Luvsociety

You better drink that fucking water, princess. I’m not playing with you. If you want to be my good girl and squirt all over my cock later, you need to stay hydrated. I want that pretty little pussy of yours swollen, dripping, and ready to gush like a fountain when I’m buried deep inside you. I want you so fucking wet that when I finally let you cum, you’ll soak the sheets, my cock, and probably my thighs too. So drink. Every last drop. Because if you’re not properly hydrated I’m still going to fuck you until you squirt. I’ll just have to work twice as hard to force it out of you. And trust me, baby I have no problem doing that. So be good and drink up. Your body is going to need it💦

But who am I without my sensitive heart in a profession where empathy is the real medicine Happy Doctor's Day🩺

❤️

The stars fell silent, for even they knew the moon had become a love letter, written in the ink of longing and sealed by the night.

My love language has never been found in roses, rehearsed promises, or the easy tenderness people mistake for love. It lives in the moments no one writes poems about. It is me kneeling beside you at two in the morning, gathering your hair into my hands while your body trembles beneath the weight of everything it was forced to carry for years. Not just sickness but every unshed tear, every swallowed scream, every apology you never owed, every memory your younger self buried so deeply that your body had no choice but to digest it as pain. Because I don't believe trauma disappears. I think it lingers in the muscles, settles behind the ribs, knots itself around the spine, and turns into poems too unbearable to speak aloud. The kind that don't leave through ink or conversation but through shaking hands, silent breakdowns, and nights when the soul finally decides it cannot carry another ounce of yesterday. So let it all come out. The grief. The rage. The shame that never belonged to you. The childhood that asked you to survive before it ever taught you how to live. I'll still be here. Holding your hair back as decades of silence finally find a way out of your body not because I need you to be whole before I love you, but because I want to witness the sacred violence of your healing. If love is anything to me, it is this: To become the one person before whom your suffering no longer has to be eloquent, your pain no longer has to be beautiful, and your breaking no longer has to apologize for making a mess. Because some poems were never meant to be written. They were meant to be held until they no longer hurt to carry🌺

Love stories aren't about love. They're about what happens to people when they're in love. Because love itself is invisible. What we actually witness is its aftermath. We watch strangers become homes for each other. We watch certainty dissolve into vulnerability, silence become a language, and ordinary days acquire the weight of eternity simply because one person exists within them. Love has a peculiar way of rewriting a human being. It teaches patience where there was pride, courage where there was fear, and devotion where there was once only desire. It strips away every carefully built defense until all that remains is the most honest version of a person. That is why the greatest love stories are never about finding someone. They are about becoming someone. Someone who learns to wait without knowing if they will be chosen. Someone who discovers that missing a person can become a permanent season. Someone who realizes that love is not measured by possession, but by the quiet, irreversible transformation it leaves behind. Some stories end with two people together. Some end with two people apart. But the real ending is never about whether they stayed. It is about whether they returned from love as the same person. Almost no one does. Because real love doesn't just enter your life. It rearranges your soul. — Inspired by Imtiaz Ali

