Naughty List Quotes

Alex the waiter was on my Spank Naughty list in third place, right after Henry Calvill the actor, then Henry Calvill as Superman. He was proof that God existed, and that God loved straight women.

You're my girl, Tessa Crimson. You'll always be my girl." He brought me close to him and wrapped me up in his arms, staring down into my face. "And even if we aren't together, that won't change.

It was such a simple thing, and yet it broke and fixed my heart all at once.

If Nana thinks you're trying to scam her, she'll tell you, and if she thinks you ruined her life by discontinuing Arnold's Thin bread, she'll let you know that, too. I guess when you spend eighty-seven years swallowing other people's bullshit, there comes a time when you gotta spit some back.

Bend over and lift your skirt, i'm going to show you what it's like to spend Christmas on the naughty list

Smile like your name tops Santa's naughty list.

Was I a science experiment? Did he want to pin me down and dissect me?

When they had unwrapped all their gifts, Ariel handed out

Who puts plates in the lower cabinets instead of the pots and pans? Heathens, that’s who.

As a rule she thought that cocks were pretty, but this man’s penis was a goddamn work of art.

The Naughty List - People who skim or outright skip acknowledgments pages. Please contact the management for your free, all-expenses-paid pass to Christmasland.

I thought you were nice. Who knew you'd be on my naughty list instead.

I put on my T-shirt that says FUCK BEING A PRINCESS, I WANT TO BE A VAMPIRE, drank my weight in vodka, and made a list of all the different ways I could kill my ex and make it look like an accident.

We all know you’re already on the naughty list, yet like to be told you’re a good girl by a man with a deep voice and a penchant for giving hand necklaces. Am I wrong? Didn’t think so. Now turn the page and read your hockey smut. Show me how beautifully you listen.

You keep this fine ass covered and cozy until I strip you bare and fuck it. Understood?

making her frown. He quickly shifted back to mist

Oh, he’s making a list … and checking it twice … he’s gonna find out … who’s naughty and nice … Then,

So, what, you want her to make a list of things she should do and refer to them in the middle of a seduction? ‘Oh, yes. Oh, that feels so good. WAIT! I need to check my notes to make sure you’re going down on me right.

It was the gift that every girl dreams of, to be dead long enough for your parents to realize how meaningless their lives were without you, how they were suddenly and at once deeply sorrowed at all of the horrible injustices they caused you, how they had truly never appreciated your natural gifts of beauty and grace, being that their beautiful angel would have such a short time on earth and should have spent that time driving the restored 1965 convertible Mustang she had openly AND PUBLICLY desired. But nope, she spent her last, short, fleeting moments driving a 1980 Chevy Citation, every so clearly a GRANDMA car, with fake red-velvet upholstery, a hatchback, and an interior that smelled like spoiled milk and sometimes meat. Being temporarily run over by a car was the best present I had ever received, and I didn't even have to do anything dramatic to get it, like write a note or buy some rope.

If you ask me, too many men have a fixed mindset about sex. They believe they're pretty much born instinctively knowing everything they need to know, and if they have to seek any kind of outside knowledge, that's somehow a form of failure. I never bought into that. I fumbled through things when I was a teenager like everyone else, but once I grew up, I wanted to really learn how to do it right. So I did what I'd do for anything else - I took lessons from an expert.

He cuts me off by placing one of his fingers over my lips, and I suddenly have the urge to lick it, even though I’m pissed at him. “I already told you, I’m making a list of all the ways you can pay me back. As for Anastasia, I gave her that money for purely selfish reasons. She’s a teenager, and frankly, she scares me. Jesus Christ . . . how do you even sleep at night?” he asks with a shudder. “Don’t judge me because I’m trying to buy her off in the hopes that she won’t kill me.

