nude body to the overwhelmed crowd, the nailing of her wrists and feet, her complete crucifixion. Later that day Jamilla lost conscience. She didn’t saw how a rich salesman paid of the guarding soldier and ordered his men to get Jamilla down from her cross. She didn’t even realized the nails were pulled out.

Jamilla looked out of the window as the sun came up. Six months had passed since her crucifixion. Her wounds had completely healed. The salesman had dropped her of at one of his houses in a small village while she was still unconscious. An other girl slave had told her everything. She had never seen him until now. He was standing in the inner yard, saying goodbye to someone. Then he entered Jamilla’s room. “You’re so beautiful” he said. “You’re so beautiful that you can ask me anything. Ask me and I’ll do it!” Jamilla looked at him as he touched her face. “Well, there is one thing you could do…” She answered.

Later that morning, the entire village watched how Jamilla publicly undressed herself. Completely nude, she walked over to the cross and went lying down on it. She smiled at the salesman as he approached with the hammer and the nails. “Nail me!” she said.

I confess This fat ugly ho has some pretty good pussy but her asshole feels a lot better she introduced me to analyzing a ho for the first time what would you do to this fat ugly ho

Is this sexting?! Analyze it and break it down. This is my buddy's wife and we've always been friends but I was obviously trying to steer the conversation somewhere and she seemed to go with it. Is it all in my head or was this 100% sexting and why? She was hesitant at first then responed with ok let's do this. Was she getting off to this like I was. When I was texting all this I was hard as a rock what do you guys think

