Confessions of an Oral Addict: Vol 1. Beedy Essem.
- A Vulcan Odyssey.
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Aine Blaze. Collared For A Month. Ali De La Luna. Howlin' At My Moon. Vera Atwood. Pole Tricks. N Kuhn. Bottoming for the Billionaire 2: Maid for Pleasure. Jade Bleu. The Doctor and the Brat. JJ Joella. The Hot Wife Gets Hers. Minella Mason. Used by a Dominatrix. Conner Hayden. M Wills.
The Swapping Stone. Into Her Body. In the Doghouse.
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Preview saved Save Preview View Synopsis. Each hand has four perfect fingers and one pretty little thumb. I hold up her extra pinky. Sister looks frightened, but she stops pretending to cry. I roll my eyes and turn back to the fence. Between the slats, I catch glimpses of flesh, folds of grayish white dotted with emerald specks, and the shimmer of sharp teeth catching the midday sun. A thin breeze pushes through the fence. It smells like rotting fruit, sour-sweet.
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Sister holds them out. I place the end of the pinky next to the red bump where it used to hang. I place her pinky next to mine, touching the end to my skin. A sharp pain spikes through my hands, and my left extra pinky trembles, then unfurls. I wiggle it back and forth. We stand on the lawn in silence, staring at it. She pulls back. Sister lunges. I open my mouth wide. A soft, low, metallic buzz emerges from the back of my throat, and the drowsy scent of gasoline fills the air. My knees buckle at the scent—fresh-cut grass and crushed leaves, all the ripe green distress of dying flora.
I sigh, and my breath comingles with hers. We drop to our knees. Sister grabs my hand and puts my index finger in her mouth. I slap her face, and when she raises her other hand, I grab it and catch her wriggling thumb with my teeth.
D. H. Lawrence
We fall against the fence and slide sideways onto the ground, our noses almost touching. Sister lies on the grass with her head at my shoulder, examining my severed finger. And her thumb—it was like nipping off cookie dough from the roll. I take her thumb and place it between my breasts, then slide it down to the open zipper of my pants. I roll over so that our noses are touching again, our foreheads, our lips.
diw.agencyhype.com/8755-holt-mcdougal-on-line.php She does. In our petroleum haze, we shed our clothes, adjusting and arranging our new parts. Insects float in and out of our now-empty mouths, catch in our long hair, crown our heads like emerald halos. Sister signals me, her long fingers waving me forward, and we move as one across the sun-dappled yard to a far corner, to a bed of beauty bark under the heavy needled branches of stiff evergreens.
The afternoon sun lowers and the moon rises, bright and clear in the hot summer night. Our limbs come together, fall apart, and weave together again, tongues and toes and scent directing our exploration. And with the break of day, we grow bold with our new single mouth and bite down harder, further within, until we are inside-out, until our hearts are one.
Black birds gather on the overhead branches, chattering at the sight of so many organs, so much sinew and broken bone. They wait in vain. We are fast and quick and sure, and not a drop of blood is spilled or misspent.
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