I suggest you stand slowly and walk out with my men,” Zrakovi said, tapping a napkin against his lying, two-faced mouth and putting a twenty on the table to cover the drinks. “If you make a scene, innocent humans will be injured. I have a Blue Congress cleanup team in place, however, so if you want to fight in public and damage a few humans, knock yourself out. It will only add to your list of crimes.” I stood slowly, gritting my teeth when Squirrel Chin patted me down while feeling me up and making it look like a romantic moment. He’d been so busy feeling the naughty bits that he missed both Charlie, sitting in my bag next to my foot, and the dagger attached to my inner forearm. Idiot. Alex would never have been so sloppy. If Alex had patted me down, he’d have found not only the weapons but also the portable magic kit. From the corner of my eye, I saw a tourist taking mobile phone shots of us. He’d no doubt email them to all his friends back home with stories of those crazy New Orleanians and their public displays of affection. I considered pretending to faint, but I was too badly outnumbered for it to work. Like my friend Jean Lafitte, whose help I could use about now, I didn’t want to try something unless it had a reasonable chance at succeeding. I also didn’t want to pull Charlie out and risk humans getting hurt. “Walk out the door onto Chartres and turn straight toward the cathedral.” Zrakovi pulled his jacket aside enough for me to see a shoulder holster. I hadn’t even known the man could hold a gun, although for all I knew about guns it could be a water pistol. The walk to the cathedral transport was three very long city blocks. My best escape opportunity would be near Jackson Square. When the muscular goons tried to turn me left toward the cathedral, I’d try to break and run right toward the river, where I could get lost among the wharves and docks long enough to draw and power a transport. Of course in order to run, I’d have to get away from the clinch of Dreadlocks and Squirrel Chin. Charlie could take care of that. I slipped the messenger bag over my head slowly, and not even Zrakovi noticed the stick of wood protruding from the top by a couple of inches. Not to be redundant, but . . . idiots. None of us spoke as we proceeded down Chartres Street, where, to our south, the clouds continued to build. The wind had grown stronger and drier. The hurricane was sucking all the humidity out of the air, all the better to gain intensity. I hoped Zrakovi, a Bostonian, would enjoy his first storm. I hoped a live oak landed on his head.

In conclusion, the death of Christ was not about God the Father needing to vent His rage and fury upon a sacrificial victim in order to appease Himself. It was not about the Father needing to crush someone in the place of humanity so that, on the other side of the crushing He could be pleased with, and relational towards us. It was not about a sacrificial system which God originally instituted, but later decided was incapable of satisfying His needs. It was about the entire Trinity destroying and putting to death the alien entity of sin, the “devil’s work”(1 John 3: 18), in order to save us from its corrupting influence. It was done so that on the other side of the Cross, we would see and understand what man had lost sight of after partaking of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. It was to reveal to us that our God is not a cosmic Santa Claus who is making a list, checking it twice, and who will ultimately repay both the naughty and the nice. Our God is Love, and has only ever been seeking to reveal that love to us. He was never out to “get us”, but to rescue us from the consequences of our own decisions. Sin did not change God, and the Cross was not the means by which He reset Himself back to His factory settings. Sin changed us, and it therefore needed to be destroyed so that we could behold the unchangeable nature of our God of love. The Cross was the ultimate, climactic demonstration of the Godhead’s love for the human race, not the crude display of a deified version of human justice. It was Eternal Love Himself, stepping into our problem, absorbing it into Himself and dying in order to put it to death. It was heroic, self-giving, sacrificial justice.

I love my local police," Nelson said. "They keep me safe. They look cute in their unforms. I have a great relationship with all the precincts I've ever been in." She said that MARCH seems to be activated in two scenarios: when a venue is in a rapidly gentirfying neighbourhood, or when it gets on some kind of "naughty list" - "sometimes for good reasons, like violence and drugs, and sometimes when, as in the case with art spaces, there's a cultural misunderstanding.

A Zaddy is a hot, intelligent older man who knows how to handle business inside and outside the bedroom. A little dominant. A little naughty. Makes you wet just thinking about him, and you low-key want to have his baby.

AT&T was on ‘Santa’s 2020 Naughty List’.

You know I’m always here,” he tells me, his hand hesitantly falling to my thigh. “No matter what’s going on between you and me, or how many fucking miles are between us. If you’re hurting, I’ve got you.

presented her slender back

grabbed by the shoulders and shook her. “Don’t leave me,” she murmured in a hoarse voice, without opening her eyes. “Don’t leave me,