(I made this confession last night, but I never saw it go through, must have been a glitch. Or do confessions take some time before they go up? Sorry if I'm being an idiot, I don't remember too well since I've only done this once before.)
I confess� that I�m at it again! Some of you might remember me writing erotica about Kelly, a close friend of mine. It was pretty well received, and I now have two more stories I�d like to share to ask for critique and such (and if you have any particular requests). So the first one is about a teacher I had a few years back (I had to change her last name, but her first name is the same). I hope you enjoy!
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The last day of the semester was finally here. I fumbled around with a pen on my desk, only half-listening to the very last lecture; nothing of importance would be said, since finals were over. Although I was happy that it was over, like my other colleagues, it was a bittersweet sort of happy. I enjoyed the class quite a bit, especially the teacher; something just clicked with Ms. Oshell. I learned a lot from her this semester, and her carefree personality helped everyone through some stressful times.
��and all in all, I hope you enjoy your summer and use the time wisely.� She concluded at the front of the class. She opened her mouth to utter one last note, but she was rudely interrupted by the bell.
�Oh! And would anybody be kind enough to help me pack the class away for the summer?� she struggled to speak atop the crowd of people forcing their way out through a tiny doorway. I found myself the only one still sitting at my desk, figuring that it was only fair that I help after scoring myself an A for the semester with her help.
�Danny!� Ms. Oshell grinned. She motioned me to join her at the front of the now-empty classroom.
Ms. Oshell was a bit older than me and about my height. She had clean-cut, shoulder length, light brown hair and blue eyes. She already had a light tan upon her usually fair-colored skin, no doubt taking advantage that summer had truly started a few weeks back with the sun getting brighter and hotter since the warm spring days.
�It�s nice to see you volunteer. I just need you to get these boxes over here. I�ll file some paperwork while you do that, but I�ll probably be finished before you are.� She directed. I nodded and got to work.
�Oh, it�s no big deal.� I shrugged.
�More than all of them are doing,� she rolled her eyes, �I�ll have to reward you after this.� She smiled and gave me a wink. I blushed a bit, but readily dismissed it. I was still storing away boxes, and just as she said, she was done before I was. She sat back with a cup of coffee, leaning against her desk, legs crossed. She stuck her hand in her pocket for a moment, then her eyes widened as though she forgot something.
�Ah, crap�Danny, can you help me find my phone?� Ms. Oshell asked. She fumbled around her desk with little luck.
�Maybe I left it in the other room�� she mumbled. I finally put away the last box, and decided to take a look around the room to help her out. I sorted through dozens of boxes, looked high and low. It only took me a few minutes to find it off to the side; it probably fell out of her pocket. I�d just wait until she got back to tell her!
I waited and waited�and she didn�t come back. I sat there awkwardly, not having anything left to do. I looked down at the phone in my hands. Not a bad model! I looked up once more. I shrugged, and although I wasn�t one to snoop, I was a bit curious. I turned the phone on, scrolled through this and that�pictures? Might as well have a look.
Pictures of her dog. Pictures of her friends. Oooh, pictures of the beach! Although I wasn�t one to usually act on this impulse, the dirty half of my mind took over. Perhaps there�d be some of her in a swimsuit?
Success! There she was, grinning for the camera in a dark red bikini. She was smiling with her friends, posing with them in some photos, in the water for others, and there were even a few that a cheeky friend took of her ass while she wasn�t looking. I blushed a bit at how well defined her rump was�
I kept scrolling. I was hoping for more bikini photos, but what I found next was the furthest from what I was expecting.
A full frontal nude! Ms. Oshell was grinning in the photo. Her breasts were small but nothing to jeer at, topped with perk dark pink nipples. She was neatly shaved in her privates, her dark pussy lips sticking out just the tiniest bit. Her body was on complete display; her build was somewhat athletic, well toned. The photo was obviously amateur, given away by its lighting and her home in the background.
My heart skipped a beat or two. I couldn�t say I never fantasized about her, going as far as to make her the star of my orgasm in my head through a few jerk sessions, but I never imagined her like this. My hand shook as I continued to flip through even more like this.
The next one was taken at an extreme angle. The camera was angled to be looking up at her. She was turned so the camera caught most of her right leg and asscheek, although her pose was that of walking, in which one could still see a glimpse of her left left and even her nipples. The next was a simple photo in which she leaned over to perfectly display her ass and her pussy lips between her legs. The next was her sitting in her bath tub! I was eager to see more-
�I�m back!� Ms. Oshell walked in.
�Sorry I took so long, I had to fax so- oh! You found my phone!� she smiled. PANIC! I tapped buttons as quickly as I could, but apparently I wasn�t as familiar with it as I thought. She approached casually, and I was visibly starting to freak out.
�Huh? What�s wrong?� she asked. She snatched the phone from my hand, and I knew it was done. I covered up my face with my hand, feeling humiliated, ready for punishment. She let out an audible gasp.
�DANNY!�
�I�m sorry, I�m so sorry, I just meant to play a game while I was waiting, an-�
�Bull!� she snapped. It felt awful to see her angry, especially after months of her sweet nature. However, her anger, thankfully, subdued.
�Don�t go snooping. Those were from back in my hey-day�� she sighed as she put it away.
�The date says they were taken a few weeks ago�� I felt the need to be sarcastic.
She flipped around and seemed to be struggling between a grin and a glare.
�And how is that your business anyhow? Snooping through your teacher�s personal photos, HMPH!� she snapped again, but with a grin on her face.
�Hmph! Horny early tweentiers, what are you gonna do? Liked what you saw, punk?� she was starting to tease.
�W-Well� yeah. I hope it isn�t awkward to say I think you�re pretty.� I stumbled, very cautious of what I said but somehow felt I was getting myself in a good situation.
�Oh, so you like older women?� she was still laughing, but just seemed a little more serious this time.
�Aren�t you seven years older than me?� I teased.
�Still older.� She crossed her arms. She looked around the room for a moment, then locked eyes with me for a moment, biting her lip and giving me the first truly serious look I had ever seen from her. Her next question seemed to barely be above a whisper.
�Did you really like those photos�?� she started to bite her nail. My God, this could be it! I nodded, breathing a bit more heavily, and she continued asking me questions as she went around the room, locking doors and closing shades.
�Single? Got a condom? You don�t have to do this.� She basically blurted.
