- Joined
- Sep 9, 2015
- Location
- ʙᴀ ᴅᴜᴍ 𝙩𝙨𝙨
Taste.
Her lips taste like passion. White-hot - desire winding your stomach tight, eviscerating thoughts and 'what-ifs' and sundering through logic and resistances alike. You can taste her lipstick - not fruity, never fruity - but classy and full-bodied. Like smoke. Like bourbon. Like the last dredges of oak-aged wine, a flavor you cannot name but find yourself rapidly addicted to. The kiss grows messy. You taste yourself on her lips, in the silvery strands of saliva that compound the lurid tête-à-tête. You think to yourself: who needs alcohol with a woman like this?
Would you rather receive a sexy text message or a sexy photo?
Gimme an example.
Her lips taste like passion. White-hot - desire winding your stomach tight, eviscerating thoughts and 'what-ifs' and sundering through logic and resistances alike. You can taste her lipstick - not fruity, never fruity - but classy and full-bodied. Like smoke. Like bourbon. Like the last dredges of oak-aged wine, a flavor you cannot name but find yourself rapidly addicted to. The kiss grows messy. You taste yourself on her lips, in the silvery strands of saliva that compound the lurid tête-à-tête. You think to yourself: who needs alcohol with a woman like this?
Would you rather receive a sexy text message or a sexy photo?
Gimme an example.
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