"When you grow up, all you ever do is leave. You leave people, and situations, and places. You often wonder where home is because you always feel like a fish out of water wherever you go. You make a home for yourself in the city. You decorate it with plants, and posters of your favourite rock band, and furniture that you got from the flea market. Sometimes, it gets awfully quiet. Other times, it's filled with the voices of your new favourite people. When it gets too silent, you call your Mother 1200 miles away and ask her about her day. You like to listen to her sometimes, but when she asks about yours, you gabble and say you're okay and then bid goodbye. You don't want to trouble her with your issues. It never completely feels like home because you are always missing something your school friends, the old town roads, your Grandma's pickles, your cousins, evening drives, the smell of your room, and your family. And when you return to your hometown, you miss the comfort of living in your own place, Sunday brunches, your new friends, going on random trips, meeting strangers, and the view from your balcony. The silence that used to bother you in your new home is something that you crave for when you return. You realize that this will never be over, the way that you are feeling. Maybe, you will get used to it when you marry someone, or raise kids. But right now, you are in your 20s and life is already hard. And no matter how much you want to feel home, you often end up missing things you're far away from. You think that maybe, the romantics are right. Maybe, you will find home in some other person, a better half. But the truth is that you will find a piece of you in every place you have ever been, in every person you have ever loved. You paint your nails the way that senior in your school did when you were 12 years old. And there's an album in the corner of your room that your first kiss suggested for you to listen to and that's how you discovered your favourite rock band. You find your habits lingering in the way your brother arranges his books separating hardcover from paperbacks and organizing them by colour. Nobody does that, you think. You highlight important parts like your English teacher did with a lemon highlighter. You realize that blueberry yogurt on toast and little flowers of butter and orange jam isn't your recipe, it's the way your Mother used to make toast for you when you were five. You notice that your best friend still plays your road trip playlist when she drives, and you cook Matar Paneer the same way your roommate in college taught you. You share your habit of clicking pictures of flowers by the roads with your Dad, and like your ex you always check traffic on maps before leaving. Even if you don't talk to them anymore, you will always have tenderness in your heart for people. You will realize that so much of them is you, and so much of you is them. You realize that's why you can never be at home completely because a part of your heart is always elsewhere, wandering in some other memory, in a different place that you used to call home. 𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘶𝘱, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘺, 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘹𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘢𝘨, 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥, 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩..." ✨❤️

I will never outgrow my love. Not because I dwell in yesterday, but because some devotions refuse the mercy of replacement. The age applauds abundance. Endless faces. Endless beginnings. Endless promises rehearsed as though affection were an inexhaustible language. Hearts have become itinerant; they migrate at the first winter, mistaking novelty for destiny and convenience for communion. Perhaps that is why permanence has become so unintelligible. But my heart committed a quieter rebellion. It chose once. Not with the recklessness of infatuation, but with the irreversible certainty of recognition. And once a soul has mistaken another for eternity, every love thereafter is condemned to audition for a role that has already been cast. People insist that time teaches us to love again. I think time merely teaches us how to carry what it could never persuade us to abandon. So no, I do not fear solitude. I fear the profanity of calling something "love" when all it asks of me is to forget what love once meant🤌

“You’re not just beautiful,” I whisper against your lips. “You’re divine. You’re my goddess. Standing here completely naked in front of me, blushing, wet, nipples hard you look like something I should be worshipping on my knees.” I lean in and press a slow, reverent kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. “Tonight, I’m going to explore every single inch of you,” I murmur. “From your forehead down to your toes. I’m going to kiss you, lick you, and taste every part of your body until you feel like the goddess you are.” I pull back slightly, my voice soft but firm. “Now stand still for me, princess and let me worship you.” https://ngl.link/luvsociety2

