A wet tongue brushing against his inner thigh,
Soft, wet, warm strokes up and down his muscles.
Anticipation… pressure… hardens into a painful heaven…
“Oh darling, release and move on.”
Velvet touches tickle his senses,
Tips of delicate fingers trace his abdomen…
Anticipation again, sending shivers…
Moans and silent pleas hidden in her touch.
Finding his treasures with no extra effort,
She begins her hobby, she needs to be fed…
One soft blow… one smooth touch…
Ninth cloud in the seventh heaven….
Wet tongue, awaiting mouth to catch every last drop.
*moan* “Oh… you’re good…”
“I’m not done…”
And there she goes again!
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