Celebrating the Penis
Do you prefer looking at hard dicks or limp ones?
Anonymous

I love them all! Send in more than one photo… showing it in all stages! :)

Can I send you a full nude body pic or just a shot of my dick?
Anonymous

You may send whichever you wish, but if your face is in the photo, you MUST send with a letter with your REAL name and accurate AGE stating that you give permission for your photo to be used. This letter will not be shared with anyone, your name will not be shared with anyone, this is ONLY for my records as a model release form.

Thank you.

I should thank you for the always interesting content. ;)

Someone’s writing I enjoy… 


fumblingtowardsdominance:


Lullaby
 
I have told a few stories, but now I just want to crack the cap off of this bottle of syrup that is my imagination and let myself pour all over you, my reader.  I want to drown you in my thoughts until you are sticky and drunk and dying from a sugar high.  I want to overwhelm you, dear reader.  Will you let me?
 
You’re still reading, so I assume the answer was “yes.”  That’s good because that’s my favorite answer.  Well, I must tell you that I prefer a “Sir” at the end of each affirmation.  It’s not too much to ask, is it?  Respect for my letters and words and the long leash of my sentences that wrap themselves around your delicate neck and then squeeze the air form you as you try to speak them all the way to their sharp and stinging period punctuation mark end.  Gasp. I like to think of sentences like strips of leather – a leash or a collar – either punishing you and your imagination or dragging you along to eventually do my bidding.  I want my words to force you to submit.  I want my words to punish and reward and anoint and destroy each and every one of you.  
 
Do you still want more?
 
As I reach into the wet center of my imagination, I can feel the subtle heartbeat of anticipation and the shudders that stumble across the surface of my mind. Words become leather-handled tools that I swing above my head and bring down into the world until I hear the SMACK of their repercussion. I am a Sadist, and I like to bring pain to others… but with my words I want to tease and tickle as well as torture.  I want my language to undo you, to untie you, to defile you until you’re left crumpled like a pair of jeans that have been peeled from their owners legs and left still warm in the middle of the kitchen floor.  
 
I am the household tool that becomes a pervertably dangerous weapon. I splice you and draw blood and watch you drip long legs down the side of your ceramic ribcage.  My words draw slowly across skin to unzip you and let you bloom rose-red as I unseem you from safety to risk. I am risk.  I speak into your blindfolded face as you are a stone-still pair of eyes, open wide and welcoming my imagery and my alliteration and my stuttered staccato speech.
 
I ache.  I creep.  I command. 
 
My rear teeth rattle as I release desire after desire into the fetid air and the unbearably thick thoughts of the countless white smiles that crease the corners of the room with their hapless misery and perpetual disapproval.  I strike the decades of denial.  I punish the years that I lost pretending to be a stuffed statue instead of a column of bone or a tornado or a Master.  I am a Master, and I demand defenselessness as I wrap you in my powerful will.  
 
I see my words snaking their way across this page, and I imagine their inky black stained fingers pulling and prying you apart, entering you against your wishes and melting your insides until your body is a dictionary of wet dreams and desire and submission and yes, yes, and YES, SIR. And then I am your corruption, turning all of your vibrant colorful innocence into the steel collars and ropes, wound endlessly around your obedient lips. I am a mile of rope that wraps and binds you and burns you where it trusses you.  I am a word.  I am The Word that commands your tiny heart to beat and beat and bleed your spirit into me.  I am a gauzy bandage and a cotton ball of rubbing alcohol.  I am the sting.  I am the minutes you spend without air as my poetry wraps four hard fingers over your mouth and nose and you are released from worry and only inches away from the end of your story.
 
Do you feel how my story becomes you?  It replaces you.  It traps you in a tiny cage and then torments you and pulls you by your heels and drags you into the empty circle of light and presses you until you are small and worthless and unafraid.  My story releases you and all the words and sentences and pages that you never want to say again.  My story becomes you, and it finds a rhythm and welcomes you to pain and smiles so sweetly and seductively as you roll into the thousand natural shocks.  I become the raft and flatten you, and you let me have my way as you float for hours.  The river is a lifetime of hurt that you didn’t invite or seduce or welcome, but the raft is my word, my palms, the tools that I swing and swish and slam against you, and you blissfully navigate waterways and land smiling and naked as a tiny ball under the crook of my arm.  
 
Two more words:  Good night.

Someone’s writing I enjoy…

fumblingtowardsdominance:

Lullaby

 

I have told a few stories, but now I just want to crack the cap off of this bottle of syrup that is my imagination and let myself pour all over you, my reader.  I want to drown you in my thoughts until you are sticky and drunk and dying from a sugar high.  I want to overwhelm you, dear reader.  Will you let me?

 

You’re still reading, so I assume the answer was “yes.”  That’s good because that’s my favorite answer.  Well, I must tell you that I prefer a “Sir” at the end of each affirmation.  It’s not too much to ask, is it?  Respect for my letters and words and the long leash of my sentences that wrap themselves around your delicate neck and then squeeze the air form you as you try to speak them all the way to their sharp and stinging period punctuation mark end.  Gasp. I like to think of sentences like strips of leather – a leash or a collar – either punishing you and your imagination or dragging you along to eventually do my bidding.  I want my words to force you to submit.  I want my words to punish and reward and anoint and destroy each and every one of you. 