�Uh, yes, no, and I�ll do it.� I blushed.
�Me too, I have the day-after pill, good.� She grinned. She took a deep breath and stood in front of her desk, tracing her finger along it. Only now did I really analyze her attire. A plain white blouse, red skirt, and black heels; her reading glasses were on her desk. Just as soon as I processed all that, she turned away, ass facing me, bent over the desk, and lifted her skirt up. She seemed to have caught my shocked face.
�What, want a written invitation? You know I could write a ten page one if I wanted to.� Ms. Oshell giggled. I blinked, grinned, and practically ran up to her.
�Oh wow�Ms. Oshell �� I grinned, getting an eyeful of her ass. She rolled her eyes.
�Call me Stephanie. I don�t want to be reminded I�m banging my student.� She told me. Just the way that rolled off of her tongue, it seemed so satisfying. I wouldn�t even question why she was so eager, because I must have been more so!
I hesitated for a moment, but got right to work. I pulled her red skirt down, which she stepped right out of. I ran my hand down her well-defined legs, down each muscle. She let out a soft moan, so I kept on progressing. I tugged down her panties slowly to get a nice view of her round ass and her puffy pussy lips. She reached behind and slipped a finger in; I only now saw her long, red-painted fingernails. She seemed to be a pro, but I didn�t dare say anything that may compromise this moment. Instead, I thought I knew just what would really get her off.
I kissed her hand to let her know I was there. I gently pulled her hand out, and she effortlessly complied. I took a deep breath, and stuck my tongue out. I took a long, deep lap of her pussy, trailing from her clit up, slipping my tongue into her pussy before pulling out to tease. She moaned loudly, letting me know how well I was doing. She wiggled her wonderful hips, begging for more. I had no issue with this.
I slid my tongue back in, deep as I could. She inhaled deeply, curled her fingers and toes, and even shoved my face into her with her hand. I kept on tongue-fucking her, licking her walls until she became soaking wet, at which point I focused my tongue on her clit and fingered her with my middle finger. I must have reached far enough, as she suddenly arched her back and stifled a scream when I hit one particular spot.
�Ooh, I think I found the elusive G-spot.� I grinned.
�Fuck, now�s NO time for teasing shit! Just fuck me, now!� she whimpered. I never heard her curse, or be so submissive, but both were a welcome addition.
I quickly unbuttoned my jeans and let them fall. I let my boxers fall as well. My cock was erect and upright. I was a bit confused, waiting for Stephanie to at least take a look. After all, she hadn�t turned around the whole time; she was still bent over her desk, staring squarely at the board. She must have read my mind.
�Just stick it in. I want to FEEL how big it is, not see.� She reported. I never heard a girl say something so hot before, let alone to me!
I positioned myself, placing one hand on her ass and using the other to guide my cock into her pussy. I was about to until�
�WAIT!� she called out, still staring ahead.
�Yes, Stephanie?� I did everything in my power to not sound annoyed; the last thing I wanted to do was get on her nerves.
�Um�could you�stick it in my ass?� she turned around. My God, it�s a dream come true! I saw that she had her glasses on (considering she wasn�t reading anything, she must have done that to heighten the student-teacher fantasy). She was blushing a deep red and looked down, looking humiliated.
�Aww, don�t feel embarrassed, it�s fine!� I grinned, being as positive as I could be and comforting her. She grinned now, locking with my eyes, and her adorable bright blush was still there.
�Yeah�I�m an anal virgin, so start gentle�� she was looking down again, her smile gone, now being more serious. I nodded.
I prodded her tight asshole with my finger. Her muscles involuntarily resisted at first.
�Just relax Stephanie, just relax�� I lazily rubbed her clit with my other hand. She moaned softly, sprawling her body across the desk. My finger found entrance into her tightness, and I wiggled around a bit. Her muscles clenched down on me, but now that I was in, I could slowly penetrate deeper and deeper. Soon, my entire finger was inside, wiggling around her most private parts. I grinned, slipping another finger inside gently, rubbing her clit a bit harder at the same time. She gasped at how she was being stretched, and she bit her lip, but her body was starting to accept it.
She rolled over a bit so she could get a good look at me , staring through her glasses. She practically glared, testing me. The entire stare-off, I kept fingering her tight asshole. She finally broke; her face turned to one of utter pleasure.
�God, I can�t keep a straight face like that�� she inhaled, and somehow got said straight face again. I took the opportunity to give her dirty talk.
�You like that, Stephanie? You like to have me fingering your tight asshole?�
�God, yes!�
�You want it?� I asked. She simply stared again.
�Fuck me. In. The ass.� She commanded. I was more than happy to comply! I pulled my fingers out and immediately rubbed the head of my cock against the tight entrance.
�I like it rough, baby! Go for it!� she turned her head and grinned, even giving a little thumbs-up. I grinned, took a deep breath, and slid my cock into her tight asshole.
�Ahh!� she panted. I slowly slid in until my entire length was inside her. I waited a moment, and she nodded, still panting. I saw her reach a hand down to rub her clit, but my rougher side would have none of that. I quickly grabbed both of her wrists and pulled them behind her back.
�Mmm! Yes!� she screamed, apparently REALLY loving it rough. I held both of her wrists in one hand, and used the other to switch between smacking her ass and leaving a distinct red mark and rubbing her clit. The entire time, I roughly fucked her tight ass.
Every thrust brought me closer to the brink than the last. I felt pressure building up, and wanted to know before it was too late�
�Er, inside or out?� I panted.
�On my ass�� she panted.
�IN your ass?� I misheard.
�NO! ON MY ASS! ON MY ASSCHEEKS! I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY ASS!� she screamed out. At that moment, I hit the point of no return. I shoved my fingers into her soaking wet cunt, fingered hard and fast as I roughly rubbed her clit.
�Ah, Stephanie!� I moaned as I splattered my hot, sticky, wet cum all over her ass.
�Mmm, Danny!� clenching her head in her hands, feeling a world-shattering orgasm as her juices splattered against my cock and balls, dripping down in just the same way my cum was dripping down her legs.
�Oooh, God�� Stephanie panted. She reached down lazily into her desk and pulled out a few napkins.
�Want some?� she laughed as she wiped my cum off of her body. I laughed and took a few to wipe my cock as I tiredly got dressed again; she dressed back up as well.
�So�everything satisfying?� Stephanie teased.
�Yeah, but�� I blushed, teasing a little. She seemed annoyed.
�Well�I never saw your tits.� I stuck my tongue out.
�Yes you did. Those photos. Don�t get greedy.� She teased, winked, and blew me a kiss. I grinned, and was sorry to have to leave.
As I was ready to leave, Stephanie reminded me of one thing that truly got my blood to spike.
�See you next semester!�

Many criminal cases, even when investigated by the most
experienced and best qualified investigators, are ultimately
solved by an admission or confession from the person responsible
for committing the crime. Oftentimes, investigators are able to
secure only a minimal amount of evidence, be it physical or
circumstantial, that points directly to a suspect, and in many
instances, this evidence is not considered strong enough by
prosecutors to obtain a conviction. In such cases, the
interrogation of the suspects and their subsequent confessions
are of prime importance.

This article addresses the question of why suspects speak
freely to investigators, and ultimately, sign full confessions.
The physical and psychological aspects of confession and how
they relate to successful interrogations of suspects are also
discussed, as is the "breakthrough," the point in the
interrogation when suspects make an admission, no matter how
minuscule, that begins the process of obtaining a full
confession.

DEFINING INTERROGATION

Interrogation is the questioning of a person suspected of
having committed a crime. (1) It is designed to match acquired
information to a particular suspect in order to secure a
confession. (2) The goals of interrogation include:

* To learn the truth of the crime and how it happened

* To obtain an admission of guilt from the suspect

* To obtain all the facts to determine the method of
operation and the circumstances of the crime in question

* To gather information that enables investigators to arrive
at logical conclusions

* To provide information for use by the prosecutor in
possible court action. (3)

Knowing the definition and objectives of the interrogation,
the question then asked is, "Why do suspects confess?"
Self-condemnation and self-destruction are not normal human
behavioral characteristics. Human beings ordinarily do not
utter unsolicited, spontaneous confessions. (4) It is logical
to conclude, therefore, that when suspects are taken to police
stations to be questioned concerning their involvement in a
particular crime, their immediate reaction will be a refusal to
answer any questions. With the deluge of television programs
that present a clear picture of the Miranda warning and its
application to suspects, one would conclude that no one
questioned about a crime would surrender incriminating
information, much less supply investigators with a signed, full
confession. It would also seem that once suspects sense the
direction in which the investigators are heading, the
conversation would immediately end. However, for various
psychological reasons, suspects continue to speak with
investigators.

