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Luvsociety
前往频道在 Telegram
Official telegram channel of luvsociety ✨♥️ Anonymous Chat bot :- @luvhivebot Any questions dm @luvsocietybot https://t.me/addstickers/luvsociety Social site:- luvhive.in
显示更多📈 Telegram 频道 Luvsociety 的分析概览
频道 Luvsociety (@luvsocietty) 英语 语言赛道中的 是活跃参与者。目前社区聚集了 11 924 名订阅者,在 色情 类别中位列第 26 451,并在 印度 地区排名第 32 824 位。
📊 受众指标与增长动态
自 невідомо 创建以来,项目保持高速增长,吸引了 11 924 名订阅者。
根据 30 八月, 2026 的最新数据,频道保持稳定运转。过去 30 天订阅人数变化为 -197,过去 24 小时变化为 -8,整体触达仍然可观。
- 认证状态: 未认证
- 互动率 (ER): 平均受众互动率为 15.52%。内容发布后 24 小时内通常能获得 5.08% 的反应,占订阅者总量。
- 帖子覆盖: 每篇帖子平均可获得 1 853 次浏览,首日通常累积 606 次浏览。
- 互动与反馈: 受众积极参与,单帖平均反应数为 27。
- 主题关注点: 内容集中在 intimacy, leg, comfort, erection, pleasure 等核心主题上。
📝 描述与内容策略
作者将该频道定位为表达主观观点的平台:
“Official telegram channel of luvsociety ✨♥️
Anonymous Chat bot :- @luvhivebot
Any questions dm @luvsocietybot
https://t.me/addstickers/luvsociety
Social site:- luvhive.in”
凭借高频更新(最新数据采集于 31 八月, 2026),频道始终保持新鲜度与高覆盖。分析显示受众积极互动,使其成为 色情 类别中的关键影响点。
11 924
订阅者
-824 小时
-297 天
-19730 天
1 853
帖子浏览量
~ 60624 小时
~ 81548 小时
15.52%
参与率
~ 1
每日帖子数
数据加载中...
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频道帖子
Eat her the way you want her mouth on you. No rushing the first taste. No skipping the places that make her twitch. Tongue flat through every fold, then pointed right where she is already wet, then sealed over her like you want her sealed over you.
Stay down there. Work her like you want her working your cock. Slow on the sensitive spot, greedy when she starts dripping, swallowing what she gives you instead of pulling away. Look up at her while you do it. Let her see how badly you need this. Let her feel your jaw working the same way you want to feel her lips stretching.
Do not stop when her thighs shake. That is the part you would want her to keep going through. Keep licking, keep drinking, keep your mouth buried until she comes on your tongue the way you want to come in her throat. That is how you eat her. Like it is the same hunger, just turned the other way.
| 2 | You get thrown onto the bed the second the door shuts. No warning, no slow walk across the room. Just your back hitting the mattress and my mouth already on you.
I kiss every corner like I have been keeping a list. The side of your neck where your pulse jumps. The hollow of your throat. Both collarbones. The warm underside of each breast. The soft skin beside your navel. The crease where your thigh begins. I do not rush past the backs of your knees or the inside of your wrists. I take my time on every quiet place most people forget, until your breathing changes and your legs fall open without being asked.
Then my tongue finally gets to work the way it has been aching to. I drag it through you slow at first, tasting how wet you already are from being handled like that. Then I settle in and stay. Flat strokes, then pointed, then my mouth sealed over you while I drink what you keep giving me. You feel how badly it needs this. How it does not come up for air. How it keeps working even when your thighs start to shake and your hands twist in the sheets.
I do not stop at one corner of you. I want all of them marked, kissed, and ruined a little by the time the night is done. | 177 |
| 3 | With time, I’ve realised something about loneliness.
It’s good to learn how to be alone.
It’s good to enjoy your own company, to stop needing constant noise, constant people, constant validation. There is a different kind of peace in knowing that you can sit with yourself and still feel complete.
But don’t make a performance out of it.
Don’t keep telling the world how much you love being alone.
Don’t turn loneliness into your personality just because you finally learned how to survive it.
Some things become more beautiful when they stay private.
Let people wonder why you’re so peaceful.
Let them wonder how you became comfortable with silence.
Let them wonder why you stopped chasing people just to avoid being alone.
They don’t need to know everything.
Because the moment you constantly need to prove how happy you are alone, solitude slowly stops being peace.
It starts becoming something you need other people to notice.
And that defeats the whole point.
Enjoy your own company quietly.
Build your life quietly.
Eat alone.
Travel alone.
