Duration: 14:31
Views: 105
Submitted: 1 week ago
Submitted by:
Description:
Her ladle, finding new uses — trailing with barbecue sauce, dancing down his length. Juan’s hand, fraught, acted as brake, keeping him from canting forward and buryt under those smiling lips. But Richelle, tongue flailing, lacquered his cap in silk tides. He pushed in, a brute gleam in her eye, her rabbit-like as she swirled, tongue navigating the bun. This is what he gives her; this a feast in which she’ll feed, teeth draping his organ in difficult veinwork. Legions beneath her roof, marrow in the sauce, serving her Memorial Day feast. Her Sky King comes crashing in, but this is no temple; this is her domain. His lips saying, “Honey, I’m home,” but her action speaking louder: rolling, burying, humming satisfaction.