#Oak Timber Frame Houses

[boylebuiltenterprises]

Experience the timeless beauty and enduring strength of Oak Timber Frame Buildings with Boyle Built Enterprises. Our expertly crafted structures blend traditional craftsmanship with modern design, creating stunning homes and buildings that stand the test of time. Made from the finest oak, each frame showcases the wood’s natural elegance and durability, ensuring your building remains a cherished space for generations. At Boyle Built Enterprises, we pride ourselves on our attention to detail, exceptional quality, and commitment to sustainability. Whether you are envisioning a rustic barn, a cozy home, or a grand hall, our oak timber frame buildings will bring your vision to life with unmatched character and charm.

Discover the art of timber framing and transform your property with the elegance of oak. Visit our website for more details.

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Thirteen

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Allusions to panic attacks, excessive gore, fluff with Simon at the end <3

Taglist: @waves-against-a-cliff @echo9821 @beebeechaos @h3art3at3rr @johannxseb @cndy-l0v3 @nylluns @pomegranategum @tapioca-marzipan @dlishus05

Masterlist

I HATE THIS CHAPTER LIKE USUAL BUT I HOPE U ALL ENJOY IT

All you could feel was burning.

Your lungs were aflame, sucked into your ribs with every gruelling indent. Your thighs were worn down, almost skinned to the bone, oozing wounds of blood and puss pooling at your knees as you heaved, scraping past thorned bushes.

The trees felt alive, clawing at you with pointed wooden talons, the prickle of sharpened sticks tearing at exposed flesh. Swollen feet met tar, the eldritch smell of a metallic tang consumed you, rotting away in every sense as you panted.

Your skin was like leather, worn down and bleak as your body collided against the abandoned roads, the slaughtered sound of the walking dead nearing with every passing frame. The sight of them was familiar, only mangled now.

You weren’t sure what had happened.

All you remember is how it started.

The day was darker than usual, consumed by an epiphany of greying clouds. The rumble of thunder stalked your every move as you committed to your daily rounds, your heart smouldered by the grief that had caught up to you.

They had all smiled at you as they welcomed you with breakfast. Why did Gaz seem different? Was he ill? You shook it off with a smile.

Why did you shake it off with a smile?

Your stomach was hot now, a building sensation of nausea washing over you as you tended to your garden. You locked eyes with Soap, his own staring back with a darkened hue of blue, any surrounding white slowly turning into a bleak red. Was he tired? You would lecture him about sleeping earlier later.

You felt caged in as you entered the house once more, kicking off your over-worked shoes with a grunt as you headed for the sink, desperate to scrub off the caking dirt that stuck to your fingers.

Gaz was sweating now, droplets of milky residue working down his forehead as he coughed, spluttering into the palms of his hands. His skin turned a ghastlier shade by the time you faced him, his hands shaking before the rest of him followed suit, his body convulsing as it clattered onto the floor.

Your voice was mousy as you called out, your limbs plastered together as you overwatched Ghost press two fingers to his neck, chasing a pulse that wouldn’t come.

The timber that held the house felt weaker now, almost rotten, as it clattered under your feet.  It was crumbly, squeaking under you with every step as you heaved in what felt like mould.

Where was your gun?

You could hear Soap calling out to you, his voice nasally, almost inaudible as he choked on his accent before it turned to blood, his uvula dangling at the back of his throat with every metallic form of discharge from his lungs.

You were in your bathroom now, the tap running with what seemed like extra force as the drain clogged, murky water soon flooding the kitchen as you pounded at the door, rattling with the rusted knob. Your feet were drenched as you kicked in the wilted timber, the frame clattering under you as you climbed through the formed hole you had made, a wooden shard catching onto your forearm with a drag, a pained wince leaving your mouth as you clutched onto the wound.

Everything felt blurred, almost like you were stuck in slow-mo. You could feel Price’s shoulder under your fingers, his skin cold. Why was his neck bleeding? Your touch was soggy now, a familiar squelch sounding from under you as greying eyes met yours.

His grip was strong, holding you onto the breaking floorboards with every snarl, your skin tearing as you were pulled along wilted frames, the oak crumbling under your shoes as you cried. Price’s hands were at your stomach, clawing at the breaking skin with rotting claws.

You could hear your blood thumping as you kicked at his drooping frame, the bones in his legs tumbling into his ligaments as he clattered to the floor. You were dragging yourself to the door now, the grumble of corroding mouths swarming you as you trailed a bloodied path to your frame.

How did you make it to the forest?

The grass mocked you as you watched it die, the blades sphacelating with every step you took. Your hands were on your abdomen, clutching onto the open wound as blood spluttered, your grip pushing against the seeping organs that writhed against you.

Your vision had turned orange now, any welcoming colours forgotten as you pushed against a shrub with your shoulder. The sweet berries you used to eat now turned poisonous as you mewled into the air.

Your throat was closing in now, curling against your oesophagus as your hands pushed into your mouth, pressing into the back of it as you gagged, forcing bile across the ground as you heaved.

Why did you stop clutching your stomach?

You were on the road again. Your trail had gotten stronger as you skinned your knee against the blackened pavement. You felt your eyes close, fluttering to an abnormal silence as your lids ceased any light.

Everything was static now. Why couldn’t you open your eyes? Greedy hands pulled at your flesh, a searing pain moulting into your chest as festering digits tore at your insides, digging through your organs with a tug before holding them to degraded teeth.

You could feel them at your neck, tapping against your skin with uncertainty. Your mouth was parted open, the skin from your lips torn as you attempted to scream only to be consumed by one’s hand.

They were pushing down your throat now, scraping along sensitive walls. Your lungs were drowning, your nose heaving as you attempted to breathe before infested fingers held them closed.

Your eyes were open now, looking down in desperation. There was a strange indent against your chest, tugging and pulling at the veins that penetrated beneath the surface. You could see fingers now poking from inside you, rotting talons digging through the flesh before they pierced the exterior.

How were you still alive?

Greedy hands ripped at your ribcage, snapping your bones like measly twigs. It was red-hot pain everywhere. Your brain stopped thinking, overwritten by the intense agony that writhed through you.

You weren’t breathing. Your lungs were empty. They were mouthing something to you now, their lips consumed by gore. Why can’t you speak? Why can’t you hear? Hands were by your head, pressing along your scalp tenderly as bloodied fingers dyed your hair. Your eyes were wide, begging for sanity.

Your body was emptied now, the residue of beating organs trailed along the road. Your heart was spluttering inside someone’s stomach. Fingers toyed at your scalp, dragging along your forehead with a permanent indent.

You mourned the last of you, your brain repeating the words ‘you’re dead’ in a constant stream. Or was that your own voice? The faces around you were a blur now, their bodies melting into the tar as a swarm crowded you. Your eyes blurred as you took in the faces around you.

They were all you.

Your body was writhing against the sheets, a strum of sobs tearing through you as your teeth tucked into your lips, drawing blood. Simon was fast, his hands resting against the side of your head as he guided you back to reality.

Your voice cracked as you screamed out, shoving him away as you sucked in a breath.

“Sweet’art, you were having a nightmare, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

“S-Simon?”

Your voice was hoarse, stripped from all moisture as you pressed against your stomach, looking down at your perfectly fine frame.

“I’m sorry,” you mewled, finding your voice as you swiped the sweat against your forehead. The Lieutenant was harder to see in the dark, but you could make out the softness in his eyes.

“Don’t have to apologise. I get them too.”

Your brows raised momentarily before you smiled at him, holding your hand out as he grasped onto it. He paused for a moment before he held it to his chest. He was warm.

It was subtle but you could feel it. He could feel it too.

“When they used to get bad, I used to search for my heart and feel the beat. Reminded me that I was okay.”

“I can feel it,” you whispered, trailing your hand up his chest before it met with the apple of his cheek.

“I can feel you too.”

[simstorian-blog]

New York City: ONE

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Old Salt House

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

4 Apartments: 2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, washer/dryer per unit

1 Townhouse: 4 Bedroom Suites, 6 Baths, 2 Half Baths, A Sauna, Indoor Pool, Gym, Office Space, Entertainment/Hosting Floor

Shared Areas: Café, Game Room, Laundromat (non-functional), Press Conference Room, Security Booth

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

City Living

Discover University

Eco Lifestyle

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Jungle Adventures

Spa Day

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Laundry Day

Kits

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

City Vibes Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots

Build Mode

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 2 (Doors, Ionic Column)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Marble Tiles, Stone Stairs)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Column 1, Fence 2, Railing 2, Spandrel 1)

Georgian (Arches, Doors)

Gothic Revival (Pilaster 4m, Socket, Trim 1)

Paris Pt. 2 (Bar, Bistro Table, Counter, Espresso Bar, Glass Display, Island, Paneling 3 Tiles, Stone Wall, Window Decal)

Soho Pt. 2

Soho Pt. 3

Soho Pt. 4

Versailles

Harlix

Kichen (Fresco Wall)

Tiny Twavellers (Trim Wall)

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Items, Stone Wall)

Brownstone Pt. 3 (Wallpapers)

Klean Pt. 2

Klean Pt. 3 (Plaster Window Frame Large)

Hey Brine

Indonis Bathroom (Penny Floor & Wall Tiles)

Joyce

 Summer Garden (Floor Tiles)

Lili’s Palace

Folklore (Smoky Kitchen Wall)

Intarsia (Polished Marble Floor + Florence Fresco Add-ons)

Lijoue

A Louer Collection (Apt Mailboxes, Door, Intercom, Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Multi-Level Carpet

Pierisim

Combles (Module Medium 2, Paneling Middle)

Sooky88

Victorian Tiled Flooring

Syboubou

Industrial Elevators (This Mesh Needed)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Chariot, Folding Table - Metallic, Seating x3, Laundromat Sign, Soap Machine)

CharlyPancakes

Lavish (Wardrobe Pieces)

Lighthouse Collection (3-Seater Sofa)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 4 (Fridge, Cabinets, Counters, Sink)

Chateau Pt. 5 (Bookshelf V2 – Medium)

Grove Pt. 2 (Timber Shelves)

Flirtyghoul

Lavanderia (Note: Non-functional)

Harlix

Bafroom (All Wall Mirrors)

Baysic Bathroom (Shower Wall, Toilet Roll)

Orjanic Pt. 2 (Medium Curtain + Rod)

Harrie

Brutalist Bathroom

Coastal Pt. 3 (Marble Kitchen Sink)

Coastal Pt. 6 (Bathtub, Landscape Mirror, Shower, Toilet)

Spoons Pt. 2 (Cake Boards, Pastry Display Platter)

Meinkatz

Light Fixture (DL on Patreon)

Thermostat

Pierisim

Coldbrew Pt. 2 (Books, Menu, Napkins)

Coldbrew Pt. 3

Oak House Pt. 4 (Bathtub, Shower, Towel Holder, Wall Hanging Light)

Woodland Ranch (Dining Chair 1 + 2)

Ravasheen

Thermostat

Tuds

SHKR

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[modernism-in-metroland]

Our new Modernism Beyond Metro-Land guidebook features many architects, working in a variety of styles and materials. Walter Segal’s work is unique among them for its focus on self building and use of timber. The borough of Lewisham was the first place to embrace his ideas, which have subsequently spread around the suburbs and beyond. 