SUSPECT PARANOIA

Suspects are never quite sure of exactly what information
investigators possess. They know that the police are
investigating the crime, and in all likelihood, suspects have
followed media accounts of their crimes to determine what leads
the police have. Uppermost in their minds, however, is how to
escape detection and obtain firsthand information about the
investigation and where it is heading.

Such "paranoia" motivates suspects to accompany the police
voluntarily for questioning. Coupled with curiosity, this
paranoia motivates suspects to appear at police headquarters as
"concerned citizens" who have information pertinent to the case.
By doing this, suspects may attempt to supply false or
noncorroborative information in order to lead investigators
astray, gain inside information concerning the case from
investigators, and remove suspicion from themselves by offering
information on the case so investigators will not suspect their
involvement.

For example, in one case, a 22-year-old woman was
discovered in a stairwell outside of a public building. The
woman had been raped and was found naked and bludgeoned.
Investigators interviewed numerous people during the next
several days but were unable to identify any suspects. Media
coverage on the case was extremely high.

Several days into the investigation, a 23-year-old man
appeared at police headquarters with two infants in tow and
informed investigators that he believed he may have some
information regarding the woman's death. The man revealed that
when he was walking home late one evening, he passed the area
where the woman was found and observed a "strange individual"
lurking near an adjacent phone booth. The man said that because
he was frightened of the stranger, he ran back to his home.
After reading the media accounts of the girl's death, he
believed that he should tell the police what he had observed.

The man gave police a physical description of the
"stranger" and then helped an artist to compose a sketch of the
individual. After he left, investigators discovered that the
sketch bore a strong resemblance to the "witness" who provided
the information.

After further investigation, the witness was asked to
return to the police station to answer more questions, which he
did gladly. Some 15 hours into the interrogation, he confessed
to one of his "multiple personalities" having killed the woman,
who was unknown to him, simply because the victim was a woman,
which is what the suspect had always wanted to be.

This case clearly illustrates the need for some suspects to
know exactly what is happening in an investigation. In their
minds, they honestly believe that by hiding behind the guise of
"trying to help," they will, without incriminating themselves,
learn more about the case from the investigators.

INTERROGATION SETTING

In any discussion concerning interrogation, it is necessary
to include a review of the surroundings where a suspect is to be
interrogated. Because there is a general desire to maintain
personal integrity before family members and peer groups,
suspects should be removed from familiar surroundings and taken
to a location that has an atmosphere more conducive to
cooperativeness and truthfulness. (5) The primary psychological
factor contributing to successful interrogations is privacy--
being totally alone with suspects. (6) This privacy prompts
suspects to feel willing to unload the burden of guilt. (7) The
interrogation site should isolate the suspect so that only the
interrogator is present. The suspect's thoughts and responses
should be free from all outside distractions or stimuli.

The interrogation setting also plays an important part in
obtaining confessions. The surroundings should reduce suspect
fears and contribute to the inclination to discuss the crime.
Because fear is a direct reinforcement for defensive mechanisms
(resistance), it is important to erase as many fears as
possible. (8) Therefore, the interrogation room should
establish a business atmosphere as opposed to a police-like
atmosphere. While drab, barren interrogation rooms increase
fear in suspects, a location that displays an open,
you-have-nothing-to fear quality about it can do much to break
down interrogation defensiveness, thereby eliminating a major
barrier. (9) The interrogators tend to disarm the suspects
psychologically by placing them in surroundings that are free
from any fear-inducing distractions.