Sit in cafés alone.
Take yourself somewhere beautiful without needing anyone beside you.
Spend entire evenings with yourself and feel absolutely fine about it.
But you don’t need to announce every time you choose yourself.
You don’t need to make independence look impressive.
There is something far more powerful about someone who has learned to enjoy their own presence without needing an audience for it.
And never become so proud of being alone that you start treating connection like weakness.
That part matters.
Because solitude can heal you, but if you hold onto it too tightly, it can also become another wall.
Being independent is beautiful.
Knowing you can survive without constantly leaning on someone is beautiful.
Not needing another person to complete you is beautiful.
But still having enough softness left to let the right people come close is even more beautiful.
You should be able to love your own company without becoming afraid of someone else’s.
You should be able to protect your peace without turning your heart into a locked room.
You should be able to say, “I am okay alone,” without secretly making it mean, “I will never need anyone again.”
There is a difference.
So learn solitude.
Love it.
Protect it.
Let it teach you who you are when nobody else is around.
Just don’t worship it.
Don’t become so attached to being alone that loneliness starts feeling safer than love, friendship, vulnerability, or genuine connection.
Some chapters are meant to be lived quietly.
Some healing doesn’t need witnesses.
Some peace becomes more sacred when nobody knows how hard you had to fight for it.
Let the world see your calm.
Let them notice that you stopped chasing.
Let them notice that silence no longer scares you.
But they don’t need the full story.
They don’t need to know how many lonely nights taught you how to become your own company.
Because sometimes the most powerful kind of peace is the one you never had to prove.
Let the world see that you’re at peace.
It doesn’t need to know how lonely you had to become before you found it🤍🖤 | 611 |
| 4 | 10 real facts about the clitoris🔥
1. Only the tip is visible. About four-fifths of the clitoris is inside the body.
2. The visible tip is called the glans. That is the most sensitive part.
3. The clitoris has 10,280+ nerve fibers.
4. The full organ is shaped like a wishbone. It has a body, two legs, and two bulbs.
5. Those inner legs and bulbs wrap around the vagina. That is why penetration can still feel clitoral.
6. The body and legs are erectile tissue. During arousal they fill with blood and can swell two to three times.
7. The clitoris has no role in peeing. The urethra opens separately, just behind the glans.
8. It grows from the same tissue as the penis. Most of it just stays inside.
9. Size is set mainly by genetics and sex hormones, especially before birth. It varies a lot from person to person.
10. It is the only human organ whose known job is sexual pleasure. | 661 |
| 5 | Heart = Dead
Still beating, just not for anything anymore.
Brain = Haunted
Every quiet moment turns into another memory it never asked to keep.
Eyes = Hollow
They have seen too much and somehow still pretend not to.
Mind = Fractured
Too many thoughts living in places that were meant for peace.
Lungs = Drowning
Breathing is easy. Feeling alive is the difficult part.
Soul = Withered
Once full of light, now surviving on whatever little warmth is left.
Nerves = Burnt
Always alert, always waiting for the next thing to go wrong.
Hands = Empty
Held so much, lost so much, and somehow ended up with nothing.
Stomach = Knotted
Carries every fear the mouth refuses to speak.
Chest = Heavy
A whole storm sits there, but nothing ever falls out.
Throat = Choked
Too many words died here before they ever became sound.
Ears = Echoing
Still hearing things that were said years ago.
Skin = Scarred
Some wounds closed. The body remembers them anyway.
Spine = Tired
Spent too long holding everything together for everyone else.
Blood = Cold
Still moving, but the warmth left a long time ago.
Pulse = Distant
Proof that life is still there, even when it barely feels like it.
Sleep = Broken
The body rests. The mind never really does.
Smile = Masked
Looks alive enough to stop people from asking questions.
Voice = Buried
There was too much to say, so eventually silence became easier.
Hope = Fading
Not completely gone, just too tired to shine the way it used to. | 643 |
| 6 | I think I finally understand why praying deeply, and praying often, slowly takes something away from you.
Your pride.
Because the more you pray, the more you realise how little control you actually have.
You keep coming back with the same fears, the same weaknesses, the same mistakes, the same hopes.
You ask for forgiveness again.
And then one day, somewhere in the middle of that prayer, a thought hits you.
How can I keep asking to be forgiven while I am still holding so tightly to what someone else did to me?
How can I ask for mercy while refusing to give even a little of it?
How can I stand before God with a list of everything I want, while forgetting how much I have already been given?
That is what prayer slowly does to you.
It makes you look inward.
Not at how good you are.
