You were perfect. Your warm throat molded to my fingers and your kisses tasted of fear and desire. Silky straight were the lines I traveled. Your heat rose through you, naked and limber, until your bared intentions shook themselves free. Clothed in flesh, they were your better self.
You were a gift, the spoils of victory, and your tears of joy washed me clean of sin.
These are the moments of decision, the tipping places. On one side is curiosity and hunger, the other safety and sanity. My touch is light, light enough to guide you, light enough to make shadows of your doubts.
And the perfect tears you wept were like flecks of gold against the black satin of your surrender. They melted on your skin like honey, draped in molten drops along your thighs for me to lick clean.
I'm 49, confident, respectful, dominant, and invested in another's pleasure. I have my own place and can host but am happy to travel as well. I am 5'6, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, strong hands, dexterous fingers and filled with villainous intentions.
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