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Dec 2024
His tongue moves slow, deliberate tease,
Circling her, savoring the scent with please.
A flick, a taste, my arousal’s heat,
His mouth, her ****, a rhythmic treat.

Up and down in a steady flow,
Two strokes a second, driving her low.
Her swollen lips throb, each flick divine,
Every touch claiming this body as his.
Styles
Written by
Styles  NYC
(NYC)   
227
 
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