Recycling

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Recycling

 

I ran my hand through his thick fur,

Working each nipple,

From the sweat,

From my mouth,

Which matted his dark hair in swirls.

From his nipples-

I began my voyage,

From a dark trail,

Where I felt him throbbing,

In his sacred place.

My tongue flickered,

On his sensitive place.

I took him in the deep of my throat.

I gagged with pleasure.

Finally the shots of white dribbled,

Warmly down for recycling.

 

 

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