PSYCHOLOGICAL FACTORS

More than likely, suspects voluntarily accompany
investigators, either in response to a police request to answer
questions or in an attempt to learn information about the
investigation. Once settled in the interrogation room, the
interrogators should treat suspects in a civilized manner, no
matter how vicious or serious the crime might have been. While
they may have feelings of disgust for the suspects, the goal is
to obtain a confession, and it is important that personal
emotions not be revealed. (10)

Investigators should also adopt a compassionate attitude and
attempt to establish a rapport with suspects. In most cases,
suspects commit crimes because they believe that it offers the
best solution to their needs at the moment. (11) Two rules of
thumb to remember are: 1) "There but for the grace of God go
I"; and 2) it is important to establish a common level of
understanding with the suspects. (12) These rules are critical
to persuading suspects to be open, forthright, and honest.
Suspects should be persuaded to look beyond the investigators'
badges and see, instead, officers who listen without judging.
If investigators are able to convince suspects that the key
issue is not the crime itself, but what motivated them to commit
the crime, they will begin to rationalize or explain their
motivating factors.

At this stage of the interrogation, investigators are on
the brink of having suspects break through remaining defensive
barriers to admit involvement in the crime. This is the
critical stage of the interrogation process known as the
breakthrough.

THE BREAKTHROUGH

The breakthrough is the point in the interrogation when
suspects make an admission, no matter how small. (13) In spite of
having been advised of certain protections guaranteed by the
Constitution, most suspects feel a need to confess. Both
hardcore criminals and first-time offenders suffer from the same
pangs of conscience. (14) This is an indication that their defense
mechanisms are diminished, and at this point, the investigators
may push through to elicit the remaining elements of confession.

In order for interrogators to pursue a successful
breakthrough, they must recognize and understand certain
background factors that are unique to a particular suspect.
Many times, criminals exhibit psychological problems that are
the result of having come from homes torn by conflict and
dissension. Also frequently found in the backgrounds of
criminals are parental rejection and inconsistent and severe
punishment. (15) It is important that investigators see beyond
the person sitting before them and realize that past experiences
can impact on current behavior. Once interrogators realize
that the fear of possible punishment, coupled with the loss of
pride in having to admit to committing mistakes, is the basic
inhibitor they must overcome in suspects, they will quickly be
able to formulate questions and analyze responses that will
break through the inhibitors.

SUCCESSFUL INTERROGATIONS

Investigators must conduct every interrogation with the
belief that suspects, when presented with the proper avenue,
will use it to confess their crimes. Research indicates that
most guilty persons who confess are, from the outset, looking
for the proper opening during the interrogation to communicate
their guilt to the interrogators. (16)

Suspects confess when the internal anxiety caused by their
deception outweighs their perceptions of the crime's
consequences. (17) In most instances, suspects have magnified,
in their minds, both the severity of the crime and the possible
repercussions. Interrogators should allay suspect anxiety by
putting these fears into perspective.

Suspects also make admissions or confessions when they
believe that cooperation is the best course of action. (18) If
they are convinced that officers are prepared to listen to all
of the circumstances surrounding the crimes, they will begin to
talk. The psychological and physiological pressures that build
in a person who has committed a crime are best alleviated by
communicating. (19) In order to relieve these suppressed
pressures, suspects explain the circumstances of their crimes
they confess.

And, finally, suspects confess when interrogators are able
to speculate correctly on why the crimes were committed.
Suspects want to know ahead of time that interrogators will
believe what they have to say and will understand what motivated
them to commit the crime.

CONCLUSION

It is natural for suspects to want to preserve their
privacy, civil rights, and liberties. It is also natural for
suspects to resist discussing their criminal acts. For these
very reasons, however, investigators must develop the skills
that enable them to disarm defensive resistors established by
suspects during interrogation. Before suspects will confess,
they must feel comfortable in their surroundings, and they must
have confidence in the interrogators, who should attempt to gain
this confidence by listening intently to them and by allowing
them to verbalize their accounts of the crimes.

Interrogators who understand what motivates suspects to
confess will be better able to formulate effective questions and
analyze suspect responses. Obviously, more goes into gaining a
confession than is contained in this article. However, if the
interrogator fails to understand the motivations of the suspect,
other factors impacting on obtaining the confession will be less
effective.

I am a mixture of the characters of Will Ferrell, House, Lie to Me, and The Rain Man.

