…but it won’t stop while the skin is still itching. I ache to RUB your balmy down, and FEEL beneath the folding quiver. LICK the simpering fruit. SQUIRM, childer, SQUIRM, suckler. The clean white linens are the best to PAINT with throbbing brush.

Can’t you WRIGGLE for me, little warmling, under the steamed breath? And WON’T YOU SHOW the underskin, and let the breezy light in? Your drippy curve is euphonia to the tongue’s ear.

Gasps in the rumbling gurgle throat, is the only end. Lastly soreness, rubredness and you’ll feel copper smeared ‘til again. The only ending. There hasn’t been a way out since we’ve been flayed.

More and more. What’s behind the climax? I can’t see the afterglow, It’s too messy for a cleanup. No, this story’s a snuff story, and not the consensual kind… I’ll take my bow when it comes.

please SHARE i’m so cold and can’t you HELP me BALM my skin? SUCCOR and SATE me? CALM the outside again? LIE down with the fever and leave it in. Let me LICK my lips and TASTE the drops therein.

Light SHINES for all. The night’s just begun when you LAY under the sun.