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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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Facessitting dilight
As i sit on his face,
I feed him,
Quenching his undyiing thirst to taste me,
As i sit on his face,
I feed him,
Smothering him into a pyscolodical state,
When i gaze into his eys i can see he rather not have it on a plate,
As i sit on his face,
I feed him,
Listening to the sounds off gulping, splashing and dashing through my drenched saddle.
The feeling of pleasure is in the passing,
As i sit on his face,
I feed him,
He's blinded by droplets; to be tasted, to enjoy, not endure.
It's in the mutual pleasure that it doesn't become a chore,
As i sit on his face ,
I feed him,
The hunger for the inlets and outlets of the bodies amazing juices live on as he craves it.
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