It's art. Admiration of form. Her form. My naked, perspiring marionette twists on tiptoes, skin reddened to perfection, snarling, "Fuck!" I circle. Step in. Nip her ear. "More?" The delayed nod makes my heart thump. Her gasp pierces my bedroom as I cinch the ceiling pulley, notch by notch. Ropes loop her succulent pierced orbs, criss-cross that soft expanse of belly before plunging,
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