At how much you still need to grow.
You begin to understand that praying every day does not automatically make you holy.
Sometimes it does the opposite.
It makes you painfully aware of your own flaws.
Your impatience.
Your anger.
Your ego.
The grudges you keep feeding.
The mistakes you repeat even after promising yourself you would change.
And somewhere in all of that, you begin to understand Mahadev a little differently too.
Not only as the one you go to when you need something.
But as the one before whom you can stand with nothing hidden.
No performance.
No pretending.
No need to prove that you are good enough.
Just you, with all your flaws, your guilt, your anger, your confusion, your devotion.
And somehow that itself humbles you.
Because the closer you feel to Mahadev, the less interested you become in proving yourself to the world.
You stop asking to look powerful.
You start asking for the strength to become peaceful.
You stop asking to win every battle.
You start asking for the wisdom to know which battles are worth fighting.
You stop asking only for things outside you to change.
You start asking for something inside you to change too.
Make me softer.
Make me less proud.
Help me forgive.
Help me love better.
Help me recognise what I already have.
Help me carry grace without acting like I earned it.
Prayer begins to make you smaller in the right way.
You stop approaching God like someone who deserves everything.
You start approaching Him like someone who needs grace.
Someone who needs mercy.
Someone who is still learning.
Someone who does not have everything figured out.
And maybe that is where real humility begins.
Not in thinking less of yourself, but in finally understanding that you are no better than the people you judge so easily.
You are human too.
You fail too.
You hurt people too.
You need forgiveness too.
And when that pride begins to fall away, something else starts changing.
You become more grateful.
You start noticing the things that were always there.
The prayers that were answered so quietly you almost missed them.
The people who stayed.
The doors that closed and later made sense.
The ordinary mornings you once took for granted.
The peace that returned slowly.
The things you kept calling small until you realised how empty life would feel without them.
You begin to see that so much of what you once thought you deserved was actually grace.
And that changes the way you pray.
You stop asking only for more.
You start saying thank you more often.
You stop going to Mahadev only with your wishes.
Sometimes you simply sit there and say,
“I have nothing to ask today. I just wanted to be here.”
Maybe that is where devotion changes.
When prayer stops being only about receiving.
When it becomes surrender.
When it becomes gratitude.
When it becomes sitting quietly before Mahadev and allowing your ego to become a little smaller, your heart a little softer, and your mind a little calmer.
Maybe praying more does not make you holy.
Maybe it simply keeps bringing you back to the place where holiness can begin.
With love.
With gratitude.
With surrender.
And with the kind of humility that makes you bow before Mahadev and realise that sometimes the greatest blessing is not getting everything you asked for.
It is becoming someone better while you were asking. | 631 |
| 7 | Come over. Right now. Do not text, do not stall, do not put on anything cute. Walk through the door, lock it, and climb on. I want those thighs around my head like a vice. Heavy, hot, unapologetic. Sit that dripping cunt straight on my mouth and stay there until my jaw locks and my lungs burn.
I will eat you like I have been starving for days. Tongue flat first, dragging through every fold, collecting that thick wetness that is already sliding down your inner thighs before you even sit. Then I will push in, deep, fucking you with my tongue while my nose is crushed against your clit. You will feel me trying to breathe and failing. That is the point. Clamp harder when I twitch. Grind down when I moan into you. Use my face. Ride it. Suffocate me on purpose.
Your smell will fill everything. That raw, sweet-musk heat that only comes when you are already soaked and getting wetter because I cannot get away. I will swallow what you give me and go back for more. Lips sealed around your clit, sucking in time with the roll of your hips, two fingers sliding into you from below because my mouth is busy drowning. You will feel how hard I am. Cock leaking against my stomach, untouched, because both my hands will be on your ass pulling you down harder, spreading you so I can get deeper.
Do not lift up when I start to shake. Do not get kind. When my hands slap your thighs and my body jerks for air, press closer. Let me hear how wet you are from up there, that filthy slick sound every time you drag across my tongue. Talk to me while you do it. Tell me how good my mouth feels when I can barely use it. Tell me you can feel me getting desperate under you. Tell me to keep licking even when my vision spots.
I want you to come on my face like that. Thighs locked, weight fully on me, cunt pulsing against my tongue while I drink it. Keep sitting through it. Keep grinding. I will keep eating you through the aftershocks, sloppy and starving, chin shining, nose full of you, until you decide I have earned a breath. Even then, only lift enough for me to gasp once. Then sit back down and start again.