After a number of years designing small projects such as houses, flats and offices, largely in brick, Segal began to explore timber construction with a temporary annexe whilst his house in Highgate was being rebuilt, devising a self build system using widely available and low cost materials, in standard units. He saw how anybody could use the system to construct their own homes, and via the anarchist writer and architect Colin Ward, found a sympathetic reception at Lewisham Borough Council. They eventually allowed him some land to start building in Forest Hill, constructing 7 homes in what would be named Segal Close.

Other houses were built in Ormanton Road and Longton Avenue, Sydenham and Elstree Hill, Ravensbourne, all using the Segal method and producing houses built with timber frames and infill panels. Another plot of land was given over for self building in Honor Oak Park, where 13 two-storey timber houses were completed in 1986, and the street named Walter’s Way. 

The borough’s own architects department also took inspiration from Segal's ideas, with the scheme at Brockley Park, next to Segal Close, designed by Geoffrey Wigfall, using mono pitched homes built in brick and finished with timber cladding and grass roofs. Some of the houses feature “pods” at the front, to be used for extra living or storage space, and the estate is grouped around a large green space. 

Segal passed away in 1985 but his ideas persisted with self build projects appearing all around the capital's suburbs, with collaborator Jon Broome continuing the philosophy with his own practice Architype. Self-built projects can be found at Headway Gardens in Walthamstow, Parish Gardens in Greenwich, Eridge Green Close in Bromley and opposite Segal Close in Brockley Park, as well as at many other sites around the suburbs. Walter Segal’s self-build houses will have an extended section in our Modernism Beyond Metroland guidebook, now at 94% of its crowdfunding total. Get your copy here https://unbound.com/books/modernism-beyond-metro-land/

[from-memphis-with-love]

1849 - an Elvis Presley One-Shot

Summary: It's 1849 and the height of the Oregon Trail. Pearl, an innocent and inexperienced young woman, is plucked from the prairie and into a marriage with rough and tumble rancher Elvis Presley. She's practically paralyzed with fear on her wedding night. But all is not what it seems: he is actually loving and kind with her, and, with a little gentle coaxing, she soon comes to find out the true meaning of what her husband affectionately calls his "manly duties."

Beneath a velvet sky embroidered with stars, the sweeping prairie of the Willamette Valley undulated endlessly, its breezy grasses frosted silver in the gentle moonlight, swaying like the swells of a wheat-colored sea. The air, redolent with sagebrush and wildflower nectar, whispered tales yet untold. 

A weathered log cabin, sturdy as an old oak, nestled harmoniously amid the untamed expanse. Inside, flickering candlelight danced upon the rough-hewn walls, casting writhing shadows that capered about. This humble abode was far more than a shelter; it housed two hearts newly joined in matrimony's sacred covenant. 

Upon a mattress of timber and homespun linens lay the newlyweds. The sounds of crickets and distant animals floated on the night air, a natural lullaby straight from the land itself. They reveled in the hushed serenity of their nascent life together.

A stillness Pearl finally punctured with a question. 

"Elvis?" she pouted, her reedy voice not fully her own. "You've stolen the blanket." Mistaking her complaint for invitation, Elvis sidled closer, his sturdy frame a barrier against the cool night air. He slipped his hand atop her opposite side, ensconcing her between his bare chest and muscular arm. "Might I perhaps have them back, please?"

He nuzzled nearer, his tone playful. "Chilly? Lemme warm you up, then."

Now, with mere inches between them, his radiant skin-heat seemed to flow directly into her own, quickening her heartbeat. She swallowed, her voice quavering slightly. "Do you... have a nightshirt, perhaps?"

"A night-what?" His confusion, genuine or feigned, hung in the air between them, charged with the unspoken energy of their touch.

Pearl closed her eyes, seeking refuge in inky darkness, away from the maelstrom roiling within. She wished to be anywhere but perched on the precipice of her wedding night, an apprehensive innocent bound to a man whose depths were only just beginning to unfurl before her. 

Her thoughts meandered to distant places: endless prairies beneath boundless skies, their splendor unfettered and raw. She pictured the wind's caress, laden with wildflower perfume, conveying whispers of age-old tales. How she yearned for freedom, to roam unconstrained by society's fetters!

Her heart ached for the unknown, the thrill of novel faces and locales. Perhaps in a bustling metropolis, pulsating with a mosaic of sounds, she could vanish into the crowd, shedding her naïve bride skin. Or on a lonely mountain peak, inhaling the crisp air, losing herself in nature's majesty, finding peace in its seclusion. 

No, she banished the thought, Elvis Presley never feels fear, and I'm a fool to think otherwise. 

Somehow, this realization lent her the strength to open her eyes, letting curiosity temper her fears. Yet, the echoes of a strict upbringing whispered doubts, and she might feel more at ease about it all if Elvis kept some of his clothes on—at least for the night. She broached the subject of modesty. “A nightshirt. If you have one in that chest over there, I’d appreciate you wearing it,” she ventured.

Unlike Pearl, Elvis had no such compunctions about their intimacy, nor was he concerned with modesty. His hands, calloused from the laborious toil of ranch work, possessed an innate understanding of the contours that ignited pleasure. His lips held secrets of countless stolen kisses and whispered promises. He cocked a sly smile at her request.

“Honey, you know I don’t own no nightshirt. The closest I come is wearing my long johns in the winter, and now that I got you to keep me warm, I reckon I won’t wear ‘em anymore.”

“Then what, pray tell, shall you wear?”

In one smooth motion, Elvis lifted her until she sat upright before him, noticing with some relief that his trousers remained in place. Strong fingers carded through her hair, treating the auburn strands as delicately as silk. 

"Y’know, the first time I laid eyes on you, you know I imagined you wearin’ nothin’ but your beautiful hair?”

Pearl froze, stunned by the vulnerability his words implied. To be so exposed, with only her hair for modesty, sparked an instinctual alarm...yet also fascination. Like a deer in a rife’s sight, she wrestled with the storm of fear and curiosity Elvis's revelation provoked. 

Firelight danced in his eyes, flecks of gold glittering in that captivating blue. With care, Elvis gathered her hair over her breasts. Though clothed, Pearl shivered at the suggestive act, a blush creeping up her neck. 

"Just like that," he murmured admiringly. "Sweet little rosebuds begging to be kissed. Peekin’ out to me and all."

Sitting there, Pearl felt Elvis's gaze wash over her like sunlight piercing through fog. His words stirred something deep within, blossoming warmth that spread from her cheeks down through her chest. But it didn't stop there. A swirling eddy gripped her belly, intensifying into a molten pull that sunk her deeper into this newfound swell of feeling. No one had told her a wedding night could feel like this. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing away the betrayal of her body's response. 

Noticing her blush, Elvis leaned back, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Seems I might be pushing my luck tonight," he mused, his mouth settling into a bashful grin. He caressed her cheek, his calloused thumb rubbing soothing circles into her skin. “My God, you are so lovely.” Though his touch was gentle, she tensed. "Little Pearly, are you really that nervous?"

Pearl's heart raced, her cheeks burning with a mix of fear and longing as she took in the sight of Elvis's bare chest. The raw exposure of his skin, the dance of muscles beneath, stirred a whirlwind of emotions—curiosity, vulnerability. Fear. An evil desire she wouldn’t dare name. The way he looked stirred a terrible hunger deep within, and she couldn’t help but long for a barrier between them, a shield to temper the intensity of their connection.

With a voice touched by nerves, she mustered the courage to voice her yearning. "I would probably feel better if you put on a shirt," she ventured softly, unaware of the intoxicating effect her request had on Elvis, who looked back at her with a mix of amusement and reverence. "Are you sure you don't have one, Elvis?"

"I can do it with a shirt on, but I reckon I’ll have to take my trousers off sooner or later," he quipped, then caught himself, noting the joke wasn’t helping. "Is there anything else troubling you, darlin'?"

Pearl straightened, clearing her throat. "I’d really appreciate it if you just get on with it, please. I want to get this over with. We can talk afterward, alright?"

Elvis's smile faded, his thumb stilling on her cheek. "Ah, honey, I’m so sorry. I need a good whuppin’, that’s what I need," he said, nudging his nose against hers playfully. He twirled one of her curls around his finger, breathing in her scent. "I’m just a big ole oaf, is what I am. Here I am jokin’ my head off and you’re as nervous as a fawn. I should be making you feel good instead. Makin’ you forget what it is you’re so scared about.” 

Pearl’s eyes crossed trying to peer into his, so she let them flutter closed.

Cupping her face in his rough palms, Elvis lifted his forehead from hers, leaving a ghost of warmth behind. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the tip of her nose. Pearl's heart fluttered at the gentle gesture, her grip tightening on his broad wrists as he guided her back onto the bed. Sinking into the mattress, she felt a mix of trepidation and trust as Elvis settled above her, forearms bracketing her shoulders.

“My wife,” he whispered, chest grazing her breasts as he bent close. “Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he murmured, full lips barely brushing hers in a whisper-soft caress. “I’ll make it real nice for you. Pearl, I will never intentionally hurt you. I swear it.”

“Elvis...” She parted her lips to speak, but his mouth stole the words. His breath was warm and sweet with a hint of black coffee as she sucked it in. Soft lips trailed over the contours of her mouth, leaving desire in their wake. But when his probing tongue intruded, Pearl recoiled in shock and apprehension, questioning the unfamiliar invasion. 

Pearl's world narrowed to the feel of his lips. They ignited longings within her, each touch kindling dormant desires. 

Her racing heart stumbled over itself as his tongue gently challenged her limited experience. Fingers digging into his arms, climbing to the solid assurance of his shoulders, she wondered, silently pleading, What's happening to me?

Desire, raw and unbidden, surged within her. Yet a shadow of doubt whispered too, questioning her boldness. Still, as they kissed, warmth bloomed inside her, promising pleasure, promising connection. Though separated by her thin nightgown, his touch blazed lines of fire over her skin, pulling her into a dance between longing and hesitation. 

For the first time, Pearl reveled in the forbidden delight of passionate kisses, a realm unknown to her sheltered life. The caress of his mouth on hers was a dance, each movement stirring longing she hadn't known existed. Every press and yielding response painted a portrait of contradictions—firm yet molten, unyielding yet accommodating. She prayed they would do this part of it frequently, whatever came next.

