#Le Petit Trou
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Geenah Philander by Talya Brockmann
- Le Petit Trou, 2023
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Le Petit Trou | Crabe âą ruffled sheer tulle set + little crab embroidery
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Léna Ballayre by © Lauren Spitznagel
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Dominika Drozdowska for LE PETIT TROU New Arrivals captured by Ćukasz KuĆÂ
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Elle USA November 2024 issue||October 23 2024|Styled by Alex White|Photographed by Carin Backoff|
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Kylie Jenner wears Le Petit Trou tomate briefs
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Ok donc pour une petite relance...
Son cas m'intrigue vraiment parce que c'est difficile de dire avec une complĂšte certitude d'oĂč il vient. Il est dit qu'il est Frontalier mais curieusement la plupart des frontaliers ne sont pas dessinateurs oĂč trĂšs mauvais, il est une anomalie qui amĂšne Ă se poser des questions. On peut peut-ĂȘtre imaginer qu'il a eu un parcours similaire Ă celui d'Ewilan (passĂ© dans notre monde dans sa jeunesse, puis reparti en Gwendalavir des annĂ©es aprĂšs peut-ĂȘtre pour sauver son peuple, lui mĂȘme un prodige comme Ewilan ; ils se jouent tous deux des verrous mis par les Ts'liches sur l'imagination). S'il fait en effet partie de la huitiĂšme famille cela suggĂšre qu'il n'est pas que frontalier (et encore c'est dur de savoir si les frontaliers existaient tels quels dans l'Ăąge de mort durant lequel Merwyn est nĂ©). On peut imaginer (soyons fous) qu'il soit nĂ© de l'union improbable entre un habitant de notre monde et un frontalier de Gwendalavir (aprĂšs tout les unions improbables donnant des rejetons particuliers c'est une mission implicite des Guides dans l'Autre, et Merlin dans les lĂ©gendes est souvent une sorte de sang-mĂȘlĂ©) - compliquĂ© Ă expliquer mais aprĂšs tout il a bien fallu que les ancĂȘtres des alaviriens et autres humans dans ce monde y dĂ©barquent d'une maniĂšre oĂč d'une autre. Avec ce raisonnement on peut mĂȘme se demander s'il ne vient pas Ă la base de notre monde, et qu'il s'est intĂ©grĂ© dans la culture frontaliĂšre Ă un moment. Il n'a pas l'air d'ĂȘtre un guerrier de prime abord. En plus les alaviriens sont peut-ĂȘtre un peu nuls pour documenter clairement leur passĂ© et certaines vĂ©ritĂ©s sont peut-ĂȘtre cachĂ©es ou perdues (la guilde des rĂȘveurs dont on dit qu'ils ont des savoirs particuliers...)
#oui j'ai aussi une petite obsession pour le lore et les trous que bottero a laissĂ© derriĂšre lui#la quĂȘte d'ewilan#les mondes d'ewilan#l'autre
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it is perhaps a slightly crazy late night idea but i think iâm going to try turning an old and torn fitted bedsheet into a very basic replica of a discontinued le petit trou pyjama set đȘĄđ€
#pictures below#it would be very easy if i had a sewing machine here which i donât#but hand sewing is very calming#the pyjama set is so so cute#i could never justify spending money on it because i donât like pyjamas#i will not attempt that project right now but maybe tomorrow#while i stuff my face with pÄ
czkiiiiiiiiii#or over the weekend to keep myself from thinking about failure#mine#sewing#pic sources are random google searches for le petit trou lou pyjama set
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I wish i had no tits so i could wear lacey bras
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âd-donât stop.â you moaned. âplease I c-canât take it.âÂ
he chuckled lowly. âyeah?â
from the moment you had answered the phone the sounds from the other end of the line had been obviousâ the soft, slick noises, the breathy sounds, the barely suppressed moans. he was asking you to talk for him, nothing overtly sexual at first, just asking about your day, did you have dinner plans, how did your new shoes feel, how did you sleep last night . he just wanted, needed, to hear your voice.Â
âyouâve been working too much.â you scolded. he laughed, the soft sound you had so long ago fallen in love with, and you knew he was rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, a telltale sign of weariness. you wanted to be where he was, brush back his hair for him, kiss his tired eyes, undo his tight tie.Â
âI always work too much.â he returned.Â
âyou donât have to tell me that. my poor vibrator has run out of batteries faster these last few months than all its years combined.âÂ
âoh yeah?â he questioned. you could hear the grin in his voice. you smiled to yourself, mentally kicking your feet and giggling at the way his breathy voice came over the line. âpoor baby. must be so hard when Iâm not there to take care of you.â