Come over and do it. I am already hard just writing this. I want to finish the night with your taste in the back of my throat and the shape of your thighs still burned across my ears🤤💦 | 689 |
| 8 | Orgasm... with fingers only
In this case, vaginal fingering helps us 👌
When there is penetration and caressing of the labia, as well as the clitoris, pussy and sensitive area of the girl's lower abdomen.
The technique is called 'Come to me':
- Bringing the babe to maximum arousal, take off her panties and gently lay her on her back
- Insert one finger into the pussy and with the other hand caress the abdominal area.
- Add a second finger and rotate the hand so that the thumb pads look up
- Begin the movement as if you are gesturing towards me. Slowly at first, then faster.
- At this time, stimulate the clitoris, belly, nipples with the other hand.
With this kind of fingering, the girl will just 'explode' in orgasm in a few minutes... Trust me 🙌
Try it and give your girl a vivid orgasm 💦 | 794 |
| 9 | He stood, rinsed both of them, and wrapped her in a towel. They did not go back to the bed immediately. He sat on the closed toilet lid and pulled her into his lap, her back to his chest, and just held her while the rain grew heavier outside. His cock was still hard against the cleft of her ass. Every few minutes he would roll his hips once, a reminder, nothing more.
When they returned to the bedroom the sheets were cool. He laid her on her stomach and started at her feet. He had a small bottle of coconut oil in the drawer. He warmed it in his palms and worked it into her calves, the backs of her knees, the heavy muscle of her thighs. When he reached the curve of her ass he used more oil and took his time, thumbs pressing into the crease, spreading her just enough to look, then closing her again. He oiled the small of her back, her shoulders, the nape of her neck. By the time he told her to turn over she was pliant and flushed.
He oiled her front the same way. Breasts first, paying attention to the undersides and the nipples that were still tender. Then her stomach. Then he parted her legs and oiled the insides of her thighs, his fingers sliding through her folds, adding the oil to the wetness already there. He did not enter her. He just kept stroking, two fingers on either side of her clit, until she was moving against his hand and asking him, voice gone low, to put it in.
He did. This time he stayed on his knees, her legs over his shoulders, and watched himself disappear into her. The oil and her own wetness made the slide filthy and easy. He fucked her like that until her third orgasm of the night rolled through her, longer than the others, her mouth open and silent. Only then did he let himself go. He dropped forward, buried his face in her neck, and came inside her with a groan that sounded like it had been held for weeks.
They lay still for a long time after. Rain continued on the balcony. Somewhere a two-wheeler went past on the wet road. Aditya’s hand rested on her stomach, possessive and quiet.
Later, much later, when the rain had slowed to a drizzle, he woke her by kissing down her spine. They did not speak. He turned her onto her side, lifted her top leg, and entered her from behind, one arm around her waist, the other hand between her legs, two fingers on her clit. It was slower than before, almost lazy, the kind of fucking that happens when two people have already taken the edge off and now want to stay joined. He talked less. He just breathed against her neck and moved inside her until she came one last time, smaller, almost private, and he followed a minute after.
In the morning the workshop felt like something that belonged to a different woman. Kavya sat in the back row of the hall in Indiranagar and crossed her legs carefully. She was still sore in the best way. Every time she shifted she felt the faint ache and the memory of his mouth and the oil and the way he had looked at her on the kitchen counter. At lunch she stepped outside and messaged him.
*I can still feel you.*
He replied within a minute.
*Good. Don’t wash it off. I want you smelling like last night when you come back.*
She went back to the session with her thighs pressed together and a slow heat already starting again low in her belly. The city outside continued its ordinary Thursday: autos, filter coffee, the smell of rain that had not quite finished. Inside her the night was still happening, scene after scene, none of them finished. | 779 |
| 10 | Rain Between Us
Kavya landed in Bangalore on a Thursday afternoon when the sky was already turning the colour of wet slate. The air at Kempegowda felt thicker than Mumbai’s, cooler, carrying the smell of rain on laterite and the faint sweetness of rain trees. She had come for a two-day design workshop in Indiranagar and told herself that was the only reason. Aditya had messaged the night before: *Stay at mine. Guest room is ready. No arguments.*
His apartment sat on the third floor of an old house converted into four flats off 12th Main, near the 100 Feet Road. High ceilings, red oxide floors in the kitchen, a narrow balcony that looked over a gulmohar that dropped orange petals onto the compound wall. When he opened the door he was in a faded black t-shirt and cotton shorts, hair still damp from a shower. He did not hug her at once. He looked at her for a long second, the way a man looks when he has been thinking about a woman for months and now she is standing in his doorway with a small suitcase and rain still clinging to her hair.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I look like I sat next to a crying baby for two hours.”