 

Do you still want more?

 

As I reach into the wet center of my imagination, I can feel the subtle heartbeat of anticipation and the shudders that stumble across the surface of my mind. Words become leather-handled tools that I swing above my head and bring down into the world until I hear the SMACK of their repercussion. I am a Sadist, and I like to bring pain to others… but with my words I want to tease and tickle as well as torture.  I want my language to undo you, to untie you, to defile you until you’re left crumpled like a pair of jeans that have been peeled from their owners legs and left still warm in the middle of the kitchen floor. 

 

I am the household tool that becomes a pervertably dangerous weapon. I splice you and draw blood and watch you drip long legs down the side of your ceramic ribcage.  My words draw slowly across skin to unzip you and let you bloom rose-red as I unseem you from safety to risk. I am risk.  I speak into your blindfolded face as you are a stone-still pair of eyes, open wide and welcoming my imagery and my alliteration and my stuttered staccato speech.

 

I ache.  I creep.  I command.

 

My rear teeth rattle as I release desire after desire into the fetid air and the unbearably thick thoughts of the countless white smiles that crease the corners of the room with their hapless misery and perpetual disapproval.  I strike the decades of denial.  I punish the years that I lost pretending to be a stuffed statue instead of a column of bone or a tornado or a Master.  I am a Master, and I demand defenselessness as I wrap you in my powerful will. 

 

I see my words snaking their way across this page, and I imagine their inky black stained fingers pulling and prying you apart, entering you against your wishes and melting your insides until your body is a dictionary of wet dreams and desire and submission and yes, yes, and YES, SIR. And then I am your corruption, turning all of your vibrant colorful innocence into the steel collars and ropes, wound endlessly around your obedient lips. I am a mile of rope that wraps and binds you and burns you where it trusses you.  I am a word.  I am The Word that commands your tiny heart to beat and beat and bleed your spirit into me.  I am a gauzy bandage and a cotton ball of rubbing alcohol.  I am the sting.  I am the minutes you spend without air as my poetry wraps four hard fingers over your mouth and nose and you are released from worry and only inches away from the end of your story.

 

Do you feel how my story becomes you?  It replaces you.  It traps you in a tiny cage and then torments you and pulls you by your heels and drags you into the empty circle of light and presses you until you are small and worthless and unafraid.  My story releases you and all the words and sentences and pages that you never want to say again.  My story becomes you, and it finds a rhythm and welcomes you to pain and smiles so sweetly and seductively as you roll into the thousand natural shocks.  I become the raft and flatten you, and you let me have my way as you float for hours.  The river is a lifetime of hurt that you didn’t invite or seduce or welcome, but the raft is my word, my palms, the tools that I swing and swish and slam against you, and you blissfully navigate waterways and land smiling and naked as a tiny ball under the crook of my arm. 

 

Two more words:  Good night.

Hi, Instead of 'give a blow job' how about 'have' or even, 'take' a blow job.sp
Anonymous

Well I suppose it’s just a matter of perspective, lol.

Where do I send my pictures?
Anonymous

All submissions should be sent to thebeautifulp@gmail.com. I do definitely need your age included with the submission (the age at the time of the photo). No underage or minors are allowed to submit.

If you wish to show your face in any of your photos, the permission letter is a little more complex and I’d be more than happy to help you with that in private email. If you have no face shots, then no worries about the extra stuff.

We had a temporary set back with the blog but things will be up & running again with a cock shot of the day being brought to all the followers… thank you all for your patience while I deal with my personal life.

www.TheBeautifulCock.com , http://thebeautifulcock.blogspot.com/www.TheBeautifulCock.com , http://thebeautifulcock.blogspot.com/ , thebeautifulpenis.tumblr.com

Cock shots appear on all 3 URLs… if there is a specific one you ‘d really like to see yourself on, please let me know… ALL posts go on the blogspot site.

I'd be honored if you would check out my blog to see if I meet your criterion. Thanks, C

Well I took the time to check out your blog this morning and was pleasantly surprised to see how fun it is! Thank you so much for directing my attention to it. I would certainly LOVE to host some of your pictures on the blog… and feature you on the main cock blog (http://thebeautifulcock.blogspot.com/)

Anything you’d like to see published there, please send to me directly at thebeautifulp@gmail.com.

Thanks, and have a great day!

http://thebeautifulcock.blogspot.com/2013/08/cbt.html

A little CBT on a Saturday afternoon… enjoy… click on the URL to see more. Leave some comments while you’re there. :)

http://thebeautifulcock.blogspot.com/2013/08/cbt.html

A little CBT on a Saturday afternoon… enjoy… click on the URL to see more. Leave some comments while you’re there. :)

http://thebeautifulcock.blogspot.com/2013/08/a-drippy-series.html

Cum see more! Please leave comments! :)