on a snatch and grab assignment to

I suggest you stand slowly and walk out with my men,” Zrakovi said, tapping a napkin against his lying, two-faced mouth and putting a twenty on the table to cover the drinks. “If you make a scene, innocent humans will be injured. I have a Blue Congress cleanup team in place, however, so if you want to fight in public and damage a few humans, knock yourself out. It will only add to your list of crimes.” I stood slowly, gritting my teeth when Squirrel Chin patted me down while feeling me up and making it look like a romantic moment. He’d been so busy feeling the naughty bits that he missed both Charlie, sitting in my bag next to my foot, and the dagger attached to my inner forearm. Idiot. Alex would never have been so sloppy. If Alex had patted me down, he’d have found not only the weapons but also the portable magic kit. From the corner of my eye, I saw a tourist taking mobile phone shots of us. He’d no doubt email them to all his friends back home with stories of those crazy New Orleanians and their public displays of affection. I considered pretending to faint, but I was too badly outnumbered for it to work. Like my friend Jean Lafitte, whose help I could use about now, I didn’t want to try something unless it had a reasonable chance at succeeding. I also didn’t want to pull Charlie out and risk humans getting hurt. “Walk out the door onto Chartres and turn straight toward the cathedral.” Zrakovi pulled his jacket aside enough for me to see a shoulder holster. I hadn’t even known the man could hold a gun, although for all I knew about guns it could be a water pistol. The walk to the cathedral transport was three very long city blocks. My best escape opportunity would be near Jackson Square. When the muscular goons tried to turn me left toward the cathedral, I’d try to break and run right toward the river, where I could get lost among the wharves and docks long enough to draw and power a transport. Of course in order to run, I’d have to get away from the clinch of Dreadlocks and Squirrel Chin. Charlie could take care of that. I slipped the messenger bag over my head slowly, and not even Zrakovi noticed the stick of wood protruding from the top by a couple of inches. Not to be redundant, but . . . idiots. None of us spoke as we proceeded down Chartres Street, where, to our south, the clouds continued to build. The wind had grown stronger and drier. The hurricane was sucking all the humidity out of the air, all the better to gain intensity. I hoped Zrakovi, a Bostonian, would enjoy his first storm. I hoped a live oak landed on his head.

I wasn’t getting along with Trouble and for good reason. He strolled over and made a snide remark. “Patches,” he meowed, “why do you look so worried? Has Santa got you on the Naughty List this year? Oh, look, someone left some muddy shoes by the back door. Meowr.” “GRmpf.” I snarled. “Oh. And is this a Patch-of-mud on the doormat?” mewed Trouble. “Look, Cat,” I said, “My status with Santa is a private affair. Someone with a name like yours shouldn’t be pointing paws!” “That’s so. That’s so,” he purred. “Pointing paws usually lead to flying fur and the need for hair ex-ten-sions.” Trouble did say things that made sense sometimes, in a weird sort of way. (He was trying to mes-mer-ize me with those purrs, but it wouldn’t work). “Purr--cise-ly. Oh, uh-hum, I meant to say, pre-cise-ly,” I growled, “So let’s drop the subject.” Then he PURRED at me.

So, you're the Santa Claus of the magic world with a naughty and nice list?

told us the burn wasn’t responding to godly medicine.” Aphrodite’s eyes glowed pink with anger. The other goddesses knew they were taking a chance, so why did they risk getting on Aphrodite’s naughty list? Simple. They were more afraid of Eros. They saw this as a chance to get on his good side. Eros was random. He was dangerous. He could shoot you with one of his arrows and mess up your entire life by making you fall in love with an ugly mortal or a pair of bell-bottom jeans or anything. That prophecy about Psyche marrying a monster? It applied to Eros just fine. Everybody was scared of him, even the gods.

Merry Ball... Jingle all the way- come inside and suck your way to Santa's naughty list..

Rest assured, dear one, should you decide to ignore the lesson I teach you tonight, I’ll return next Christmas Eve and devour you entirely.

flicking

evil

Did this man just come to my rescue with a caramel snickerdoodle martini? I love him. We’re getting married. I’m having his monster babies.

I am the scrape of branches at the window when your guilt begins to fester, the warning mother’s whisper to mischievous children and the dark shadow of Old St. Nick.” With a lift of his head he said, “You may call me Krampus and you, dear Daphne, are on my naughty list.

real

me

another

about

Daisy,

Daphne

You, Santa Claus, want to take me into your sleigh and set me down right on your dick?

There is a 50 percent chance that Santa slapped my ass while I screamed about how naughty I’ve been this year. Wow.” “That did really happen. It was awesome.” A smile lit up her face. “Yeah?” “Yes.

Kate. Baby,” he arranged his features into what he hoped was a somber expression. “Reindeer don’t live forever.

For all my Ho Ho Ho’s who made the naughty list and wished that Hallmark movies came with spice. XO, Santa

Be a good girl and come for me.