He took the suitcase from her hand, set it down, and only then pulled her in. The kiss started polite, the kind you give someone you have history with. It did not stay polite. His mouth opened against hers, slow, tasting the coffee she had drunk at the airport. One hand stayed at the small of her back. The other slid under the damp hem of her kurta and found the warm skin just above her jeans. He did not go further. He just kept his palm there, thumb moving in a small circle, while he kissed her like he had all evening and no workshop in the morning.
They cooked together because neither wanted to go out again. He made egg bhurji the way she liked it, extra green chilli, extra coriander. She stood behind him at the stove and linked her arms around his waist, cheek against his shoulder blade. Every few minutes his hand would come back and rest on her thigh, squeezing once, then leaving. The apartment filled with the smell of cumin and wet earth from the open balcony door. After they ate he washed the plates while she sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. He dried his hands, walked over, and stepped between her knees.
This time the kiss had no politeness left. He pushed her kurta up to her ribs and looked at the plain black bra she had worn for travel. He did not unhook it. He bent and put his mouth on the swell of her breast through the fabric, breathing heat through the cotton until her nipple tightened. His teeth closed gently. She made a small sound and her fingers went into his hair. He stayed there a long time, switching sides, using only his mouth and the pressure of his hands on her waist, until the fabric was damp and she was shifting on the counter.
“Not here,” he said against her skin. “I want you lying down.”
The bedroom was simple. White sheets, one window open to the sound of traffic and the occasional burst of rain. He undressed her without hurry. Kurta first, then jeans, then the bra. He left her in the black panties and sat back on his heels to look. Kavya was not used to being looked at like that for so long. Most men rushed. Aditya traced the line of her hipbone with one finger, then the crease where thigh met body, then the damp spot already visible on the cotton.
“You’re already wet.”
“I know.”
He hooked his fingers in the sides of the panties and drew them down her legs. When they were off he parted her knees and simply looked again. Then he lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue was flat and slow, from the entrance up to her clit and back, as if he were learning the shape of her all over again. He did not suck yet. He licked in long strokes, pausing every few seconds to breathe against her, to press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, to look up at her face. Kavya’s hands fisted in the sheet. Her hips tried to lift. He held them down with one forearm and kept the same unhurried pace until her breathing changed and a thin sound started coming from her throat.
Only then did he close his mouth over her clit and suck, gentle at first, then firmer, two fingers sliding into her at the same time. He curled them and found the spot that made her thighs shake. He did not speed up. He stayed there, sucking and stroking in the same rhythm, until she came with her head turned into the pillow and one hand covering her mouth. He kept his mouth on her through it, lighter now, drinking what she gave him.
When she could speak she said, “Your turn.”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I want you to stay like this a while.”
He lay beside her and kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His cock was hard against her hip, still inside his shorts. She reached for it. He caught her wrist.
“Later. I want to take my time with the rest of you first.”
He spent the next twenty minutes on her breasts. No rushing there either. He licked around each nipple until it was tight and dark, then took it into his mouth and used his tongue in small circles while his fingers played with the other. When she arched he bit down just enough to make her gasp. He switched sides. He used the edge of his teeth, then the flat of his tongue, then the heat of his breath. By the time he stopped both nipples were swollen and shiny and she was wet again, the insides of her thighs slick.
He stood and took off his own clothes. Kavya watched the way his cock stood against his stomach, thick, the head already wet. He did not ask her to touch it. He climbed back onto the bed, knelt between her legs, and rubbed the head up and down her slit, coating himself in her, pressing against her clit on every upward stroke. He did this until she was lifting to meet him, until she said his name like a request.
He pushed in slowly. One long, controlled thrust that seated him to the base. He stayed there without moving, forehead against hers, letting her feel how full she was. Then he began to move. Deep, unhurried strokes that dragged against the same place his fingers had found earlier. He talked while he fucked her, low and close to her ear.
“You get so wet the second I put my mouth on you. I felt it through your panties in the kitchen. I thought about this the whole flight you were on. Thought about how you’d taste after two months. You’re tighter than I remembered.”
Each sentence was punctuated by a thrust that made her breath catch. He kept the pace steady even when she started to shake again. When she came the second time he did not stop. He held her hips and kept going, slower now, letting her ride the aftershocks until she was making small broken sounds and her nails were in his back.
He pulled out before he finished. She made a noise of protest. He kissed it off her mouth.
“Shower,” he said. “I want to wash you and then start again.”