âI think itâs the lack of hardness that has me reaching for your nightstand.â you returned. the slick sounds continued, obvious in the silence of conversation.Â
âmiss me that much, huh?â
âI can barely remember what you look like anymore. for all I know youâre just a robot talking to me over a computer speaker.âÂ
âI donât think a robot could make you cum as hard as I do.â higuruma said. his breath was heavy, his voice as gruff and hollow as when he first woke up in the morning. âas often as I do.â
you reached for the blue vibrator youâd tossed aside earlier and pressed the power button, lifting it to the phoneâs speaker so he could hear. âI dunno about that.âÂ
âdonât tease.â he said sternly, but you could hear the smile in his voice.Â
now it was your turn to smile to yourself, putting your phone on speaker as you tapped into your photo gallery and scrolled through your hidden photos. you had ordered a few new pairs of lingerie and nightgowns, on higurumaâs card, as both a punishment and a reward for his many, many, many nights of hard work. âoh?â you said. âthen I guess iâll put away this new gift i got...â
âwell now.â he said. you could hear the sound of fabric adjusting, the sound of metal jingling. âis that what those charges were? I was sure I didnât buy anything at Le Petit Trou.â
you giggled. you knew he would like what you bought, the thigh high stockings he liked you to wear, liked to kiss your thighs wearing, liked you to leave on even after he had pulled off the rest of your clothes. the garters bit into your soft skin, leaving divots in the meat of your thighs, where he often laved his tongue across after. the panties themselves were pale white and creamy, near see through as they pulled taut across your hips and ass, the position you had taken the photo in just accentuating the tightness of the fit. âyou look...incredible...â he breathed. âbeautiful. I canât believe you showed me.â every word was punctuated by a rough slapping sound, a rough groan.Â
âI canât wait to show you in person.â you said, feeling bold. âcanât wait for you to ruin them.âÂ
âoh I will.â he said. âthat lace wonât survive the night. the hour. Iâll tear them off with my teeth.â you nodded, feeling the hazy pleasure in your belly swirl. at first you hadnât expected to be so turned on by this, by just a simple vibrator and the baritone of his voice, but god you were. you felt like you could come soon, even though it had been barely a minute.Â
âwhat would you do first?â you asked. âm-my bra or my panties?âÂ
âhow could I choose?â he replied. the sounds on the other end of the phone were hot, wet, almost palpable despite the distance between you. âI love your tits and your pussy equally.âÂ
âoh, yeah?â you asked, circling your clit with the end of he vibrator, pressing and releasing the pressure every other moment. âarenât you forgetting someone?âÂ
âhow could I forget that juicy fuckinâ peach you have back there?â he laughed. âI can practically taste it now. first thing Iâd do is sink my teeth into it and mark my territory.âÂ
âoh yeah?â you breathed, you could barely respond, barely think, of anything but pleasure. you moaned for him, breathy and sweet, and he groaned out in response, fist dragging up and down his cock.Â
âmaybe I wonât waste time with my teeth. maybe Iâll just give you my cock-âÂ
âplease.â you sighed. âI w-want it so bad.âÂ
âfuck, youâre killing me here. I miss you so much.â he said. âIâd fuck you as hard as I did last new yearâs, when we stayed at that hotel in the city. fuck, you were so hot with your tits pressed up against the glass, gagging on my cock where everyone in the city could see you. we should do that again, maybe go down to the restaurant this time. Iâll fuck you right on the dinner table so everyone can see how you take my cock.âÂ
he chuckled again, breath fanning out into the mic of the phone. you wanted to feel it against your skin as he kissed you, as he fucked you, your fingers automatically pressing down on your aching clit and feeling a jolt of overstimulation as a result.
âg-god hiromi-â you breathed, pleasure exploding behind your eyes like a cresting wave as you came. you moaned loud and unabashed, not caring if your neighbors heard you, not caring if anyone heard you. everyone knew your moans were his and his alone.Â
âI love you, baby.â he breathed. âIâll talk to you later-â Â
everything came to a halt. âwhy didnât you-â you began, confused. hadnât he started all this? hadnât he been the one to call you first?Â
âisnât it obvious?â hiromi asked. you tilted your head to the side, confused. had you cum so hard that youâd actually scrambled your brain this time?