- I am completely random and hilariously stupid like Will Ferrell.
- I am really smart, always right, and try to solve puzzles while manipulating people, being an ass, and renting high class prostitutes.
- I can analyze someone logically and from their expressions and what/how they say it.
- I am retarded.

I confess that i've had sexual thoughts/fantasies about my gf's sister. while some of the thoughts were random things in my head, i have to admit that one time my gf got really shit faced and told me she'd fuck around with her sister and me. idk if she remembers completely, but i like to think she does, and i like to think she really would if we ever had the chance. so..they are very similar in personality as well as body, which definitely makes it hotter in my mind. however, its probably the biggest difference between them that turns me on the most. my gf is agreesive and dominant (especially when she's horny and having me pound her pussy), while her sister is much more passive and submissive (keep in mind that the sister is very prudent and timid about sexual things, and it seems as if she hasn't been fucked in a long time, so it would in no way be in her character to be kinky from what ive analyzed). now i'm not saying i'd prefer the sister in the long run or anything, but i'm trying to lean more towards a mixture in the end...as in a kinky fucking threesome. i've thought of my gf agressively eating out her sister's pussy and fingering her until she cums. i like to imagine my gf forcibly telling her sister to eat her pussy and finger her in the ass. i like to imagine that i'm watching it all from across the room while i jerk off. i hear my gf tell her to let me join in. i imagine my gf tacking complete control and treating her sister like a cock-hungry slave as she forces her to suck my dick. my gf holds the sister down until she gags, and then she holds her down again while i lick her pussy. then my gf tells me to fuck her sister, and she tells her to take my big hard dick as i shove it in her pussy. i fuck her until she cums and she loves every second of it, and then my gf turns the sister over and holds her down while she shoves my cock into her tight asshole. i fuck her hard and cum in her ass, leaving her satisfied and reeling from the orgasms. then i turn to my gf and shove my dick with her sister's pussy and ass on it into her mouth until she gags and begs for mercy. the rush would force me to throw her on the ground and ram my hard cock so fucking deep inside of her that she flashes between pleasure and pain at increasingly sporatic intervals until she can't take it and cums all over me to where i can feel in all over my dick, balls, legs, everything. then i have both her and the sister get on their knees beside each other while i cum all over their faces and tits. i imagine the intensity of my gf's forcefulness, paired with her sister's timid sexually starved emotional state would lead to possibly the best orgasm in history.
p.s. my gf is sucking my dick while i'm typing this and i'll probably let her read it and fuck the shit out of her

I confess that I'm lonely... Usually I'm not the needy type but I've been depressed lately and this is a way for me to vent without burdening anyone I actually know. For once I would like to have a girl I can say sincerely say I love you to and have them say it back and mean it as well. I dont know if it's asking too much or even if I deserve it. But I want it. Im at a point in my life where I'm out of high school graduated '07 and everyone has moved on and I've been left. I have no idea how to meet anyone and I'm also not too fond of most people. I find that most people lack common decency and genuine kindness which is probably a problem because I analyze EVERYOE and can usually figure out what they're about in 5 minutes. Even if I find someone I actually like most people upon meeting me think I'm an asshole because I'm more to myself and say what's on my mind rather than what someone wants to hear. But usually I just like to listen. Don't get me wrong I can be assertive I'm capable of holding a conversation. But usually I just like to listen and learn the type of person I'm around.

I'm on the bigger side but honestly I dont think I'm a bad looking guy. I hold myself well I do have a lot of confidence. I've just been in a long rut and It's to the point that I wonder if I'm ever going to get out of it. I'm wondering if it's me or if I just cant find a person I can click with. I know this isnt the place for a sincere post to get help. I dont know if I'm actually looking for help. I just kind of wanted to say what's been on my mind recently.

Tl;dr Baaaawww pretty much

Latina hardly analyzed

http://www.analspermsluts.com/hosted-id389-latina-hard-anal.html

So I was talking to this sexy 19 y/o girl at work. While we were talking she went under her shirt two or three times and was playing with her bra strap. Am I missing something here or simply over analyzing this???