“Good girl,” I whisper. “Now we can really begin.” I take one slow step back and let my eyes move over you again. You’re standing in front of me in nothing but delicate white lace the bra barely containing your breasts, the thin panties already damp between your legs. Your nipples are hard, pressing visibly against the fabric. Your thighs are pressed together, and I can see the slight tremble running through them. Your cheeks are flushed deep pink, and you’re looking at me with that perfect mix of shyness and need. I don’t rush. I let the silence stretch between us as I slowly walk around you once more, my eyes drinking in every inch of your body. When I stop in front of you again, my voice comes out low and rough. “Look at you” I murmur. “Standing here like this… you have no idea what you do to me.” I reach out and gently trace one finger along the top edge of your bra, following the lace over the swell of your breasts. Your skin feels warm under my touch. “These breasts” I whisper, cupping them gently through the lace. “So full. So perfect. They look like they were made to be worshipped.” I lean down and press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the top of each breast, right above the lace. “I could spend hours just kissing them, sucking on your nipples until you’re shaking.” My hands slide down to your waist. “This waist” My thumbs press lightly into your soft skin. “So delicate. So feminine. It makes me want to grab it while I’m deep inside you.” I drop my gaze lower, letting my eyes rest on the thin lace between your legs. A small wet patch is already visible. “And this” My voice drops even lower. “Your pussy is already leaking through your panties, princess. I can see it. You’re so wet for me and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.” I slowly kneel down in front of you. I hook my fingers into the sides of your panties and look up at your face. Your breathing is shaky, your lips slightly parted. I pull the panties down slowly inch by inch dragging the delicate fabric over your hips, down your thighs, until they fall to the floor. Now you’re standing completely naked in front of me. I stay on my knees for a moment, just looking up at you. My eyes move slowly from your face all the way down to your feet and back up again. Your nipples are hard and flushed. Your pussy is glistening, slightly swollen, and I can see how wet you are. A thin string of your arousal is even dripping down your inner thigh. Your skin is glowing, and that deep blush has spread from your cheeks down to your chest. I finally stand up. I take one small step back so I can see all of you properly. My voice comes out thick with desire and something deeper. “Fuck, baby” I breathe. “You look like a goddess.” I reach out and gently lift your chin so you’re looking into my eyes. “From your forehead” I whisper, brushing my thumb lightly across it, “to these eyes that make me weak to these lips I want to kiss until you forget how to speak to this neck I want to mark with my mouth…” My hand slowly moves down, tracing the curve of your collarbone. “These shoulders these collarbones… this chest” My fingers brush over the tops of your breasts. “These breasts that I want to suck on until you’re moaning my name like a prayer” My hand continues downward. “This soft stomach these hips that were made to be held while I fuck you deep” I grip your hips gently, squeezing them. “This pussy” My eyes drop between your legs. “Look how wet and pretty it is. It’s dripping for me, princess. So pink, so swollen, so fucking perfect.” I drop my hand lower, running my fingers lightly over your inner thighs. “These thighs so soft, so smooth. I want to spend hours between them.” I lean in and press a slow kiss to your inner thigh, right where your wetness has dripped. “And these legs even your pretty little feet. Every single part of you is perfect.” I stand up straight again and cup your face with both hands, looking deep into your eyes.

I stop completely. I turn you around to face me again. Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes darker now. I hook one finger under the thin strap on your left shoulder and pull it down just an inch then stop. I do the same with the other strap, pulling it down only slightly. The dress loosens a little around your chest but still stays on. I look at you. “Ask me properly,” I say, my voice low and calm. “Tell me you want me to take this dress off you.” You hesitate for a second, then speak your voice softer, needier than before. “Please take it off.” I shake my head again. “Not good enough.” I step back slightly and just look at you. My eyes move slowly from your face down to your body and back up again. “Try again,” I say. “And this time, I want you to beg.” Your breathing is shaky now. You look at me, eyes pleading, and finally say it quieter, but clearer. “Please I want you to take my dress off. I want you to see me. Touch me. Please.” A slow smile spreads across my face. I step forward again, hook both fingers under the straps, and this time I pull them down your arms properly. The dress slips lower, but I still don’t let it fall completely. I hold it against your body for a few more seconds, letting the tension sit between us. Then, finally, I let the white dress fall to the floor. Now you’re standing in front of me in nothing but delicate white lace. I take my time looking at you again the way the lace sits against your skin, the way your nipples are clearly visible through it, the way your thighs are pressed together. I reach out and run one finger slowly down the centre of your chest, over the lace of your bra, down your stomach, and stop just above the waistband of your panties.

