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Rated: 13+ · Sample · Romance/Love · #1502709
A hot kind of mild temptation
Sugary Sweet Coated Curtains
~A hot kind of love and addiction, a shiny kind of kissable lips.~
"Sir, can you undress me?"

Unsatisfied laughter of tough sticky and wet fever attached very strictly on virgin rumors and  angelic deadly weapons. Sticky like the earthy ground. Sticky like eyeglasses melted. Sticky like you just don't care. Just so sticky with the hot lips, mouths colliding bump, bump, bump. Hot humid weather unchanged in the square box room of addicted hot zero heterosexuals. Boy. Girl. Boy. Girl. Male. Female. Uterus. Groin. Boy and girl just scream it all out loud like you really care. Attached, so close, so close, ever too closely. Liquid fluid rushed fast like the furious up and down motions.

"Please, sir, I want some more." The partner would say with the echo static of the apartment.
An echo made by the fantasy fiction from the white polished  fingernails that cluttered itself to the back of hot roasted beef turkey meat covered with the cure pearl skin protection of the utter blood flowing infection. Just too enchanted with the glare, flare apocalypse lights, sundown on their shiny caressed faces and foreheads. Too sticky for flawless beauty. With their pale complexion of the north star mountains.

A little too shiny and twinkly for eye view.
Kinky without the pretend hot euphoria of the new elysium.

Snapshot: a girl with too many curls from the steamy hot pillow crusted love and attention received only at night. Only at a night like this with a clear moonless sky.

"Please don't bother us." Sign on the doorknob clearly hanging down. Too noticeable.

Rosy pink frilly curls loosely hanged down below her neck. A messy bun ruined with busy affection. Wide bug eyed lady. A lacy dear, childish facial appearance. Too cute without elegance nor grace. She knitted her legs, stretched with his, the one above.

Sweat, too sweet for endurance and tried fractions. His hair grease covered muck farmyard filled with filthy vegetable manure. The insides of their mouths felt like iron wet with saliva a type of mixture that tasted like the bottom of Brazilian chocolate tea with milk and sugar. Deep below, that nauseating feeling but they don't stop when they reach the very bottom. Sickly kind of devouring. Something illegally delicious and inviting at the same time.

Untraceable lips flawlessly caressing every nibble of her chewable non rusty wet sweet and sour movements. Twist and turns in every direction. Their pump gas station not willing to flow dry. Strong wave and transmission passed by their cold chilling ear that reeks of devotion and a dream fanatical occult brand with its name and feature.

As seen on t.v.

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