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Blogs > voyeur2017 > The Edge of Wetness |
My Tongue
My Tongue Like a tendril; my tongue trails down from the balcony of your breasts, falling forward freely, it hangs and drags in the small pool at your center which fills slowly with the salty sweat made by our steady rocking. You shift, causing it to sway further out, its sticky end inclined to cling onto any new surface it finds. It seeks to bond, hold fast to the tiny hard ledge its come upon, so sure of the rhythmic thrill hidden there. |
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