Skirt lifting lust.  That illogical panic of needing to crawl inside the womb-like cocoon of someone’s flesh.  The incomprehensible, filthy desire.  The uncensored throbbing yearn for that primal connection.  When you’ve completely morphed into a defeated, defenseless, quivering, panting heap of sweaty codependent limbs.  The tear-stained beg for more.

These shirtless glistening gods have felt it.  Allow them to give it to you.

This entry was posted in Eardrum Desserts, Lusty Luau and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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