âwha-â
the door creaked as it was pushed open and you gasped, jolted out of your post-orgasm bliss by a pang of fear. who could it be at this hour of night? was someone trying to break in? where was the switchblade you kept in your nightstand drawer?
âyou didnât think that was enough for me, did you?â higuruma asked, and you blinked, having forgotten for a moment that you had been speaking to him, had been so thoroughly seduced by him. the call dropped as fast as your stomach did, and the door flew open to reveal a familiar outline.Â
âoh my god.â you breathed.
hiromi was already pulling off his tie, shoes and socks left at the door. his pants were undone and tight at the front, hanging off his slim hips as he walked closer. you practically melted into his touch as he caressed the side of your face with a big, warm palm, sinking your weight against him and knowing heâd be there to support it.Â
he smiled at you, kissing you deeply and tossing away the phone that had still been hanging in your hand. âwhen I make you cry on my cock, I need to hear all those pretty little noises right from your mouth.â
also posted on ao3Â
#higuruma x reader#hiromi higuruma x reader#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#writing#mine#fic: jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfic
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Geenah Philander by Talya Brockmann
- Le Petit Trou, 2023
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Le Petit Trou | Amour âą purple ruffled sheer tulle set + flocked hearts
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Léna Ballayre by © Lauren Spitznagel
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Elle USA November 2024 issue||October 23 2024|Styled by Alex White|Photographed by Carin Backoff|
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Kylie Jenner wears a white tomate top by En Le Petit Trou
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Ce matin nous déjeunons aprÚs avoir déposer les enfants.
Puis canapĂ© ou je mâallonge en mettant mes pieds sur tes jambes, tu es assis .
Tu masse pieds , jambes, cuisses, mes seins.
Te voilà sur moi , entre mes cuisses, ta bouche sur mon cou , une protubérance presse mon entrejambe.
Tu enlĂšves ton sweat-shirt, sors mes seins de mon soutif et les lĂšches.
Tes fesses sont précieuses dans mes mains et mon bassin gigote contre ton pantalon.
Tu sors ta verge par ta braguette, je nâai pas le temp de la saisir que tu ecarte mon body et remonte ma robe .
Un missionnaire de pĂšre et mĂšre sâen suit puis affaler , jambe sur tes Ă©paules, ta verge est maintenant une queue large qui me fait couiner comme une amante .
Cette queue devient une bite affamĂ©e qui sâengouffre dans mon petit trou en me rappelant que tu dois te vider, telle est ton devoir de fĂ©conder.
Tu mâembrasse, referme ta braguette , ta verge et toi doivent aller en ville .
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Moi, la guerre, je lâai faite, figurez-vous. Oui, on ne dirait pas en me voyant. Cet air de sâen foutre que jâaffiche toujours du coin de mon Ćil bleu, les gens se disent en le dĂ©couvrant que je dois ĂȘtre un fieffĂ© malin, peut-ĂȘtre mĂȘme un salaud, un abuseur, allez savoir.
Moi, je les emmerde tous. Jâai pas survĂ©cu Ă la mitraille, Ă la boue, aux Boches et aux rats pour subir leur sale gueule et baisser les yeux. Je les emmerde, je vous dis. Et dans des proportions que vous ne soupçonnez pas. Pas lâun dâeux ne trouvera grĂące Ă mes yeux. Ni le bourgeois replet parti prier son Juif repenti Ă lâĂ©glise le dimanche, ni le tchĂ©kiste restĂ© Ă encenser son grand Staline dans une rĂ©union de quartier. Les deux me font chier â et savez-vous pourquoi jâentretiens Ă leur endroit une haine parfaitement Ă©galitaire ? Mais parce quâils sont jumeaux, sortis du mĂȘme ventre flasque de la RĂ©volution, de la mĂȘme fente puante, matrice qui dĂ©gueule son trop plein dâhumanitĂ© fĂ©roce, foetus aux dents acĂ©rĂ©es, dĂ©voreurs de mamelle ! Boivent autant de sang que de lait, ces monstres absurdes. Des vraies dĂ©gueulasseries biologiques conçues pour anĂ©antir le monde beau et sauvage qui ne les a pas vu venir.