You’re standing in front of me in that soft white dress, and I don’t move for a long time. I just look at you. I take my time walking around you in a slow circle, my eyes tracing every curve the dress clings to. The way it gently wraps around your waist, the way it falls over your hips, the way the thin shoulder straps sit so delicately on your skin you look like something too beautiful to touch. A goddess who decided to wear something innocent tonight, not knowing how dangerous that would be for me. I stop behind you and lean in close, my chest almost touching your back. My hands stay by my sides, but my breath brushes against the side of your neck as I speak. “You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” I murmur, my voice low. “Watching you in this dress all evening knowing that underneath it, there’s nothing but soft lace touching your skin.” I finally let one finger trace lightly down your spine, over the fabric of the dress. Just one slow line from the top of your back to the curve of your waist. Nothing more. I hear the small change in your breathing. I move in front of you again. My eyes drop to your chest, then lower. I reach out and run my knuckles very slowly down the side of your body from just under your breast, down your waist, over your hip feeling the dress move against your skin. I don’t grab. I don’t squeeze. I just feel. “You look so fucking beautiful in this,” I say, my voice rougher now. “So soft. So pure. It almost feels wrong to take it off you.” I step closer until our bodies are almost touching. I can feel the heat coming off your skin. My hands rest lightly on your waist as I lean in and press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. Then another, just below your ear. I stay there, breathing you in, letting my lips brush against your skin while my hands remain still on your waist. You shift slightly, like you want more. I pull back just enough to look into your eyes. “Not yet,” I whisper. I slide my hands up your sides, over the dress, until my thumbs are resting just beneath your breasts. I can feel the lace of your bra through the thin fabric. I press my thumbs gently against the underside of your breasts and slowly move them in small circles, still over the dress. Your nipples are already hard. I can see them pressing against the fabric. I lower my head and press my mouth to the centre of your chest, right over the dress, and kiss you there. Then I move to the side and take one of your nipples into my mouth through the fabric sucking gently, letting my tongue press against it. The wet heat of my mouth soaks through the dress and the lace underneath. I do the same to the other side, slower this time, while my hands hold your waist firmly so you can’t push forward. A soft sound escapes your throat. I lift my head and look at you again. Your lips are parted, your eyes slightly glassy. “You want me to take this dress off you, don’t you?” I ask quietly. You nod. I shake my head slowly. “Not yet, princess.” I turn you around so your back is to my chest. I press myself against you so you can feel how hard I am through my clothes. My hands slide up your stomach, over your breasts, squeezing them gently through the dress while I kiss the back of your neck and your shoulders. I roll your nipples between my fingers through the fabric, pinching them just enough to make you gasp. My right hand slowly trails down your body until it rests between your legs, pressing against you over the dress. I can feel the heat there. I rub you slowly through the fabric, not hard, just enough pressure to make you push back against my hand. “You’re already wet,” I murmur against your ear. “I can feel it through the dress.” I keep rubbing you like that slow, teasing circles while my other hand stays on your breast. Every time your hips move, trying to get more friction, I ease the pressure slightly. I’m not letting you have it yet. After a few minutes of this, you’re breathing harder. Your hands come up and rest over mine, like you’re trying to guide me.

Some people pour their peace into a glass. 🍷 I pour mine into moments like these. One leaves you numb for a night, the other heals you for a lifetime🕊️

Not Everyone Will Stay It took me a long time to come to terms with this reality. Every time people I once had good connections with decided to go their own way, I searched every nook and cranny of my heart, trying to find where I had gone wrong. But the more I searched, the harder it became to put the pieces together. Yet one thought kept ringing in my mind: "You did nothing wrong. Not everyone will stay." Just because you were good, and just because you did everything you could to preserve a friendship, does not mean people will remain. Life is made up of different chapters. Every chapter is like a bridge that filters out people who are not meant to continue the journey with us. Not because they are bad. Not because you were not good enough. But because their role in your life has come to an end. Space needs to be created for someone else who is coming to walk part of the journey with you. When we become tangled in the past, holding on to it with a false sense of security, we delay our growth and the impact of the people yet to come into our lives. But when we learn to accept change, let go, and lower our guard, we allow ourselves to move forward into a new chapter. You do not meet people by chance. Everyone you meet has a role to play in your life, and when their work is done, they move on, making room for the next person. The goal is to accept each transition without becoming entangled in what has already passed.

I'm a big believer in reciprocity. If you make me a priority, you'll never have to question yours in my life. If you disappear, I won't chase. If you stay, I'll stay. If you choose honesty, you'll get honesty. If you choose effort, you'll get even more. I don't force connections, beg for attention, or compete for a place in someone's life. Energy never lies it always finds its way back. So I simply match what I'm given. Nothing more. Nothing less. That's how I protect my peace💫

