Bollicks Precious treasure rolling around, Dipping in darkness, this Wet, wanting hole where Sweet saliva glistens bright And lips enfold the weight of pearls Not yet bestowed Upon her face Or sprayed in ropes Upon bare breasts, Full splendour graced. Subjection, this danger, Her appetites bound To her master, his will is Submerged in her soul, in her mouth As her ragged breaths grasp Added 06 Mar Category Erotic Poems Votes 30 Avg Score 5 Views 27 Comments The True Story This story only available on Lush Stories The Grimm Brothers perpetuated a mythic fairy tale that depicted a down-trodden teenager who was magically transported into a life of romance, royal living, and happiness when her prince finally fell in love with her.
Ancient documents have now come to light that tell a different story: Once upon a time, there was a sexy young woman who lived in Dedicated to a humble man and a lovely friend. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen. Legend perpetuates a mythic fairy tale that depicts a cheeky gingerbread man who was magically animated, and who spent his life running away from people and talking creatures who wished to eat him.
Once upon a time, there was This story only available on Lush Stories. A thrill of dread coldly washed over her, and he stepped closer so that she could feel his Now part the lips that Throb with blood, The beat of heart And sweet agony That race in pulses, Aching pressure Between the folds Of honey rain. Even in my daydreams, which largely featured a handsome prince who saw me completely differently to how I really am, more time was spent waiting and dreaming of him in those solitary imaginings than I did actually with him in them.
I believe that was I said I'd call and leave you a message I feel really embarrassed now, just talking to nothing but your ears even though your ears aren't there. But remember, I said that next time I left you a message, you'd need a cookie and some lube?
There was something delicious about that feeling, the waft of air as it rushed past her knees with every kick. She could sometimes feel those welly breaths blow up between her legs, underneath the thin, long t-shirt she was wearing.
As she lay back on the couch I peek around the door jamb at you. There you are, tapping away at your keyboard, writing, writing, writing. I hate to disturb you, because I know how important your work is, but I can't help myself.