Catching her lower lip, he rolled it tenderly beneath his tongue, gently nibbling. Oh yes, she adored kissing. Their kisses grew bolder, back and forth, until his chest pressed firmly against hers. Her pounding heartbeat drowned out the owl's hoot outside. Arching against him, she dug her nails into his shoulders, overwhelmed by urgent, indescribable desire. She pressed into his rippling heat with greater intensity, seeking solace in his muscular frame.

Again, he delicately caught her lower lip between his teeth, rolling it tenderly beneath his tongue and gently nibbling on it.

Oh, yes.

She adored kissing him. Their kisses escalated until she was deaf to everything but her pounding heart. Arching into him, nails digging into his shoulders, she was overwhelmed with desire, seeking solace in his heat.

He relinquished his hold on her hair, breaking the kiss to embark on a tantalizing exploration of her face. His lips traced a path along her cheek, leaving a trail of teasing nips and touches that sent delightful shivers coursing through her body. With deliberate intent, he traveled upward, caressing her temple before retracing his path down to her eyelids.

Oh, what sensations!

His mouth against her sensitive skin was pure ecstasy. Venturing to her ear, his breath resonated as he nibbled her earlobe, flicking his tongue along the tender hollow beneath. A soft moan escaped her. Descending to her neck, his kisses made her tremble, breath hitching. She adored his skillful, desiring mouth. His presence enveloped her, intensifying the longing within, and she felt a curious pooling in her lap that startled her. Their hips pressed together, moving slowly, heightening the achingly sweet yearning in her veins. Lost in the moment, she faintly registered his trembling hands worrying the buttons of her gown, finally easing the fabric open. A gentle breeze brushed her bare breasts, sending delicious shivers down her spine - an unfamiliar yet delightful sensation.

A faint whisper of caution echoed in Pearl's mind, a remnant of scriptures urging caution against such intoxicating desire. Yet the allure was too powerful to resist. She surrendered to cascading waves of pleasure, losing herself in the intensity of their connection, exploring the passion dormant within her. The world fell away. All that mattered was the electric current drawing them closer in a dance of yearning and surrender. 

"Good Lord," he rasped, voice thick with desire. "I can’t even breathe, I want you so bad.” 

His scorching tongue blazed a path over her taut, yearning nipple. A jolting shock seized her, stealing her breath, causing her heart to falter. His mouth enveloped her with fervent intensity, sensations reverberating to her toes. Wide-eyed, she glanced down to see his flawless face nestled against her breast. Gradually he retreated, teasingly tugging her nipple, teeth capturing the pulsating bud before releasing, only to repeat the exquisite torment. 

Shock rippled through her, leaving her gasping in disbelief. Yet he drew her back into his mouth, swallowing her essence with unyielding passion. Panic gripped her and she screamed, pushing against him with all her might, cries echoing. What is happening? What unspeakable act is this? Oh mercy!

She felt betrayed. His audacious promises were deceitful lies! He personified sinful, impure yearning. This pleasure was too good to be true. 

As Pearl's piercing screams reverberated through the air, the sound struck Elvis like a lightning bolt, jolting him from his haze. Fear and concern etched his face as he sprang up, heart pounding. Reaching out with trembling hands, he gripped her shoulders urgently, as if to anchor them both. 

"Darlin', what's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

She screamed again, scrambling away and hastily closing her gown with trembling hands, desperately trying to conceal herself - a raw, vulnerable moment, reminding them both of past wounds. 

"Leave me be! Don't you lay a hand on me! You deceived me, you lied!" she cried, anguished.

In the corner, Get Lo, the loyal hound, rose with a mournful howl as footsteps and voices neared the cabin. Fists pounded the sturdy door, causing it to tremble. 

"Boss!" Red's voice echoed. "Hey, boss!" More commotion. "Stand back! I'll kick it down if I have to!"

"No!" Elvis shouted. "It's alright, Red! Don't break down the door!" 

"Show yourself then, damn it! How do I know someone ain't holdin' a gun on ya?"

"God damnit, I'll be right there!" Elvis shot an anxious look at his bride, now wedged into the corner between the headboard and wall. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. One second and I’ll be right back, alright?" 

But she appeared more inclined to a tooth extraction than entertaining that idea. Elvis muttered an oath and went to the door, lifting the bolt and cracking it open to let Red glimpse him in the flickering candlelight. "We're alright. Weren’t nothing, Red. Just a misunderstanding, is all." 

Red's eyes blazed with desert-sun intensity. "A misunderstanding? She nearly shook the soul out of me, Elvis!" His voice held the edge of a man ready to face a nest of rattlers. "A misunderstanding?" 

Elvis bowed his head, a shadow of remorse etching across his face. "I’m sorry, Red. This is my doing, not hers." 

Red shot a knowing look and without a word, Elvis eased the door closed, his hand lingering on the bolt before it fell into place with a gentle thud. He turned slowly, his gaze drawn to the bed. 

Pearl clung to a pillow, her eyes wide pools of darkness against her pale face. Fear and disbelief swirled within those inky depths. 

"You lied!" Her shrill cry pierced the heavy air. 

Brows furrowed, Elvis sank onto the mattress. "Sweetheart, I swear I didn't deceive you. Please, tell me what I did wrong."

She wrapped her arms around herself, clutching her shoulders with trembling hands. "You lied! You gave me your word!" Her voice broke on the accusation.

Elvis leaned forward, elbows on knees, straining to read her face in the dim firelight. Though just minutes ago passion had flowed between them, now she recoiled from his touch. Her chin jutted out defiantly. "Why did you lie?"

Steady but tinged with desperation, his voice cut through the tense silence. "What lie?" His eyes searched hers for any glimmer of understanding. He fought to remain calm amidst the storm raging within the room. "Sweetheart, please, tell me what you believe I lied about."

Her lips twisted in bitter disbelief. "Don't play dumb. You said you conducted yourself righteously, like the brethren." She spat out a harsh laugh. "None of them would ever behave as you did. You lied, plain and simple. And I was foolish enough to believe it." 

Elvis ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, frustration creeping into his voice. "I did not lie."

"You most certainly did!" she shrieked, the words piercing the air. "You claimed to be free of impious inclinations!"

Elvis replayed his actions in his mind, struggling to pinpoint his misstep. He could only surmise he had unintentionally caused her harm. "Did I hurt your breasts when I kissed them? I didn't mean to come on too strong." 

She let out a scream, shielding her face with her hands. "Do not speak such vulgar words! I am not married to you! Do you hear me? I am not!"

"Pearl, you’re not talkin’ sense. People don’t marry and unmarry over a misunderstanding. They engage in con-ver-sa-tion," he implored, sounding out the word slowly. “We need to talk this through.”

"Well, I did not enter into a marriage. I was deceived!" 

Elvis sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. "Deceived, married...we have to talk. Please, tell me what I've done."

She persisted in hiding her face behind trembling fingers, oblivious to her gaping gown and the exposed breast it revealed. The nipple he had showered with affection remained erect, illuminated by the flickering fire. It seemed to beckon for more—a request he would gladly oblige if only she were more receptive. 

"You know perfectly well why I'm upset," she accused, voice muffled.

"No, I truly do not," he confessed. Shifting to all fours, he moved closer, examining her tender nipple. Pink and raw, it stood erect, pulsating with her quickened heartbeat. He was too rough, he concluded with regret. 

Grasping her knees, he gently unfolded her legs before straddling her thighs. Palms planted on either side, he focused on her quivering hands. "Pearl, please lower your hands and look at me." 

"No!"

"I promise I won't do it again. Alright? I'm truly sorry. From now on, you hold the reins. Whatever pleases you is exactly how I'll do things, I swear. You just have to tell me what feels nice and what doesn't." 

"Well, that certainly wasn't nice!" 

"Then, you guide me on how you want it, and I'll follow your lead." 

Pearl jerked away, a sob catching in her throat. Swirling emotions tightened her chest. "How can I trust you're not lying?" 

Elvis sighed, the sound resonating deep within his broad chest. "Have I ever lied to you?"

The faint scent of leather and tobacco enveloped her as he leaned closer. She inhaled sharply. "Yes." 

He raked a hand through his dark locks. "Sweetheart, let me show you the truth." 

His warm breath grazed her ear, evoking memories of his teeth grazing her sensitive flesh. Goosebumps prickled her arms. "Was it nice at first?" His deep timbre reverberated through her.

"Yes." 

"Well then, we'll only do what feels nice. I promise." His voice was like rich honey, urging her to taste its sweetness. 

She peered at him through splayed fingers. "Do you swear it?"

His eyes smoldered like blue flames. "Honey, I don't just swear it. I'll prove it to you."

His head dipped lower, warm lips finding her breast. She jerked back with a shriek, her elbow catching his ear. 

Elvis recoiled, clutching his head. "Damn it, Pearl Marie! Now I know I didn't hurt you that time!" 

“Scoundrel!” Shame flooded her cheeks. She scrambled to escape, but her nightgown snagged beneath his knees. Strong hands grasped her shoulders. She balled her fists. "Don't touch me! If you do, I won't be responsible. I'll fight like you taught me and I’ll break your nose this time!" 

"Why are you fighting me?" Hurt and frustration etched his rugged features. 

She trembled, anger and confusion swirling within. "Why? You do a thing like that and you ask me why? You lied! You promised to do things proper, but you didn't!"

"A thing like what?" Elvis began to grasp the situation, though he struggled to believe he had it right. "Kissing your breast, you mean?" 

She covered her face again, trembling. "Stop saying things like that!" 

"Like what? Breast? Nipples? Titties? Yer cans?" he started to laugh. She made a keening sound. Get Lo joined in, throwing back his head and emitting a playful bark. 

"Shut up!" Elvis yelled, his frustration mounting. Get Lo continued to howl, but Pearl jumped in surprise and began holding her breath. "Not you, honey." Elvis shot a fierce glare at the howling hound. "Get Lo! I don't need you interfering none!" The hound fell silent and grumbled. 

Elvis figured he had his answer regarding the matter of the breast. He rubbed his face wearily and blinked. "Pearl, do you believe that kissing you there is ungodly?" 

She removed her hands from her face, gaping at him in astonishment. "Of course it is! You promised to do things the regular way, and you lied!"

Realization washed over him. So that’s what this was about. “Well, what is the regular way, Pearl Marie? I guess maybe I ain’t real clear on that.” 

The fire’s amber glow illuminated her face, but darkness still shrouded her eyes. She perched on the edge of the roughhewn log bed, hands folded primly in her lap. 

"You're just supposed to do your... thing!" she insisted, biting her lower lip. 

Elvis cocked his head, his brow furrowing. "My thing? What exactly is my thing?"

She shrank back against the headboard. "Just... you know. And nothing else!" Her words came out in a nervous rush.

Elvis sank back on his heels, disbelief etched on his face. "Is that what your mother told you? Honey, I think there's been a misunderstanding here."

