Leandra Parsons

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She pumps my veiny shaft in time with my desperate, shuddering thrusts and bares her neck in an invitation to tighten my grip. “Don’t stop.” “Fuck…” My hips stutter. I choke her again, squeezing her pale throat. The swirls on my tattoed hand look grotesque against the stark white of her skin in the moonlight.
Obsession
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