A part of me didn't want to watch Main Wapas Aaunga. My mind kept warning me that this wasn't just another movie. It would bring back memories I had buried, emotions I had learned to live with, and take me back to a chapter of my life that took years to walk away from. But being an Imtiaz Ali fan, I watched it anyway. And now I understand why my heart was resisting. Because some movies don't entertain you. They quietly open doors you spent years trying to close. Long after the credits rolled, I wasn't thinking about the characters anymore. I was thinking about the people I lost, the moments I never got back, the words I never said, and the version of me that disappeared somewhere along the way. The movie ended in three hours. But the memories it brought back will stay awake for many nights💔

Take a seat on my tongue, princess. Come here and lower yourself onto my mouth nice and slow. I want to feel you settle on my face while you tell me about your day. I’ll keep my tongue right against you soft, warm, and patient moving in slow, lazy strokes as you talk. I want to hear every little detail even while I’m sucking gently on your clit and pushing my tongue inside you. Don’t stop speaking. I want to feel your voice change, your breathing get heavier, your thighs start trembling around my head as you try to keep talking while I ruin your focus. Forget the day. Forget everything else. Just sit on my tongue and let me take care of the rest😉🤤💦

Things are just getting harder, day by day. Nothing is fine. Not even a bit. I am not fine. Not even close to being fine. Well, forget "fine." I am not even close to being okay. Crying myself to sleep has become a habit, nowadays. Well, sleep and I, at one time, we used to be perfect partners; making others jealous of us. Now, it has become a long lost relative of mine. Hardly pays me visits. Days are, somehow, fine. Nights, they are horrible. They just seem to engulf me into their darkness. Darkness, oh yeah, i love darkness. But this darkness, this is different. This isn't the darkness i love. This seems to have a demonic possession, and it just wants to feed on my soul. And if I am not wrong, it has already started feeding on my soul. And just so you know, i have always had things with demons. We just don't seem to get fit in with each other. However, i have tried my best to settle the business down with them. But it never seemed to work out. Ironically, i have one inside me. And nights again, yeah, they just seem longer than usual. To be honest, nothing seems usual to me, now. Movie - yeah! I love them. Like really. Now, i don't seem to. If I watch one, i feel as if I am staring at a white screen with no idea of what's happening. So I thought to seek the shelter of songs. Well, the effects were much worse. They started to scratch my soul; just the way we use sandpapers to remove the rust. With every word, i started going back to the time I was running from. Everything started to flash in front of me. Ironically, i thought that songs would help me. Well, they did help me. Just in a different way. So, last but not the least, i knocked at another door hoping to get some help from there. I moved to writing. It's been said that "writing is the most painful way to get over someone or something." So, i thought to feel a little more pain and took the pen in my hand to see how much pain could this pen give me. The pain I experienced, i tell you, was devastating, and yet amazingly beautiful. There's a notion i believe in - "Pain has its own pleasure. And you can't taste pleasure unless you feel pain." But you know, the worst part was that it didn't help either. Basically, i was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Uh-oh, not exactly nowhere. A little correction - in the middle of different kinds of pain. There didn't seem to be any way out of it. So, instead of trying to run away from it, i started accepting them; as an inevitable part of my life. I started loving them and I started chasing them; in one way or the other. This is basically where everything goes tricky. You see, the more you want something, the harder it gets for you to get it. It's just like this - the moment you realise you are close to getting something, that very moment it slips out of your hand and you start chasing it. Again and again. And then the day comes when you finally have it. Now, i am just waiting for that day to come when this chase will stop and I will finally have what I am chasing - pain. And who knows, i will be happy with pain. You see, two negatives always result in a positive. Here, pain and I - both are negative. And when we both will meet, we might end up in a positive way. Or rather, i might end up in a positive way. And I might be happy. Well, after all, someone's gotta be different. Right?

The Kivin method: what is it? 🧐 👉🏼 It is also called "Thai cunnilingus." It is a great way to have oral sex. 👅 Those who have tried it say that orgasm comes faster — sometimes in as little as three minutes. 🖖🏻 The technique is this: Instead of taking a position between the woman's legs, the partner is on the side. He uses his thumb and forefinger to clamp down on both sides, then moves his tongue up and down the hood of your clitoris. ❗This way the "area of impact" becomes larger, as does the pleasure.

🔥