"No, there hasn't!" She sat up straight, her voice sharp. "She spelled it out plain and clear!"

Elvis's mind raced, recalling the tales he'd heard about the strict sects with their restrictive ways. The kinds of places that squeezed the lifeblood out of a man. His gaze drifted to the plain black dresses and gray undergarments piled against the wall. A hollow feeling settled in his gut. 

"Pearl Marie, are you saying the men in your church never touch a woman? They just...do it and leave it at that?"

She turned her face away, her chin quivering. "Yes. And Ma said I should just lie there and meditate, ignore the... goings-on while it happened." 

A laugh burst from Elvis's lips before he could stop it. Hazel eyes flashed accusingly at him and he threw up his hands. "Honey, I ain't laughing at you. I swear it." He struggled to compose himself, leaning back against the sturdy log footboard. Maybe he should change the subject, but he couldn't help it. Laughter shook his body until he had to clutch his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"I ain't making fun, truly," he managed between fits. "Just had a funny thought is all."

He wiped his eyes, regaining a shred of control until he pictured himself in a black suit and hat, dutifully making sterile love. That image shattered his restraint. He laughed again until his sides ached, finally going limp against the footboard. 

"Well, damn," he muttered, wondering what had set him off in the first place. Wasn't funny at all. The woman he loved wanted to recite psalms while he moved inside her. Heaven forbid he disrupt her concentration. 

"Are you finished?" she asked crisply, buttoning her dress up to her throat once more. 

Elvis looked up at her. "Reckon I am."

"Then let me take this opportunity to inform you that I don't believe we are compatible. Our marriage would be a disaster unless you abandon your sinful desires."

He sat up and met her gaze directly. "That just ain’t gonna happen. Ain’t nothin’ sinful about a man makin’ his woman feel good.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist, dropping her eyes. Longing pierced his chest, for he did love her. But he wouldn't surrender his principles to appease her church's notions of marital duties. There was nothing unholy about wanting to worship every inch of her. If she believed otherwise, well, she was just as confused as the rest of them. He knew she'd be happier once he showed her the truth.

"Remember when I said we're coming at this from different angles?" he began gently. "That it might take some time to find middle ground?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Well, I was righter’n I thought." He gave her a tender look. "But that don't mean we ain't meant for each other. Just means we gotta compromise, both of us."

"I won't compromise my beliefs." 

"Honey, I ain’t concerned with your beliefs. It's your body I got my sights set on," he said, throwing her an innocent look, although looking harmless wasn't one of his natural talents. "We can work this out."

"How? I won't permit the things you did earlier. I won't!"

“Well, tell me something you will allow, and we’ll take it from there.” He leaned forward, propping his arms on his knees. With effort, he kept his mind off the image of himself in a suit. "What do the church men do exactly?"

She looked down at him from the side of the bed. "My mother told me that on my wedding night and every night thereafter, I should lie still on my back. She told me that my husband would come to me at night and join me in the darkness under the quilts. He would lift my gown to my hips and fulfill his manly duty swiftly. And there wasn’t much more to it than that," she gulped, her voice trembling. "And if I wished, I think of something else like prayer or meditation until he finished."

Elvis suppressed a chuckle. One stray laugh and she'd never forgive him. Instead he stroked his chin, hiding his smile. 

"Well, now, you see? We already got half of it licked. At least now I know what I can and can’t do," he said. 

Wary hazel eyes searched his face. He realized he'd shaken her world more than he’d thought. It was no laughing matter.

"So you might be willing to compromise?" Hope tinged her voice.

"Well, now..." Elvis considered swiftly."Is kissing like we did before allowed?" 

"Yes," she answered.

He stroked his chin. "Let's see if I got this right. From your collarbone down to your hips, that area's off limits."

"Correct," she nodded.

"But from your hipbones down, that's free territory?" 

"Correct," she confirmed.

"And in the area that’s mine, is there any rules?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

She appeared bewildered. "Rules?"

"Your ma told you their rules. So what do the church men do when they fulfill their duty? Tell me plain so I'm clear."

She shook her head. "She didn't say. They just... do it." She waved her hand dismissively. 

Bingo.

"So, there ain’t no rules how I do my manly business."

"Not that I know of. That’s your business. A wife does not concern herself with such matters," she responded.

Elvis raised an eyebrow. "So, I can do my business as I please?"

She hesitated, sensing a trap but unable to grasp it. In her innocence, she couldn't fathom his motive. Guilt pricked Elvis, but experience had taught him that sometimes conscience was a man's worst enemy. 

"I suppose you can," she finally answered. "It’s your business, after all."

"And you ain’t gonna protest? ‘Cept if I hurt you which I’ll try my damnest not to do." he asked. "Do I have your word? You just gonna think about scripture and let me do my thing? Let me conduct my manly duties as I see fit?”

She blinked at him warily. "You swear you won't engage in vulgar acts above my hips?"

"Honey, not unless you ask," he assured her.

"Why would I ever ask such a thing?" Incredulity filled her voice.

"Just leaving it on the table is all. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, you have my word," she replied.

Elvis suppressed a grin. "One more thing. How much time do I get?" 

She gaped at him, eyes wide. "Well, I don't know. How long does it take?"

"Well, that's the thing. Sometimes longer than others. Can I have all the time I need?" he proposed.

"I... suppose so," she hesitated. 

Elvis raised his hands. "Well, there you go. A com-pro-mise, just like you said. You promise you’re okay with this?"

She eyed the rumpled quilts where she had lain just moments before. A crease formed between her brows. Reluctantly, she nodded, though her pursed lips revealed lingering doubts. 

"I promise," she replied, sounding skeptical. "On the condition that you swear to be content with the brethren's way of conducting ourselves, forever."

Elvis lifted his right hand. "I swear on my mama's grave, I won't lay a hand or lip on you from hips to collar—'less you ask me to."

“Shall I lie back down then?”

“I reckon.” 

With a resigned sigh, she slid back onto the feather mattress. Stiff as a plank, she squeezed her eyes shut and folded her hands over her chest, bracing herself. In a small voice she called out, "Elvis?"

“Yes, darlin’?”

"Don't forget the quilts." 

In response, Elvis reached behind, his fingers brushing against the rough woven quilts. Gripping the edges, he rose to his knees and gently peeled back the layers of fabric. 

"Covered up to your chin?" he asked, his voice a tender whisper. 

She nestled into the quilts' warmth, squeezing her eyes shut as if blocking out the world around her. "Please."

Elvis tugged the quilts up to her chin and slipped underneath beside her. "I can lay my arm over you, can't I? I've done it a million times already," he whispered, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

"Yes. That should be fine.”

With a feather-light touch, Elvis curved his hand around her waist, fingertips pressing into her soft flesh as he drew her closer. "Come here, sweetheart. You're still scared." Propping himself up on his elbow, he gazed down at her closed eyes, placing gentle kisses on each delicate eyelid. "I'm sorry for how I acted before, for shocking you. You know I would never do it on purpose."

She turned her cheek toward his lips, savoring their tender brush against her skin. "And... I'm sorry for hurting your ear. Are you alright?"

"I’m fine," he reassured, his voice low and soothing. 

Elvis started to tenderly brush her hair away from her face, tucking back silken strands behind her ear. "You’re so beautiful it breaks my heart. Have I ever told you that?"

She lifted her lashes, a smile gracing her lips. "Oh, Elvis." She embraced his neck tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. "I apologize for all the cruel things I said."

He held her close, pressing his face against her hair that smelled of waterlilies, feeling as though he possessed all the world's riches in his arms. "It ain’t nothing, I know you didn’t mean it." She pressed her body closer to his, molding her curves against his hard contours. He couldn't help but smile, a spark of desire igniting within.

Kissing. 

Pearl's lips melded with his, sparking an electric current that coursed through every nerve. The celestial stars themselves seemed to pale in comparison to the heavenly sensation surging within her. She yearned for more, quivering in anticipation of his touch. He claimed her mouth once again, exceeding her loftiest expectations. With torturous slowness, he traced her lips, exploring their delicate curves and coaxing soft sighs from her throat. As their bodies pressed together, his chest grazing hers sent delicious shivers dancing across her skin. She dismissed the friction as accidental, though an aching need stirred within her. 

Each kiss scattered her thoughts, shattering her inhibitions. Clinging to him fiercely, she sought to draw him closer still, desperate to merge their souls. Her nails dug crescents into his shoulders, stinging pain he appeared oblivious to. His lips blazed a trail down her neck, igniting an inferno beneath her skin. 

"Oh, Elvis..." she breathed, the words trailing off as emotion choked her voice. 

“What, darlin’? Am I wanderin’ too close to your collar?” 

Sensing the question hanging in the air, tears pricked her eyes. With a single word, she could end this exquisite torture. His taut muscles revealed his readiness to comply. Yet the thought of halting him brought inexplicable sorrow. Her fingertips glided over his shoulders, feeling the power coiled within him—power that belonged to her. 

She recalled his sudden embrace the night before, his body pressing down, dominating yet tender. He could have taken anything, but treated her like fragile glass. Always in control, yet somehow still hers to command.

Last night, when she'd elbowed him in the ear, he'd instinctively withdrawn, putting needed space between them. The irony was not lost on her; she had become a threat to him. But it was his tenderness that stirred her emotions, now bringing tears to her eyes. She was deeply moved by his unwavering care and protective nature. Oh, how she adored him, her heart overflowing with immeasurable love.

"Sweetheart, you're crying. Did I do something wrong?" His words were laced with concern, a genuine desire to understand and make amends. Pearl found herself unable to form a response, emotions rendering her speechless.

"Should I stop?" he asked gently, his voice conveying both worry and willingness to fulfill her wishes. 

“Oh, Elvis!” she finally managed.

His hand slid from her waist, slipping between her and the mattress, pulling her closer against his solid chest. "What's the matter, darlin'? Are you scared? I promise, I'll be gentle with you. Don't be afraid," he whispered in a soothing tone.

"I love you!" she exclaimed, clinging to him, seeking solace in his embrace. "I'm not afraid. It's just... oh, Elvis, I love you so much it hurts." 

He tensed, her words both balm and challenge to his heart. "I love you," she said again, conviction ringing in her voice. "I love you more than words can express."

A tremor rippled through his sturdy frame. His rough, calloused hand were splayed across her back, yet he treated her like the most precious treasure. Despite his strength, his touch remained gentle and caring. "Oh, darlin’," he whispered, voice quivering. "I love you too. With all that I am and all that I’ve got. But it shouldn't make you sad."

"I'm not sad! I'm happy!" she insisted.

He pressed tender kisses to her other cheek, tasting the salt of her tears. "Well, damn..." Frustration and bewilderment colored his tone, making her giggle uncontrollably. She felt his lips curve into a crooked grin against her skin as he continued trailing kisses along her ear. "Pearl Marie, will I ever understand you? Crying because you're happy. Darlin’, sometimes I swear you’re just plum crazy. You don’t make a lick of sense!"