We made a list, little Quinn,” Damien whispers beside my ear. “We checked it twice,” Jensen adds, twirling the strand of lights around my arm, pulling tight. “And it turns out that—” Micah hesitates, binding my other arm as well. “Our pretty little slut has been naughty.

The holiday was different this year. People’s hearts were heavy and their celebrations small. Families were separated, and as a result, the Christmas wishes made were not rooted in vengeance and retribution, leading to his own unfortunate reversal of fortune and no promise things would improve next year.

But, this man looked like if Santa played rugby and chopped wood in his spare time. His chest was broad and his thighs were thick. And holy shit he was sporting quite the cockstand. Yep.

His jizz probably tasted like peppermint, hot cocoa, and the spirit of Christmas, how could she not want a taste?

Uncle Kris leaned in and, in a very controlled voice, simply said, “You are on the naughty list.

Ah, that’s it. Good girl, taking all of me.

There is a 50 percent chance that Santa slapped my ass while I screamed about how naughty I’ve been this year. Wow.” “That did really happen. It was awesome.” A smile lit up her face. “Yeah?” “Yes.” She was now standing just in front of him. Mischief dancing in her eyes. “You wanna do it again?

Who was this wicked creature? He opened his mouth to say, well a number of things. “Thank you.” “Marry me.” “I see you’ve found my cock, would you like it inside of you?

Well, fuck Santa,” her lips twitched, “you must be on the naughty list.

He knew this woman wasn’t his and her ass was her own, but in that moment it felt like a Christmas present, just for him.

A man who can't accept rejection is a dangerous man.

We made a list, little Quinn,” Damien whispers beside my ear. “We checked it twice,” Jensen adds, twirling the lights around my arm, pulling tight. “And it turns out that,” Micah hesitates, binding my other arm as well. “Our pretty little slut has been naughty.

Okay, will do. Jake Compton is officially on my naughty list.

I’ll never understand how they could waste perfectly good food on a strange man breaking into your home to check on little kids who bribes them with toys. Santa should totally be on the sex offender registry, a naughty list of his own making, if he’s not already. Just my two cents. The creepy fuck.

For the ladies with their sights on the naughty list… I've got you covered. The safe word is midnight. Enjoy.

Now you can spend the rest of the holidays the right way: relaxing at home with cocoa and Hallmark Christmas movies. Like me.

You’ll never get off the Naughty List with that attitude.” “That’s not really my top priority.

My youthful understanding of "Let your life speak" led me to conjure up the highest values I could imagine and then try to conform my life to them whether they were mine or not. I that sounds like what we are supposed to do with values, it is because that is what we are too often taught. There is a simplistic brand of moralism among us that wants to reduce the ethical life to making a list, checking it twice -- against the index in some best-selling book of virtues, perhaps -- and then trying very hard to be not naughty but nice.

We travel by airship like civilized people, sailing across the endless sea of parallel worlds, making our lists and checking them twice, telling our archives who’s naughty or nice.

RJ hoped Mr. Danvers was ready for a night of Christmas kink. Because he sure as jingle-hell was.

Constance stayed with his cousin Dem Buns

I was changing my outfit,” Daniel swiftly stated at the exact same time Cass said, “I was just ravishing your son.

Grace is not simply a “hiding” away of sin – or even a mere forgiveness of your sinfulness. Grace is not just a cover up – as if God the great Santa Clause in the sky is covering His eyes from your wrongdoings – acting as if they don’t exist. He’s not choosing to put you on the “nice” list when you deserve the “naughty” list. Grace does not hide God’s eyes from your sinfulness. That’s what we’ve been taught – but the true Gospel is far better. Grace actually eradicates sinfulness itself. It’s not a cover up – instead it’s an absolute removal of your old heart. Grace is not a freedom to sin, but it is freedom from sin. On the cross, your sinfulness itself was destroyed in His death. Your old sinful self was co-crucified together with Christ. Grace mystically transformed your identity from a sinner to a saint. There’s no mixture left. Grace does not merely “cut you slack” while leaving you with indwelling sinfulness. Grace fully nailed that “indwelling sinfulness” to the tree – your entire old corrupt nature was abolished as a free gift (Rom. 6, Gal. 2:20). What I am saying is that there is nothing left for you to do, but simply be who you are – that perfect new you who is one spirit with the Lord (1 Cor. 6:17). It should be more difficult to sin than to manifest the true holy you. Now your chief end is to glorify God simply by enjoying Him forever. As John Piper often says, “God is most glorified in you when you are most satisfied in Him.

a