LiboneFord

Lips, language, looking forward to meeting you, still need to bite them, entranced by those black eyes, who look at me with desire, while I blush. Mouth, neck, perfect breasts, exposed to the sun, without pretexts squeeze the edges, With my long fingers, get the best chords. Belly button, waist, perky hips, two impressive legs, that frame a bulging pelvis, That bothers me more, out of nowhere.

The perfect couple is one who makes love, no girl knows my body as I do myself, and therefore my skill is wiser. It is a very sensitive area of the body. What a hand that is neither mine nor someone else's but it is touch, touch, angelic breath.

Here again, in the middle of the afternoon, the sun shines with barely any shadows, the color of the orange sky that can be seen in the distance as if it were a perfect canvas, sitting in bed. I look at the window and with me accompanied by a book of Aveyana, the one I read every afternoon, full of uncertainty and sad moments, who steals my sighs and dreams, I wait for my husband in heat. Upon entering the room he held my head with his hands and kissed me, putting his tongue in my mouth, letting his saliva dissolve on my tongue..

Although you anointed the threshold and ensalivated it, it could not penetrate, licked and soft, not even sail such a vast ship, for its volume as well as for its ballast. My caution mocked and in contrast -liniments, modesty or care- with tiny forgotten annals suddenly and without warning you entered. Never more tolerance or welcome she will find in me so secretive inert that invites antipodean pleasures