She tilted her head, surrendering to his kiss, the word "lick" igniting a fervent desire for him to tease her sensitive spots with his tongue once more. As if sensing her need, he found a delectably vulnerable spot just below her ear, eliciting a soft gasp as she melted into his touch. 

"Yes, right there. Just like that. Oh, yes..." she whispered huskily. Her gown began to shift as he tugged it up, initially causing a spike of fear. But then his palm caressed her bare thigh, sending waves of pleasure washing over her.

Each touch felt like butterfly kisses, leaving her skin tingling with anticipation. Her heart pounded against her chest, and her breath turned shallow and unsteady. With feather-light fingertips, he traced a path to the very core of her being, teasing and tantalizing her with every stroke, only to trail away and trace maddeningly sweet patterns along her knees. It was as if her very essence had turned into a molten syrup, yearning to flow and merge with his touch. The quilts shifted, and suddenly she felt the moist, silken press of his lips against her thigh. Startled, she opened her eyes wide and stiffened with a mix of surprise and uncertainty. 

"Elvis, what are you..." Her words faded to a breathless moan as his tongue flickered, tracing delicate spirals that kindled liquid heat low in her belly. 

Through the quilts, his muffled voice vibrated against sensitive flesh. "Just relax, darlin'. I'm tending to business." 

"But, I don't know if..." She clamped her knees together, but his broad shoulders gently eased them apart. 

Pearl clutched the rough-hewn headboard, pulse racing. Was he really going to...? Oh Lord, the man aimed to kiss her there. Shock paralyzed her even as exquisite sensations spread like wildfire across her skin, urging her to surrender. 

"This ain't proper," she managed, but her resolve wavered under the intoxicating caress of his lips. 

He lazily circled her inner thigh, tongue painting glistening trails that seared like summer sun on bare skin. "Hush now, you're sweeter than cherry pie." His warm breath raised gooseflesh. "Let me take care of you."

"Darlin', reckon this here's how it's done?" 

"Elvis, are you sure 'bout this? I... I can't rightly tell."

"Start meditatin’, sweetheart. This here's my territory, not yours. Got it?" 

She closed her eyes, her voice quivering. "Mediating?" she repeated, sounding mighty puzzled. Drawing nearer, he raised his shoulders, leaning in closer to her. "No need to fret, darlin'. Remember what your ma told ya. Jus' lay still and don’t pay me no nevermind." 

He continued his tantalizing journey upwards. She twitched, tightening her grip on the headboard, her gaze fixed on the heavens. 

"I'll holler when I'm done, alright?" 

Done? Pearl felt an intense longing surge through her core. Close her eyes, that's what she was supposed to do. But... oh, dear heavens. "How long will it... will it take?" she managed to inquire. 

Rough palms grasped her backside. Pearl's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her parted lips. Merciful heavens, he meant to... 

"Just as..." he trailed his tongue along her inner thigh, sending shivers of pleasure with every teasing lick, "just as long as it needs to, darlin'." 

The first slow lap of his tongue drew a shuddering moan. Fingers clutching the sheets, she stared skyward. This couldn't be real. But the wet heat enveloping her dispelled all doubts. 

When he found that one exquisitely sensitive spot, her body jolted as if struck by lightning. "Elvis, I can't..."

"You can, darlin'," he purred before capturing her swollen flesh. 

"E-Elvis?" she stammered, her voice vibrating as if it traveled through her vocal cords on a wild bronco.

"Darlin', this part ain't your concern. Jus' lie still and let me handle my business, ya hear?" 

"Oh God, please..." She twisted handfuls of his hair, no longer caring what was proper. 

His low chuckle vibrated through her very core. "That's my girl. That's the rule," he drawled firmly. "This here's mine to do as I please, without your fussin', right?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Well then? You lie still and quit your worryin'." 

With that declaration, he resumed his gentle lapping, causing her to arch upward uncontrollably. Small, high-pitched sounds escaped her lips. She clung to the headboard, her body rising higher and higher. "Oh my... oh my... mercy, mercy!"

“There’s a girl. Give it to me, darlin’.” 

"Yes. Oh, yes," she breathed out, her hands digging into his scalp. "Oh, my God! Oh, dear heaven. Oh, pardon me! I'm meddling again." 

He chuckled again, the deep rumble shattering her thoughts as his mouth claimed her sensitive flesh. His tongue swirled and flicked, sparking a blaze that raced through her veins. Digging her heels into the mattress, she arched up, surrendering completely as her hips moved with his. Muscles twitching to his rhythm, the pressure built sharper and sharper within her. Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, his mouth surged, fiercely pulling until she fractured with a cry, sensations bursting in a kaleidoscope of colors. 

She was precious to him. 

Throughout his life, Elvis had longed for a woman to love and make his bride, but only now did he truly grasp the meaning. She was his salvation, a woman woven from delicate lace and sunbeams, with eyes as vast as the summer fields. She was warmth and radiance, the tender blossoms of spring. A beautiful and perfect gift. It felt as if he were discovering love for the first time. And in a way, it was. For Elvis Presley was a tough man with an untouched heart. Until now. 

This girl held his heart in her hands, capable of making it sing with joy or bleed with sorrow. With a single arch of her spine and a lift of her slender hips, she could ignite him with bliss. He adored her. Her guileless urgency and unwavering trust nearly moved him to tears. No reservations. Just pure vulnerability. And as she shattered in climax, he tasted the rhythm of her heartbeats in the sweet throbbing of her flesh. Afterward, he tenderly caressed and kissed her, soothing her delicate sensitivity, easing the ache that lingered. 

When her breaths steadied, he hovered right over her. With her eyelids drooping low and a dreamy smile on her lips, she looked up at him. "Are you done?" 

Elvis leaned in for a kiss. "Nah, sweetheart. I'm just lettin' ya catch yer breath afore we go at it again." 

Her eyes widened. "Again?" 

He grinned and shifted to lie beside her, propping himself up on one arm to get a good look at her face. How beautiful she was, basking in the afterglow of the pleasures he brought to her for the first time! 

Beneath him, she gasped as his finger delved deep into her slick heat, back arching, breasts straining against her thin nightgown. He watched each expression dance across her features - surprise, wonder, rising urgency. Teasing and pulling back, he brought her to the edge again and again. When she arched, nipple grazing his chin, he flicked it lightly. 

She cried out, quivering, "Oh yes!" 

Another deep stroke had her whimpering, begging for more. 

Grinning, he met her gaze. "Want me to show 'em some lovin'?"

"Oh, Elvis. Do it again. Please." 

Elvis lowered his head, gripping her nightgown with his teeth, and pulled it up her slender frame, exposing her bosom. 

Elvis' fingers trembled as he grasped the thin fabric of her nightgown, the white cotton soft like a wisp of cloud between his teeth. With a gentle tug, he peeled back the garment, exposing her bare breasts to the fire's amber glow. Rosy peaks puckered in the chill night air, beckoning his touch.

"Ask me nice, darlin'," he murmured, breath warm against her chest. 

Frustration flared in her eyes. Snatching a fistful of his hair, she wrenched him downward. "Just do it already!"

That sure as shootin' had "please" beat to hell. And he reckoned he had every right to tease her mercilessly before giving her what she desired. 

Elvis swept his tongue slowly around one taut nipple, tracing its shape, feeling it swell beneath the caress of his mouth. A flick of his tongue made her gasp, then he returned to circling, building anticipation. When he finally closed his lips over the bud, its softness overwhelmed him. He suckled gently and was rewarded with the honeyed taste of her skin. 

To his surprise, her body began to writhe, hips undulating, fingers twisting the sheets. The telltale pulsing against his palm revealed she was cresting that peak of ultimate pleasure. Twenty-one years without a lover's intimate touch, and now she came undone in his arms. 

He savored each tremor that wracked her slender frame, the way she arched and cried out with abandon. Elvis brought her to that precipice two more times, worshiping her with his mouth until his own need could be denied no longer.

Rising above her, he gripped her legs behind the knees and nestled against slick, molten heat. Still lost in rapture's haze, she gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes, oblivious to the pain that awaited. The primal urge to plunge ahead warred with his vow to cherish her. 

"This'll hurt just once, darlin'," he whispered, hating himself. "I wish to God it weren't so." 

She blinked, her gaze fixed on his face, her eyes shimmering in the warm glow of the fire. "I understand. Just hold me close through it all," she implored softly. "With you beside me, it won't hurt as much. I won't feel afraid."

Tears blurred his vision. Elvis gathered her in his arms, surrounding her with his strength. She wrapped both arms about his neck, clinging tight. "I'm not scared anymore," she breathed against his cheek.

Though brave in word, her body tensed as he positioned himself at her entrance. In that moment, he would have given all he owned to spare her even the slightest twinge. The not knowing tormented him—how much agony she might suffer as he forged ahead. With infinite care, he nudged inside, felt her passage resist and then give way as she flinched in his embrace. The small cry that escaped her lips shredded his heart.

He buried his face in the silken veil of her hair, cursing the merciless act love demanded of him. To harm the one person who mattered most gutted his soul. 

But the cabin cocooned them in its embrace—the familiar smells of woodsmoke and pine, the fire's soothing crackle, the handcrafted furnishings whispering of shared memories. Their sanctuary through so many storms past would shelter them through this too. 

"Do it," she insisted, though her body still trembled with fear.

Panic jolted through him like lightning. "Jesus, I can't! I'm hurting you!" He started to withdraw, terrified of damaging her delicate frame. She was far smaller and tighter than any woman before. The risk of forcing himself deeper made his blood run cold. "You're too small, sweetheart," he choked out.

But before he could pull away, she lifted her hips, impaling herself upon him in one swift motion. 

Elvis' heart stopped mid-beat. He felt her tight channel give way as she took him fully inside. Fear for her clouded his mind. 

"Oh, God damn," he uttered, his voice laced with a mixture of desire and vulnerability. A soft, fragile laugh escaped her lips, and he felt the tension gradually dissipate from her body. With a tenderness that matched the love he held in his heart, she pressed her damp cheek against his neck. The touch of her wet skin against his sent shivers down his spine. In a hushed whisper, she reassured him, her words carrying a profound truth. "It’s all right now," she murmured. "It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought." 

Pearl gasped, her back arching off the rumpled sheets. Elvis hovered above, his elbows planted on either side of her shoulders, beads of sweat trailing down his furrowed brow. His hips rocked in a steady rhythm, eliciting soft mewls and whimpers from his wife. 

"Is this okay?" His voice was gruff, laced with restraint. Pearl's eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide with desire. She nodded, breathless.

Elvis maintained his pace, relishing the slide of skin against skin. Pearl's nails raked down his back, leaving angry red trails in their wake. Her thighs tightened around his waist, pulling him deeper. 

