- Jenny for Mike -

"There are no limits to the delights that you can experience except your own imagination."

Phillip Hodson, Ann Hooper, "How to deliver real pleasure to a man ..."

...

Many ideas, one funnier than the other, rushed at a frantic gallop in my head. The sensuality you woke up, dormant until now, rushed from side to side, trying to dwell on something definite.

- Lord, where is he? Oh, here!

So far this is just a pile of rags, but in a few minutes I will turn into a two-colored tropical butterfly craving for the sweet captivity of your net, and simpler: your net craves your bitch dreaming of your tenacious legs!

The harem pants, descending from the hips in free fall, expand to the ankles. Two satin strips of fabric sharply tighten and tear off the flight of black-red, affectionate touch knit, and below is just a string of merry tinkling bells. I know that you love me differently, you love in me mature refinement and taste, along with childish spontaneity and playfulness. This is what dictated my outfit today. Barefoot, tinkling when walking with bells, and even those that cover the waist with a belt, I walk in front of you. From time to time, throwing short glances and see the lights of approval in your eyes. I dance a little, twirling my ass and catching the reflections with the edges of a black diamond that covers my navel and attaches to the gold chain.

Slightly higher on the figure - top with a mirror color. Full breasts sticking out and almost tearing the fabric. "God, how desperately I want to touch, so that you squeeze these fruits with your palms and taste the juice of their desire!"

Another ringing spiral wraps around my thin neck, emphasizing the fragility of the clavicle. Two-colored hairstyle with raised hair leaves pink ears with tiny stud earrings open. Bright red strands interspersed with black magnificently and intricately removed. In my hair mischievously, tiny droplets of pearls, scattered with a set of hairpins, wink at each other. Their number is exactly so as not to turn me into a Christmas tree garland.

On the face at least cosmetics, only the most necessary. A pair of brush strokes with peach-colored blush, emphasizing the cheekbone pattern, and soft pearl lipstick on the lips, giving juiciness and attractiveness. Long fingernails are covered with a brilliant varnish of the same two colors. “I can't wait — these black-and-red beasts will leave the purple furrows on your back or ass.”

The nostrils caress a slightly noticeable citrus scent, coming, as it seems, from all the more or less significant points on the body.

Visually, you are not there, but the invisible presence in my imagination is indicated by sharp little peaks of the breasts straining under the topic, stretching the two-faced fabric to the limit, and the moisture that irrigates my grotto barely remembers the previous meetings.

- Oh, how I want to get quite specific and pulled a little different!

Every now and then a pink tongue popping out licks the nacre from the coral lips, anticipating the penetration into the depths of the mouth of another coral, hot, courageous, hard and delightful.

I dance a little, passionately stroking the elastic chest with my palms spread out. With thin fingers I lead swollen nipples through the material. I summon the call to the beat of the melody that spreads around the hall. Oh, Ravel and his "Bolero"! A sensual march in which the heavy and thorough gait of elephants laden with oriental sweets is heard.

So, Ravel, dancing a bolero!
For those who do not change the music on the pen,
There is an initial holiday in this world -
Chanting bagpipes meager and sad
And this dance of slow peasants ... [1]

Some elusive and ghostly glimpse in the hazel to the abyss opposite, and my hand turns out to be behind the trousers in a single movement. All bends accompany melodious trinks on the hips and ankles.A manicured finger gropes for a sensitive button between wet sponges, and I myself begin a double rotation with my hand and hips. “Oh, how sweet will be the kiss of my pulsating“ I ”with the head of that coral, which, it would seem, is now torn out into battle”!

And my dance, meanwhile, continues, moving from measured steps to a jerky impulsive tango. Wide hips begin to write out eights, echoing the bee's vibrations, broadcasting the way to her friends to the flower meadow with the sweet nectar waiting for them. But Jane has his honey and flower in front! Therefore, the scratching movements of the fingertips become clearer.

Slowly, very slowly, barely, with centimeter short steps I am released from the bright bottom, but I do not hurry to get rid of the fetters on my legs. Finally, stepping over the clothes that slipped to the floor. There are still cracking bells on the ankles. Slightly audible tinkling on the legs, thighs and neck. I only have a top ending right under my chest and drops of juice on my index finger. Slowly turn my back to you. Another bell goes down to the gorge between my buttocks, which is suspended from the belt with a coal-black amulet. Having spread my legs wide apart, still dancing with an improvised lambada, I sit down smoothly and carefully on my haunches, and at the same time I bring in a couple of fingers. Ottobyriv slightly poop and moaning sweet, penetrate the very depths. Then abruptly stand up, holding his own hand legs. The shell will shut, but not the movement in it!

To see your reaction, I will face myself sensually. With a cunning squint, I will dip a finger with a sharp little nail into the cave of the mouth and begin to passionately suck the very tip. Retracting and alternately savoring my excitement, I will bite and lick in your imagination your rod, leading you with sweeping strokes of a moist tongue from the base to the top

One moment, and hands slip under the topic. The fabric lifts up almost to the very chin, exposing both hemispheres to your lustful gaze. Rolling my nipples in my excitement with my fingers, I will playfully flex my chest with the whole palm. Purring and rumbling with a stroke of a skin with a stroke of a finger thrown into a crevice. I will gently take the center of pleasure with a large and forefinger and gently begin to tease him, reveling in the sight of overflowing lust on your face. Starting from the noise of your convulsive breathing, squeeze your fingers a little harder. The whole body will be overwhelmed with sensual ecstasy. The air will shake a cry of bliss.

Dance, Ravel, your gigantic dance,
Dance Ravel! Cheer up, Spaniard!
Rotate, History, cast grind,
Be a miller in the terrible hour of the surf!
Oh, bolero, the sacred dance battle!

Thank you my love!

______________________________

[1] Nikolai Zabolotsky, "Bolero"