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Your lips are wet, ****** clean by your tongue darting insolently, giving the game away. Your lips burn red in angry anticipation and agitated by the hot raw sting of your racing breath. Your eyes are ink, you spilled it with trembling hands over your coffee liqueur irises but I drank them anyway.
0
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
Ventilation at Dinnertime
Your lips are wet, ****** clean by your tongue darting insolently, giving the game away. Your lips burn red in angry anticipation and agitated by the hot raw sting of your racing breath. Your eyes are ink, you spilled it with trembling hands over your coffee liqueur irises but I drank them anyway.
a-n-h
Written by
Irish
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
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