The bathroom was small, white tiles, a window that let in the sound of rain hitting the tin shade below. He turned the water on warm and pulled her under it with him. He soaped his hands and washed her slowly: shoulders, the slope of her breasts, the soft skin of her stomach, between her legs where she was still sensitive. He spent extra time there, two fingers sliding through the lather, not entering, just stroking her outer lips and clit until her knees weakened and she had to hold the wall.
Then he turned her to face the tiles, placed her hands on the wall, and knelt behind her. The water ran down her back and over his hair as he put his mouth on her from behind. This angle was different. Deeper. He licked into her, then moved up to the tight furl of her ass and circled it with his tongue while two fingers fucked her slowly. Kavya’s forehead dropped against the tile. The combination of warm water, his tongue, and the stretch of his fingers made her come again, quieter this time, legs trembling so hard he had to hold her up. | 828 |
| 11 | Happy Rakshabandhan 🌺❤️ | 1 043 |
| 12 | You remember what I love, and I remember the things you quietly dislike.
Maybe that is one of the purest forms of love.
Not just knowing someone’s favourite song, food, place, or colour.
But knowing what makes them go silent.
What makes them uncomfortable.
What kind of day makes them withdraw.
What kind of words stay with them longer than they admit.
To love someone is to pay attention.
To notice.
To remember.
To know what makes their heart lighter, and what makes it heavy.
You remember the little things that make me smile.
And I remember the things that make your world feel a little harder.
So when life gets too much for you, I don’t want you fighting it alone.
You don’t need to explain every storm before I stand beside you.
You don’t need to tell me exactly what happened before I decide to stay.
You don’t have to look strong for me.
If tonight feels heavy, I’ll stay until it feels a little softer.
If your mind gets too loud, I’ll sit with you until the noise settles.
If you don’t feel like talking, then we won’t talk.
I’ll still be there.
Because love is not only being there when someone is easy to understand.
It is learning the parts of them that are complicated too.
Knowing what hurts them and becoming careful with it.
Knowing what scares them and never using it against them.
Knowing when they need reassurance, when they need silence, and when they simply need someone close enough to remind them that they are not carrying everything alone.
You have spent enough nights trying to be strong by yourself.
Enough time standing in storms and pretending the rain doesn’t hurt.
You don’t have to do that with me.
On your best days, I’ll celebrate every part of you.
On your worst ones, I’ll sit beside you without making you feel guilty for having them.
And if all you can do some days is survive the day, then I’ll never ask you to be more than that.
Maybe this is what love really comes down to.
To know someone deeply.
To remember what they never thought anyone would notice.
To protect the parts they trusted you enough to reveal.
To see through every smile, every silence, every “I’m fine.”
And still choose them.
Again and again.
So if one day the whole world feels too heavy, you don’t have to ask whether I’ll stay.
I want you to already know the answer.
I see you.
The soft parts.
The difficult parts.
The tired parts.
The parts you hide from everyone else.
All of you.
And I’m still here. | 1 198 |
| 13 | Bro I think you’re mixing up orgasm and ejaculation. They’re not the same thing in women.
A girl can orgasm completely normally without any fluid coming out. Some get wetter, some release a little fluid, some may squirt, and some have almost nothing noticeable at all. So fluid is not the proof that she came.
If she’s telling you she’s close and then says she came, don’t keep waiting for some visible ejaculation like it happens with men.
You may notice her breathing change, body getting tense, pelvic contractions, suddenly becoming very sensitive or wanting you to slow down or stop after that, but even these things are different for every girl.
Best thing is just talk to her. Ask her what she actually feels when she orgasms and what feels best for her. That will tell you much more than checking for fluid.
https://ngl.link/luvsociety2 | 1 184 |
| 14 | Bro if it’s only happening in cowgirl and you’re fine in other positions, I wouldn’t overthink it. That position can just be way more stimulating because she controls the rhythm and you don’t have the same control over pace.
Just tell her to start slower. If you feel you’re getting too close, pause for a bit, change the rhythm, breathe properly and relax your body instead of tensing everything trying to stop yourself. Even a slightly thicker condom can help if sensitivity is the main issue.
And don’t make sex into a timing competition. If both of you are enjoying it, that matters more than proving you can last some fixed number of minutes.
If you’re finishing very quickly in almost every position regularly and you genuinely can’t control it, then yeah, that’s something worth looking into. But from what you’re describing, it sounds more like cowgirl just hits you harder than the others.
https://ngl.link/luvsociety2 | 1 171 |
| 15 | I don’t really care if you compliment my looks.
What I care about is my mind.