Ces affreux-lĂ , jâen ai croisĂ© sur le front. Jamais en premiĂšre ligne, trop couards pour ça. Toujours en retrait, juste ce quâil faut. Se chiant dessus Ă la premiĂšre dĂ©flagration, mĂȘme lointaine, mĂȘme tĂ©nue. TerrorisĂ©s Ă lâidĂ©e dâune baĂŻonnette boche sâenfonçant dans leur sale bide tout gonflĂ© de haricots mal cuits et de gaz diaboliques. Le rouge et le calotin unis dans la mĂȘme pĂ©toche minable, incapables de transcender leur peur de mammifĂšre absurde, condamnĂ©s Ă baisser la tĂȘte, Ă lever les bras, Ă Ă©carter leurs miches poisseuses de merde honteuse. Ah ils puaient ces deux-lĂ , faut me croire. Dans les abris, on les laissait pas rentrer ces ordures. âAllez les gars, soyez pas salauds, allez. Faites une place... Je boirais bien la moitiĂ© dâun quart de soupe... AllezâŠâ Des cafards, des magouilleurs, arrangeurs, tricoteurs. Des enculĂ©s de frais. âVa chier avec ton quart, sale rat !â, que je leur gueulais. âQuand il fallait monter lâĂ©chelle tout Ă lâheure, tâĂ©tais oĂč, hein, mon salaud ?â GĂ©nĂ©ralement, ils baissaient la tĂȘte ou mieux, ils se barraient. Partaient pleurnicher dans lâabri dâĂ -cĂŽtĂ©. Mendigoter un quignon ou une tige Ă de bonnes Ăąmes qui ne les avaient pas vu sâaffaler au signal de lâassaut. Les mĂȘmes tous les deux ! Le rouge et le calotin. Tout pareillement conjoints dans la terreur, taillĂ©s pour survivre Ă tout, coĂ»te que coĂ»te, dussent-ils se faire cracher Ă la gueule pour lâĂ©ternitĂ© des temps, se faire maudir par les agonisants, ceux dont la tripe sâĂ©talait tout autour et qui mettaient pourtant tant de temps Ă crever ! Jâaurais jamais assez de toute ma vie pour les maudire, ces fils de salaud, ces petits rongeurs sans honneur, sans grandeur, sans rien !
Et allez ! Que croyez-vous ? Quâon nâavait pas peur nous autres ? Quâon ne pleurait pas en claquant des dents au milieu des Ă©clairs qui hurlaient la mort ? Que lâon se prenait pour des CroisĂ©s ou pour des Jean-sans-Peur ? Tu parles ! Dans toute cette apocalypse, nous nâĂ©tions plus rien ! Et câest bien Ă cause de cela quâon se redressait et quâon y allait. Parce que je vais vous dire, moi, lâidĂ©e de crever recroquevillĂ© comme un cafard, ça mâa toujours Ă©tĂ© insupportable. Si je dois y passer, ce sera debout, nom de Dieu. Ă ma gauche, jâavais Lepault Gaston, un garçon gentil comme tout qui voulait entrer dans la banque. Ă ma droite, jâavais Lefeuvre Martial, fils de paysan, au travail depuis ses treize ans, pĂšre de quatre marmots Ă pas vingt-cinq. Un peu plus loin, il y avait notre lieutenant, un marquis avec un nom Ă rallonge incroyable, quâon appelait Duguesclin pour faire court. Eh bien vous le croirez ou pas, mais on est sortis de la tranchĂ©e tous les quatre comme un seul homme et moins de deux minutes plus tard, jâĂ©tais le seul en vie, coincĂ© dans un trou peu profond, avec un Ă©clat boche calĂ© dans la cuisse. Les autres Ă©taient partis en poussiĂšre, pulvĂ©risĂ©s par un obus fabriquĂ© avec soin par de rondelettes bouffeuses de saucisse, quelque part du cĂŽtĂ© de Cologne.
Alors ne venez pas me faire chier avec mon regard inquisiteur. Il fera toujours moins mal que le shrapnel, tas de cons. Si je vous attrape du coin de lâĆil... si je vous ajuste, pour tout dire, soyez heureux que ce ne soit pas entre deux rangĂ©es de barbelĂ©s avec, calĂ© dans la molletiĂšre, le beau couteau de chasse que mon oncle Albert gardait depuis Sedan.
J.-M. M.
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