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Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. Sweetheart: Go to hell. Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt.
My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge. Where's the bedroom? Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table.
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Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. I can't stand it another second! Sweetheart: What's the matter now? Wellhung: I'm running to the diber, choking wildly. Sweetheart: What?
I want you so badly. Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly. I lift the lid.
Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Sweetheart: OK. I think it's stuck. It hurts.
Sounds like sex to me. Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about pounds.
I'm turning all red. While it does not involve physical contact, critics claim cibee the powerful emotions involved can cause marital stress, especially when cybersex culminates in an Internet romance.
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I'm feeling around for the toilet. Sweetheart: What's the matter? I kiss your neck. I'm moaning. And herein lies the rub, or so we will argue.
Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. Sweetheart: I want you. Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy.
I place the glasses on the night table. Would you like to screw me? Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.
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Do it! Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my Now I'm putting on my shoes. Do it, baby! Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. I can't sustain an erection.
Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. I'm sorry. Just like an incurable STI, stolen photos distributed without your permission can follow you for life.
I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse. Wellhung: I'm done going.
Wellhung: I'm flaccid.