I want you to leave a conversation with me and still carry something from it.
A thought you had never considered.
A question you can’t immediately answer.
A perspective that keeps coming back to you later.
I want my mind to stay rent free in yours.
I want you to talk about the way I think when I’m not even in the room.
Not because I said something complicated.
Because I made you see something differently.
That is the kind of impression I want to leave.
You can forget how I looked that day.
Just don’t forget the way my mind made yours move🏠 | 1 618 |
| 16 | “When I started missing you in places we had never even gone together.”
“When taking care of you stopped feeling like something I was doing and started feeling completely natural.”
“When I realised that a good day felt better if I got to tell you about it.”
“When I realised that I didn’t just want moments with you.”
“I wanted years.”
He looked at her and smiled.
“So maybe I never had one big moment where I suddenly fell in love.”
“Maybe it happened slowly.”
“One conversation.”
“One worry.”
“One laugh.”
“One ordinary day after another.”
“And maybe it’s still happening.”
“Because every time I think I know everything I love about you, you do something small and I find another reason.”
“And I hope that never stops.”
“I hope years from now you can ask me the same question and I still won’t know how to finish the answer.”
“Because I don’t think I ever want loving you to become something I can explain completely.”
“I just want it to keep growing while we’re busy living.”
“And maybe one day, after a very long time, I’ll look back and realise that I spent half my life answering the same question.”
“When did I fall in love with you?”
He smiled.
“I don’t know.”
“I just know that somewhere along the way, life stopped feeling like something I wanted to experience alone.”
“And somehow, every version of it I wanted started having you in it.” | 1 569 |
| 17 | She asked him one night,
“When did you actually fall in love with me?”
He smiled and looked at her for a few seconds.
“I don’t know.”
She laughed.
“That’s a terrible answer.”
“No, I mean it. I really don’t know when it happened. I don’t think there was one particular day.”
He looked down at her hand resting beside his.
“I think you just slowly became important to me.”
“At first, I liked talking to you. I liked seeing you. I liked knowing that I would hear from you at some point during the day.”
“Then somewhere along the way, it became more than that.”
“I started noticing things.”
“The way you go quiet when something is bothering you.”
“The way you say you’re fine when you clearly aren’t.”
“The way you forget to eat when you have too much on your mind.”
“The way you get annoyed over small things when you’re tired.”
“The way you sometimes need someone around you but will never directly ask them to stay.”
She looked at him and smiled.
“You noticed all that?”
“Of course I did.”
He smiled back.
“I noticed more than you think.”
“I noticed how your voice sounds when you’ve had a bad day. I noticed how differently you laugh when you’re actually happy. I noticed that when you’re hurt, you don’t always talk about what happened. You just become a little quieter.”
“And after some time, I stopped needing you to explain everything.”
“I could tell.”
“I could tell when something was wrong.”
“I could tell when you wanted to talk.”
“I could tell when you didn’t want advice and just wanted someone to sit there.”
“I could even tell when your ‘nothing’ actually meant there was a lot going on inside your head.”
She stayed quiet.
He continued.
“I think that’s when it started feeling different.”
“When your day began to matter to me even when I wasn’t part of it.”
“When I wanted to know if you had eaten.”
“When I wanted to know whether you reached home safely.”
“When I knew you were sick and kept checking my phone waiting for you to tell me you were feeling better.”
“When you were upset about something and somehow I couldn’t completely relax either.”
“It wasn’t dramatic.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
“It was very ordinary.”
“Almost boring sometimes.”
“I would see something funny and immediately think of sending it to you.”
“I would hear a song and wonder if you would like it.”
“I would go somewhere nice and think you should have been there.”
“Something good would happen and you would be one of the first people I wanted to tell.”
“Something bad would happen and somehow hearing your voice made it feel a little less heavy.”
He paused.
“Then you started appearing in my future without me even trying.”
She looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Just normal things.”
“I would think about travelling somewhere and imagine you complaining about the weather.”
“I would see some little café and think you would probably order the same thing you always do.”
“I would imagine having a place of my own one day and somehow there would be your things lying around in it.”
“Your charger somewhere it shouldn’t be.”
“Your cup on the table.”
“Your hair tie in some random place.”
“You telling me that I never keep anything properly.”
She laughed.
“That sounds accurate.”
“I know.”
He laughed too.
“And that’s what scared me a little.”
“Because I realised I wasn’t only imagining the beautiful parts.”
“I wasn’t thinking about some perfect version of us.”
“I was thinking about normal life.”
“You being irritated.”
“Me being tired.”
“Both of us having nothing interesting to say.”
