“Perfection.” I mouthed, which was more of a gasp, as the sight of her left me breathless. A step forward for her while I remained for a beat more of ethereal ogle. Stopped in her tracks by my lack of advance, a moment of feminine demur ensued. Forward stepped I just shy of sweet embrace, but enough for her fully erect nipples to brush the fine hairs on my chest. It was she who gasped this time.


Author: Pete Symes

Purveyor of paralogical compliance to verbally mediated reality, artisanal smut, with a pinch of full time flâneur tossed in to taste.

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