Ode to the gray sofa hears you gray sofa, silent playmate, keeper of our secrets; to the tissues injured by pointed elbows during interminable mouth games, to the wide armrests, thrones of royal hips in perpetual expectation (of a violent 9-tailed cat stroke? of a decisive pelvis thrust to push the cock up into the ovaries?) , to the cushions that have wrapped Calamity with her thighs wide open, one hand intent on chatting with the customer on duty making him melt with determined eyes focused on hers, the other poking with growing anxiety the cunt dripping with excitement. The firm, warm flesh of C. will be embraced by another alcove: that is as faithful imaginative and stimulating as you have been.

CalamityeClint
24-08-2021 20:13:12h