“Going out to buy something stupid.”
“Arguing about where to eat.”
“You stealing my side of the bed and then denying it.”
“Days where nothing special happens.”
“And somehow I still wanted all of it.”
He looked at her again.
“That’s when I knew it wasn’t just attraction.”
“I didn’t only want your best version.”
“I wanted the tired you.”
“The confused you.”
“The angry you.”
“The version of you who thinks too much.”
“The version that gets scared and starts pushing people away.”
“The version that acts like she doesn’t care when she actually cares too much.”
“The version that sometimes doesn’t even understand what she’s feeling herself.”
“I wanted to know that person too.”
She asked softly,
“Even the difficult parts?”
“Especially the difficult parts.”
“Because I never wanted you to feel like you had to perform around me.”
“I don’t want you to always be happy because I’m there.”
“I don’t need you to always be easy.”
“I don’t need you to look beautiful every time I see you.”
“I don’t need every conversation with you to be interesting.”
“I just want you to be yourself.”
“If you’ve had a horrible day, have a horrible day with me.”
“If you’re angry, be angry.”
“If you’re sad and don’t know why, you don’t need to invent a reason.”
“If you want to sit quietly for an hour, I can sit quietly too.”
He stopped for a second.
“I think that’s what loving you became.”
“Not constantly trying to make you happy.”
“Just wanting you to feel safe enough to be honest.”
She looked at him differently after that.
Then she asked,
“So what exactly do you love about me?”
He laughed.
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
He thought for a moment.
“I love how much you care, even though you pretend sometimes that you don’t.”
“I love that you remember tiny things about people.”
“I love how serious you become when something matters to you.”
“I love how your face changes when you’re excited.”
“I love that sometimes you start telling me one story and somehow twenty minutes later we are talking about something completely unrelated.”
“I love the way you get stubborn when you know I’m right but don’t want to admit it.”
She hit his arm.
He laughed.
“See, that too.”
“I love that.”
“I love that you can be very strong and still need reassurance.”
“I love that sometimes you want attention but will do absolutely everything except actually say that you want attention.”
“I love your contradictions.”
“You want people close, but sometimes you disappear when you’re overwhelmed.”
“You feel everything deeply, but sometimes you act like nothing affects you.”
“You want someone to understand you, but half the time you don’t tell them what you’re feeling.”
“You can be so independent and still have moments where you just want someone to take care of you.”
“And I don’t know why, but I love all of that.”
She was smiling now.
He looked at her and his expression changed.
A little more serious.
“You know what I love most?”
“What?”
“That I still don’t feel like I completely know you.”
She frowned.
“After all this?”
“Yeah.”
“And I like that.”
“Because you keep changing.”
“There are still things you haven’t told me.”
“There are versions of you I haven’t met yet.”
“There are things you will love five years from now that you don’t even care about today.”
“There are things that scare you now that one day won’t scare you anymore.”
“You’ll change your mind about things.”
“You’ll become softer in some places and stronger in others.”
“And I want to be there long enough to meet those versions too.”
She looked away for a moment.
Then she asked,
“So you think you’ll still love me when I change?”
He smiled.
“I think that’s the whole point.”
“I don’t want to spend my life loving only the woman you are right now.”
“I want to know the woman you become.”
“I want to meet you again and again.”
“When you’re thirty.”
“When you’re forty.”
“When life has changed you a hundred times.”
“When there are things about you I have to learn all over again.”
“I want to sit with you years from now and still have moments where I think, I didn’t know that about her.”
He squeezed her hand gently.
“So when you ask me when I fell in love with you, I really don’t know what to tell you.”
“I don’t remember the day.”
“I remember the little things.”
“I remember when your silence started bothering me.”
“When your happiness started making me happy.”
“When I stopped thinking only about whether you liked me and started thinking about whether you were okay.” | 1 529 |
| 18 | Sunday Morning 💦💦
I wrote something that should be illegal for a Sunday morning.
20 minutes. Extremely detailed. Zero holding back.
Girls will be soaked. Boys will be rock hard.
Tap only if you’re ready.
https://t.me/HiddenQuillbot?startapp=story_lbdqYKhhgqWv | 1 450 |
| 19 | Sunday Morning 💦💦
I wrote something that should be illegal for a Sunday morning.
20 minutes. Extremely detailed. Zero holding back.
Girls will be soaked. Boys will be rock hard.
Tap only if you’re ready.
https://t.me/HiddenQuillbot?startapp=story_lbdqYKhhgqWv | 1 |
| 20 | 没有文字... | 1 842 |
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