"Oh!" she cried out, the sound sharp in the quiet cabin. "Don't stop, please..."

Elvis complied, quickening his thrusts as Pearl's moans grew louder, more desperate. Her hips bucked to meet his, the bed frame creaking in protest. The musky scent of their lovemaking permeated the air. 

Pearl's inner walls clenched around him as her climax crashed over her. The sensation tipped Elvis over the edge, his own release pulsing through him in waves. He collapsed on top of his wife, their hearts hammering against each other. 

As their breathing slowed, Elvis nuzzled Pearl's neck, inhaling her familiar floral scent. Her fingers lazily combed through his hair. He pressed a tender kiss to her collarbone, overcome with gratitude and awe. 

No longer was he a lonesome wanderer. Pearl had become his sanctuary, a beacon guiding him home. Elvis held his wife close as sleep overtook them. The distant howl of coyotes echoed outside their cabin, but they felt no fear in each others’ arms. Here, tangled together, they had found their own private heaven.

[zvetenze]

Gostinica brvnara (wooden guesthouse), Čardak

Lazac, Serbia

Lazac is a small town in Šumadija, a hilly region south of Belgrade, dotted with small farms and areas of woods (šuma). Farmsteads consist of a small house (kuća) and various outbuildings, and sometimes a two-story guesthouse called a čardak. This is the Radojčić family čardak, built with a sturdy oak base, timber and bondruk (frame and infill) upper-level construction, and clay-tiled roof. At the upper level, a wood-enclosed gallery is a foyer to the enclosed guest room. The ground level space is used for storage, often of the farmer's prized plum brandy. (photo 1991)

[timscrace]

We are pleased to have secured Planning Permission for this intricate courtyard infill in Ampfield, Hampshire. Working with our clients we are creating a multi-functional family room/kitchen diner, featuring beautiful expressed oak frame timber trusses. Maximising the views and connections with the garden, the space will offer a new way of living for our clients. No matter how big or small the project we are fuelled by helping our clients realise something special about their property, and to #seespacedifferently. 👉 Do you have an extension planned for 2023? Book an appointment with us now to get ready for the New Year: https://scracearchitects.co.uk/pr-private-houses/ #planningpermission #designer #designerkitchen #designerliving #insideoutside #hampshire #ampfield https://www.instagram.com/p/CmbOG8AopVq/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bisquid]

What are bricks if not fancy mud?

Part of me genuinely wants to have a thatched roof on my tiny house for one very important reason: it should be possible to grow it for free. "Oh but you have to reroof it every couple of years that's going to be so expensive!" Not if all I have to do is cut some grass and osiers and then climb a ladder. We need to get the roof here retiled and the scaffolding costs alone for that are astronomical.

The main reason it's not really feasible is because the skill has become so rare it costs an arm and a leg to even be able to learn how to thatch your own roof! Also there are probably all sorts of hoops to jump through to get planning permission for such.

I'm considering building a shed out of wattle and daub and figuring out how to thatch that, just for the practice! (I do not want a house made of wattle and daub; it might be free but it's also a nightmare to maintain in Scottish weather).

There are all sorts of things all over the world - from building materials to clothing design to cuisine - that have been replaced with 'better' versions, only they're not actually better, they're one or more of (and this is not an exhaustive list): cheaper to produce and/or purchase, more lucrative for the local colonial power, easier to transport, better in its place of origin but unsuited to other places, an historical (and sometimes entirely contemporary) form of oppression, that nebulous but powerful thing that is 'fashionable', easier to standardise (it's much easier to get 300k identical engineered lumber beams than 300k identical natural timber beams, for example), poorly understood by modern laypeople (corsets were not debilitating instruments of torture for most of human history, any more than bras are now, ie, generally only as a result of fashion or poor fit) and/or more accessible (often as a result of the destruction or otherwise loss of their historical counterparts, like how despite it's use for most of history, it's surprisingly difficult to get hold of coppiced hazel).

I have seen about twelve separate posts by firefighters about the higher fire risk of engineered lumber roof supports over their natural timber counterparts.

The house I grew up in is older than: Shakespeare, Columbus' 'discovery' of the Americas, the Anglican church, Michaelangelo's David, the Mona Lisa, the Reformation, and the introduction of chocolate to the Old World, to name a few. There's still wattle and daub visible in parts of the upstairs. The main living room has a ten foot ceiling held up by nearly a dozen oak beams, all at least a foot wide. I have lived through half a dozen deadly heatwaves and haven't needed to use so much as a fan in that room.

It's been repeatedly extended and extensively fucked with over the centuries, of course, and the wiring and plumbing are a nightmare, but the main core structure is rock solid. A good 90% of the issues we've had with it have been a direct result of the use of modern materials (the last ten percent are because the damn place is listed, so doing anything with it is a trial). Fucked up wiring? The 80s DIY craze is the gift that keeps on giving. Draughty windows? That would be the cheap plywood frames a predecessor used and we're now stuck with because listed.

Our new house was built in the 80s, has a huge south facing picture window (for the admittedly fantastic view) which renders the entire room uninhabitable on sunny days, is constructed such that anyone moving around in the guest room causes every doorframe in the place to rattle violently, requires heating at night, and has internal walls so fragile I've already accidentally made two holes in them with a chairleg and a tray corner respectively.

(There is a separate discussion to be had about why modern materials tend to be cheaper than their historical counterparts, and I can't bring myself to get into it now beyond pointing out that it's generally a fun combination of capitalism, colonialism, and good old industrialisation.)

There is a difference between 'modern materials' and 'better materials' and while there is definitely overlap, acting like the materials that have been used for centuries or millennia are inherently inferior because they've been used for centuries is just stupid.

It's cheaper and faster to put up an electric fence than build a drystone dyke, but depending on the situation and your goals, either option could be 'better'. If you built a dyke every time you moved your horse to a new area of grazing you would be rightfully considered deranged by your neighbours, but using an electric fence for a long term boundary might be foolish as well.

There's also the consideration that by and large historical materials - for anything, not just construction - are derived far more directly from the natural world and are often as a result far more sustainable than modern ones. Mud houses require... finding some mud. Breezeblocks require industrial manufacturing. Linen fibres are harvested by cutting a bunch of flax - that you've grown in the ground - and soaking the stems for a bit. Polyester is derived from oil that has to be first mined and then processed. Hazel or willow poles grow at approximately the speed of light, if properly managed.

Tl;dr: Pretty much every 'is it better' argument can be boiled down to 'is it appropriate for the purpose it's being used for?'

[tmdoorsusa]

Regenerating Your House with Impact Rated Wood Doors and Luxury Wood Doors

If you are interested in improving the look and security of your house, then installing impact-rated wooden doors or luxury wooden doors can work wonders. Consistent with their use of timber, these doors are not just pretty, but serve the basic purpose of shielding your house.

Impact rated wood doors are manufactured with special consideration for their ability to endure pressure and possibility of blows from flying objects in storms, twisters, hurricanes or other harsh weather conditions. It is embellished by robust frames, durable panels, sturdier hardware, and state-of-ribbed locking systems to guard against breach/failure. Specifically, premium impact wood doors do not allow penetration from direct impact blows and will favor 200 plus mph, a notoriety that is superior to standard residential doors.

Impact Rated Wood Doors

Following fundamental security measures, luxury wooden doors create high-end looks with a luxurious feel to your home’s entrance. These doors have recessed wood veneer faces that come in very high quality with exhaustive workmanship and fine intricate work, with optional hardwoods such as mahogany, cherry, walnut, or oak. Both traditional and contemporary door styles are possible, with options for glass features, carvings, medallions and choice of a finish. Lever handles, kick plates, and door knockers are some of the hardware that gives luxury looking for the interior house.

Safety freaks have the option of impact resistant luxury wood doors while those who are particular about the looks of the door can go in for impact rated luxury style doors. These doors balance enhanced structural enhancements with sleek styling components to preserve your house’s high style while offering defensive capability.

Swapping standard low density hollow core doors for new impact or luxury wood doors does take contractor intervention but boosts the perceived and real value, as well as security levels. Specific careful measures on sizing and professional fitting help you equip all your home entries – doors to your patio, or your garage with fine wood doors designed to serve the decades to come, alongside withstanding the real dangers. Purchasing quality wood doors will prove worth it in the long run especially to boost on the outlook of a house as well as protecting the items inside.

[raiding]

Fi & Tim doing a “brief briefing” on tomorrow’s ride.

Over dinner, I asked Tim about the carpentry he does over the winter. He's part of a workers' co-operative that runs a sawmill and timber business in Limousin. The business has been based on Douglas fir and larch, clear-felled, with which the co-op does a few timber-frame houses, a lot of restorations, flooring and roof shingles. I asked about broadleaf timber, for which Limousin is well-known. That got Tim going.

He is trying to shift the business and its clients away from the clear-felled softwood to using sustainably extracted broadleaf timber; and 60% of the woodland in Limousin is broadleaf. Unfortunately, it's in tiny parcels, a result of French inheritance law, so it's hard to discover who owns what; and the skills and techniques for sustainable extraction (which might be done by a horse and a winch) are dying out, so most of it goes for firewood. Jean-Baptiste Colbert would be appalled. He was responsible for creating oak forests in Limousin in the late 1600s, under Louis XIV, to ensure France had timber for ship-building (and also wine production).

It's tempting to go upmarket with the finer hardwoods, but Limousin isn't a prosperous area, and the co-op wants to sell to local people. Its customers are used to ordering what they know, rather than adapting to better woods with more limited availability, but it's happening: they've used poplar and yew for restorations and insulation projects, and oak for parquet flooring.

Tim likes working as part of a co-op because it's flexible and "there's no boss": the group decides its priorities collectively. I asked if it was challenging taking part in those discussions in a second language. Tim said he just occasionally gets frustrated that he can't make his point as concisely and exactly as a native speaker; but he says its much more challenging having a bilingual 5-year-old daughter with a French mother. When he gets the gender of a noun wrong (and there are no rules in French to help you work that out), his daughter looks at her mother and rolls her eyes.

[vanityshowroomatlanta]

Revamping Your Bathroom with a Rustic Vanity Design

Are you ready to embrace the beauty of raw materials and create a unique bathroom space with a rustic vanity? The bathrooms that have been completely transformed into the inviting and comfortable areas that every home wants are best suited for rustic vanity designs. Bringing the wild beauty to its functional form, a rustic vanity is an added advantage in every bathroom. For those who would like to update the decor of the house, rustic bathroom furniture is surely a classic and warm option.

There is plenty of rustic bathroom furniture in Atlanta to suit your personality and preferences, whether you live in the city or on the outskirts. In this blog, you will explore the key elements of rustic vanity designs and how you can incorporate them into your bathroom to get that luxurious feel. 

