It was her yellow-patterned dress drawn up high on her thighs, her infectious smile, and her no-brassiere-here breasts that brought the word HoneyBomb to my mind. An explosion of golden sweetness; her voluptuous figure could never be constrained in a couple of yards of thin fabric no matter how she tried. HoneyBomb. I knew I was in the most pleasant trouble any man could possibly imagine.
from Lush Stories - latest Sex Stories https://ift.tt/3fxYz6B
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