My mouth is a tunnel of pink, moist, pulsing flesh. I follow your eyes as I open them as much as I can, feeling the stretching of my corners, the tension in my tongue that lengthens like a thirsty rope. My uvula dances to the rhythm of my agitated breathing. Every opening is a vulgar invitation
my open mouth awaits you
My mouth is a tunnel of pink, moist, pulsing flesh. I follow your eyes as I open them as much as I can, feeling the stretching of my corners, the tension in my tongue that lengthens like a thirsty rope. My uvula dances to the rhythm of my agitated breathing. Every opening is a vulgar invitation
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