Why Choose Rustic Style for Your Bathroom?

Rustic design is all about using natural materials and their structures, colors, and raw materials. Warm and inviting rustic bathrooms create an appealing atmosphere. The charm of rustic vanities lies in its flaws; exposed wood grains, rough finishes, and handcrafted details give your bathroom a sense of handmade beauty.

Ready to update your current restroom? There is nothing better than a rustic-styled vanity since it adds warmth but maintains the required class of bathroom. Whether you want to gain a rustic farm appeal or a more modern space, rustic vanities do not fail to complement other bathroom designs.

Exploring Key Features of Rustic Vanities

Natural Wood Materials:

Natural wood is a necessary component for a vanity to be truly distinctive. It doesn’t matter if it is oak, pine, or even barn wood; the rough look of timber makes the design so rustic. Usually, there are many flaws in the wood which are noticeable, such as knots, splits, and uneven surfaces, which all add to the beauty and genuineness.

Hand-Crafted Elements:

Rustic designs often involve hand-made details. That can be anything from custom doors to hardware, such as pull handles made from bronze or wrought iron. However, every piece seems to have an artwork, making your bathroom rather exquisite.

Stone or Concrete Countertops:

Most wooden vanities with rustic designs are usually finished with natural-looking stone or concrete to accent the wood's raw appeal. Marble, granite, and soapstone tops help achieve an earthy look and are durable.

Functional Storage:

The design and aesthetic quality are more important components of rustic appeal, this does not always mean that functionality has to be compromised. Deep drawers and even shelves are typical features of rustic vanities, which provide plenty of area to store bathroom necessities.

Enhance Your Rustic Vanity Beauty with Other Matching Elements

Bathroom Lighting:

Light fixtures with an industrial or traditional look beautifully compliment the bathroom with rustic vanities. In addition, wrought iron or brass wall decor light fixtures with Edison bulbs enhance the rustic appeal. Even overhead hanging lights in aged metal or glass finish can serve to further accentuate the vanity’s beauty.

Bathroom Tiles:

In addition, to make vanities more rustic, think of incorporating natural stone tiles on the flooring or the walls. Slate, limestone, or terracotta-made tiles blend well with the wooden and stone surfaces of the tops. On the other hand, patterned tiles, with either vintage or Mediterranean inspiration, can also serve to add some extra depth and interest.

Mirror:

It is impossible to imagine any bathroom without mirrors, and if you think of a room that would give off rustic vibes, then huge ornamental mirrors with borders made out of either reclaimed wood or old, worn-out metal would do the job well. A simple round or square mirror with a chunky wooden frame would only enhance the traditional rustic look. You can add large mirrors to create the illusion of luxurious bathrooms.

A Final Takeaway

Upgrading the look of your bathroom with a rustic vanity can completely change the mood of the room and make it more inviting, interesting, and ageless, all at the same time. And if you live around Atlanta, there are a lot of options available near you that provide elegant furniture to fulfill your ideal bathroom dream.

Embrace the beauty of rustic design and visit the Willow Bath and Vanity website to check out their stunning collection.

[robertleechestateagents]

What’s to love about Oxted?

There’s so much to love about Oxted! This pretty, historic town famed for its large Arts & Crafts houses, timber framed stucco buildings and bustling high street, is situated at the foot of the North Downs in the Surrey Hills Area of Outstanding Beauty (AONB).

Known as a wealthy commuter or “stockbroker belt” town, it was listed in the top twenty richest towns in Britain by the Daily Telegraph in 2011, but has been a favourite of city workers since the railway arrived in 1884 and linked the growing settlement to London and the South Coast. Oxted offers great transport links to the M25, by rail to London Bridge (33 minute direct train) and London Victoria (39 minutes), by Thameslink to St Pancras or Ashford for the Eurostar and direct train services to London Luton and easy access by car to both Gatwick (42 minutes) and Heathrow airports.

Historically, Oxted has always been a convenient stop-off between London and the South Coast, being the site of Roman Roads and ancient routes. Consequently, it also has a good number of lovely old pubs dotted through the old town and nearby settlements of Tandridge, Hurst Green, Limpsfield and Limpsfield Chart.

Mentioned in the Doomsday Book, the ancient Oxted settlement of “Oakstead” (place where oak trees grow) has been around since well before the Middle Ages, with remnants of a Roman Villa at Titsey Place to the east of the town. It is surrounded by beautiful countryside dotted with historic manor houses, farms and many large mansions that have been schools and hospitals or convalescent homes in their past, but have now been converted into fabulous apartments.

Oxted town centre straddles two sides of the railway line – Station Road East and West. It features lovely stucco wood framed buildings and is full of great shops, restaurants and bars, including Cucina Italian, Cattle & Cocktail, Toast Cafe, The Deli and The Ginistry Bar. There’s also a beautifully renovated art deco cinema with cocktail bar and a very popular theatre.

Berkeley Inspiration, Oxted, The Ginstry

There are all the shops and services you need with plenty of excellent hair and beauty salons, clothes boutiques, homes & interiors and several high street banks. For food shopping, there’s also a huge Morrisons and smaller Sainsbury’s, Waitrose and Co-op.

If you want to go further afield, then just take a 15-20 minute drive to the lovely shopping towns of Reigate and Sevenoaks as well as being only 35 minutes to Bluewater.

For those of the sporty persuasion, then there are many leisure facilities to keep you in shape, including the Tandridge Leisure Centre with its pool, sauna, gym and fitness classes, football, cricket and hockey clubs. You’ll also find the Limpsfield Club (tennis/squash) and Tandridge and Limpsfield Chart Golf Clubs as well as Oxted’s beautiful Master Park which is home to football, cricket and a small tennis club. Other local amenities include a livery yard and riding stables for equestrians and the local leisure centre with its pool, sauna, steam rooms and gym.

Berkeley Inspiration, Oxted, The Cricket Grounds

It’s also the home of the annual Oxted Beer Festival, a very popular event held every July that allows the locals to sample all the craft beers and ciders brewed in the area and attracts very well-known bands for its live music offering.

Much of the land that surrounds Oxted is National Trust or farmland, and sitting within a designated Green Belt area. It’s a beautiful place to live, with incredible views from many of its higher points, plenty of opportunity for outdoor recreation – walks, riding, cycling and running routes, with lots of very active clubs for both adults and children including the Oxted & Limpsfield Cricket Club that has children’s cricket every Friday evening, Holland Sports and Raw Skills football club.

If you’ve got children or grandchildren, there are some great schools, both state and private together with several outstanding child care and pre-schools.

There’s also lots of clubs and parks to keep the kids entertained, and in the neighbouring area of Limpsfield Chart, you’ll discover a wonderful area – the National Trust’s Homes for Woodland Creatures – created and maintained by volunteers who have made the most amazing circuit of beautifully crafted wooden animal houses, such as Hedgehog Hall and Badgers Run. It’s a superb place for all the family to enjoy.

Berkeley Inspiration, Oxted, The High Street

Constantly changing and developing, while retaining its special character, the town is now home to some beautiful apartments and developments, including Courtyard Gardens in the centre of the town.

Courtyard Gardens offers contemporary living in the historic town, enquire through our website or visit us at Robert Leech office to find out more.

Content source: https://www.robertleech.com/whats-to-love-about-oxted/

[saltyenthusiastpizza]

Bedroom Furniture Ideas And Decor

Every family members have a different bedroom decor in their sleeping groups. You will not find two homes with identical bedspreads or beds or even curtains towards the window. You will people nobody can actually afford to have their bedrooms decorated based about the season. Naturally not everybody has the funds adjust the decor of their room 4x a year or so. However it to become possible carry out a great job of decorating your space in an inviting way.

Chairs runs from simple looking chairs, to individuals with complex looking patterns. Believe that these home pieces are just cheap items meant for temporary go with. For chairs with more complex patterns, they can look quite elegant and expensive, which means they ideal for that living room. The Recife Chair is one such example. Timber is minimal beautifully curved body, it's polished finishing makes it stand out among another products. A silky cushion rests for it. Anyone who sees this chair will struggle to resist soaking in it, for doing it really smells like a classy and comfortable chair.

Plants could add a summery feel to the bedroom as well as great rattan headboard unique around. A bigger tropical with palm leaves will give an instant injection of summer to your personal rooms. Adding some colorful cut flowers will add further summer appeal. However, too anything else is negative. Don't clutter your rooms with a lot of plants it feels as a conservatory.

It essential that you obtain a bedroom dresser that will match the rest of your bedroom decor. Purchasing your furniture within a set make sure that an individual matching colors for your bed frame, night stands, dresser, and wardrobe. If you choose to how to make own or buy every bit separately, make sure to get a similar shades of wood. For example, they're worth want to get a cherry dresser to complement an oak bed. Likewise, you interest to make sure each and every are along with a similar design and materials.

It's natural to picture such things as ventilation and sound for considered one many rooms in a long hotel. However, once again the same principles put on hanging chair a bedroom at house. Extra insulation can be added when the home is built, but barring that, soundproofing can be achieved exercise program fabric-upholstered, padded panels to walls. The headboard might be padded also to helps keep noise on the ground. Ventilation also important to bedroom comfort. Should not have vents blowing directly above the bed, but make sure the room can get plenty of fresh air.

Wall mounted headboards have grown contemporary gazing. They usually look say for example a plain rectangular headboard but come in the variety of colours. The two main manufacturers of those headboards are IKEA and MASH Dojos.

Such beds are just for small spaced room where bedstead simply cannot be placed in the grass. It is like a bunk bedstead but only comes with top bunk and the region underneath it can be used to place other things like a table or small-sized cabinet. You'll be able to enter the bedstead making use of a ladder http://www.etsy.com/shop/TheRattanStudio that include it.

[warmcupofbloodinfusedcoffeebeans]

Memorial Drive.

There is a house in a field at the end of Memorial Drive. The field occasionally has cows in it, sheep, horses even. There's a little concrete milking barn in a grove of ancient peach trees with bearded wheat wrapping around the cinderblock foundation. Nature has begun to cling to it, and has begun to rip apart the walls with Her slow, unyielding prowess that continues onward no matter the circumstances.

Within the abandoned cinderblock building, under the rotting rafters and moldy shingles, there is a rotting skull. Bovine, in nature (If you'd mind the pun.) The skull is picked clean around the base - Ants, most likely. The most jarring thing, however, is the crying and bloody person in the corner, holding onto their stomach and trying not to cry out in pain.

They were soaked. Blood, sweat, their hair hadn't been washed in weeks. It was knotted to their skull like a nest. They cried, cried, cried silently as the repeated wracking sobs sent flaming-hot searing pain down their side, and into their gut.

At the end of Memorial Drive, there is a house in a field. The house is just as abandoned as it's little milk barn - the concrete foundation is falling apart, the timbers are so wet and termite-infested it's like you could touch it and the entire house would fall on top of you. It looked like it had just rained - brimming with soaked-up water. The ground was dry, the clay dirt was crumbling and filled with gopher holes.

The door falls easily under your palm. The frame crumbles under you and your hand feels soaked, chunks of old rotting wood coming off and sticking to your hand. As you enter the building, there is a stench. A stench so powerful it practically punches into your lungs - violating your very insides. Such an unwelcoming, gut-wrenching stench that you debate turning back, it's like it was ordering you out, but your curiosity still lingers, and you look back for just a second.

Your little red truck is out there parked outside the gate. The cattle grate was rusting and old, a testament to how those old things are so resilient. For just the split-second you look back there, you think you see the silhouette of a figure, shadowy behind your shitty two-seater. You glance back again, only to see it gone again.

Odd. You think. Must've just been my imagination. You turn back into the little house. Rotting stairs on either side of the foyer, with a banister connecting them. There is absolutely no way that those stairs are safe - yet you can see very clear foot steps impressed upon the soaked wood, like someone had just recently been inside.

Blue hells this place is nasty.. You think. As you make your way into the house, you flick on the little flashlight you brought with you, flashing it up into the banister, and over to your left and right.

The foyer opens up into five paths. Left, into what looks like a dining and kitchen room. Forward, in between the stairs into a living room, and the two sides of the banister - both leading into incomprehensible darkness. On your right, there's a door. The door, in fact that entire wall, seems much, much newer. Like it had been replaced recently. The wall was clean, apart from some water damage. The door was of solid oak, and there was a bronze handle on it.

It is bright. Too bright. So bright you can barely look at the door and wall for long enough to take any details in - yet it stays in the wall. The rest of the house is dark, musty, and moldy. The fuck? There's no way this is normal, but you must just be seeing things. Maybe the mold was getting to you.

You cough. The stench had mostly settled into your lungs, but you could still smell it. You made your way into the living room, not daring the stairs, and apparently not feeling too hungry. As you do, you hear loud creaks on each and every board you step on. Your boots leave deep imprints with each step you make.

The living room is a mess. A torn couch sits in front of an empty entertainment center, filthy books are littering the floor, and there's chairs set up around the, again, rotting, entertainment center. pulling your shirt up to your nostrils, you can barely help to not run out of the house. You look back - the door was still shut. The windows on either side of the farmhouse door were still musty and dirty. The shapes of dirty form into people, and you shake your head. Did you know that the human brain is so good at recognizing people that it makes it incredibly easy to create faces in specks of dirt, in bark, and in other, non-human things?

You look back to the living room, and notice a door to your right. There are no windows in the living room - it's darker and mustier here than it was in the foyer. You flash your light across the entire room, and spot a little black nightstand in the corner, set up very delicately. As you approach it, you notice it's not a nightstand at all - it's an altar. One you've never seen before. It was made of a blackened wood, curling and writhing into a platform that held unlit candles. There was a deepened bowl fit within the curling wood, filled with a liquid you couldn't make out. Black, with writhing shapes within it, it almost screamed for you to leave - to never come back - but you shook off the feeling as stupid metaphysical bullcrap.

Probably just nerves, right? You turn around, and you walk towards the books on the ground. You've always loved a good book, but these ones are incomprehensible. What pages weren't wet and burned, were made up of incomprehensible scribblings. These looked like journals, in some language. Chinese, maybe? Japanese? They didnt look like any sort of language you'd seen before - maybe they were just chicken scratch.

You look to the hallway that shot off from the living room. It's silent, and you look around with your flashlight, but you swear you can feel eyes on you. Like you're being watched. Like theres intense, angry eyes looking down on you and telling you to leave. You're being watched, and you can feel it. There's someone here that wants to leave.

You stand up from your crouching position and you dust yourself off. Your knees are soaked, and you can feel water inching into your boots. That's weird, You think. These boots are sealed pretty tightly. Feels like i need to get new boots though. You make your way to the hallway, creeped out to say the least, but not enough to make you leave. You never believed in that hocus-pocus bullcrap anyway. Nerves are nerves! You tell yourself, stuffing those feelings down and ignoring them.

Imagine what they'd say if i came back without any sort of cool stories to tell. You think. This isn't exactly urban exploring but it'll definitely make some of the guys at home happy. You make your way to the hallway, and shine your light down it. Before you can even react, there's a loud, uncompromising BANG behind you, and you stumble forwards, into the wet, moldy carpet and through the floor.

You land on a hard, rough concrete floor - and you cry out in pain. Tears well into your eyes as you feel the moldy carpet under you seep it's disgusting fluids into your open wounds - freshly ripped open from the rough landing, and from the sharp concrete under you.

You sit up after a while, and get ahold of your surroundings. Your hand clutches at your arm, and you try to wipe the filth off of it, only partially successful. You find more success with your t-shirt. Your surroundings are cluttered. The smell of mold isnt as strong here, just dust and old things. Insulation is scattered below you, and you look at the rotting boards surrounding you. You're extremely lucky no nails got stuck into you, there were quite a few still in the wood.

There's a creak from above - You can hear feet sloshing around in the soaked, muddy carpet of the living room. You inch away from the hole you just made - scooting from your position under the hole and towards the darkness of what seems to be a cellar. You bump into a crate, and wince. Something in your back hurts like hell, your right arm has begun to throb, but you ignore it. Fuck.. you think, wincing in pain as you clamber into the deep darkness of the basement. You look back - and there's a shadow looming over the hole you made, and a single shaft of like - almost taunting you - beams right onto your flashlight. You dropped it when you fell, and didnt pick it up.

There was no time to waste - you'd deal with the consequences later. You stumbled further into the darkness, stubbing your toe and running into crates as you felt your way across the maze of crates, cardboard boxes that were soaked in only certain places, and a new, much less welcoming stench filled your nostrils. One of metallic copper. You pushed past the smell, ignoring it. You finally stumbled into a poorly-lit room, one with dim, flashing florescent lights that made it just barely better too see. As you stepped into the room, you noticed the change in flooring - no longer was it rough-hewn cellar, it was a checkerboard black and white tile, ever so slightly tilted, your feet struggled to find solid ground.

Your boots were still soaked from the carpet up above, and you slipped a little while stepping into the room. The metallic scent was strong here, and as the lights flickered on for just a second, you saw what horrifying sight was causing it - The room was coated in blood, hanging carcasses stared at you with empty eye sockets that told you off for even venturing onto the property. These weren't cattle, you could tell. No cow has skin like that.

The smell of blood sickened you - it penetrated your deepest crevices and forced its way into your lungs. You could barely take it, and you held back the vomit you oh so wanted to expell. You stepped forwards, and slipped - landing face-first into the pool of blood that wasn't your own, tears driping down your face as you struggle to stand again, and you heard the slam of a door - crying out as you slipped, and slammed your head into the tile. You tried to stand, your own blood mixing with the other's as you clambered back towards the cellar, but you could hear the soft, calm footsteps of a figure entering the killing room. You heard a door open, god knows where, the room didnt have any that you could see, and you felt a rough hand grab you by the hair.

"NO, GOD PLEASE NO!!" You scream, begging for mercy as the hand dragged you further into the killing room, soaking your already nasty clothing in stranger's blood, suddenly, you heard a grunt of irritation from the figure who had a hold of you - you heard a sickly RIP as they ripped something out of the carcass on their right, and then you felt a disgusting, wet, slimy thing be stuffed into your mouth and tied behind your head.

There was a painful crack across the back of your head, and you were out cold.

[grandstationwolverhampton]

Shropshire Serenity: Discovering the Most Enchanting Wedding Venues

Introduction:

Nestled in the heart of England, Shropshire offers a tranquil and idyllic setting for couples seeking a romantic backdrop for their wedding day. With its rolling hills, historic manors, and charming countryside, Shropshire provides a serene and enchanting environment for couples to exchange vows and celebrate their love. In this comprehensive guide, we will explore some of the most enchanting wedding venues in Shropshire, each offering a unique blend of natural beauty, historical charm, and a sense of serenity that makes it a perfect choice for couples looking to create lifelong memories.

Delbury Hall: Timeless Elegance in the Shropshire Hills

Nestled within the Shropshire Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, Delbury Hall stands as a testament to timeless elegance and rural charm. This Grade II-listed Georgian mansion, surrounded by 80 acres of manicured gardens and parkland, provides an enchanting setting for wedding ceremonies and receptions. With its historic architecture and picturesque surroundings, Delbury Hall offers couples the opportunity to celebrate their love in a venue that exudes both sophistication and natural beauty.

Iscoyd Park: A Georgian Country House Retreat

Located near Whitchurch, Iscoyd Park is a Georgian country house that combines traditional grandeur with modern luxury. The venue's elegant rooms, stunning gardens, and timeless charm make it a sought-after choice for couples seeking a refined and romantic setting. Iscoyd Park allows couples to immerse themselves in the beauty of the Shropshire countryside while enjoying the exclusive and intimate ambiance of a Georgian country house retreat.

Rowton Castle: A Fairytale Setting near Shrewsbury

Perched on a hilltop near Shrewsbury, Rowton Castle transports couples to a fairytale setting with its majestic turrets, landscaped gardens, and opulent interiors. This Grade II-listed castle offers a regal backdrop for wedding celebrations, combining historic grandeur with modern amenities. From the moment guests enter the castle grounds to the exchange of vows in the breathtaking surroundings, Rowton Castle creates a magical atmosphere that makes every wedding day a fairytale come true.

Pimhill Barn: Rustic Elegance in Shrewsbury's Countryside

For couples who appreciate the charm of rustic settings, Pimhill Barn in Shrewsbury offers a perfect blend of simplicity and elegance. This 16th-century timber-framed barn features exposed oak beams, open countryside surroundings, and a warm and intimate atmosphere. Pimhill Barn is an appealing choice for couples seeking a venue that exudes natural charm and authenticity while providing a picturesque backdrop for their wedding celebrations.

The Mill Barns: Riverside Romance in Alveley

Situated in Alveley, The Mill Barns is a contemporary and stylish venue that seamlessly blends modern architecture with the beauty of the Shropshire countryside. Set against the backdrop of a tranquil lake and lush gardens, this purpose-built venue offers both indoor and outdoor spaces for ceremonies and receptions. The combination of sleek design, scenic views, and versatile spaces makes The Mill Barns an ideal choice for couples seeking a romantic riverside wedding experience.

Conclusion:

Shropshire's enchanting wedding venues offer couples a perfect canvas to paint their love story amidst the idyllic landscapes and historic charm of this county. From the timeless elegance of Delbury Hall to the Georgian splendor of Iscoyd Park, the fairytale setting of Rowton Castle, the rustic charm of Pimhill Barn, and the contemporary romance of The Mill Barns, each venue encapsulates the essence of Shropshire's natural beauty and historical richness.