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The seventh day of my victory, I insert the undulator into the ring.The seventh day of my victory, I insert the undulator into the ring
The seventh day of my victory, I insert the undulator into the ring.
I plunge into the depths of his perfect posterior just to hear those needy trills erupt as I present my ultimate ulterior—a peculiar pleasure, my definition of prosperity.
We move in paradoxical paths, yet I keep accelerating deeper into him in a particular ferocity, driving into him in a devotion perpendicular to my velocity. I kiss every viscous creep of his crystalline shoulder until the very shame of our tryst comes crashing down like a boulder, still I stay in my lane for our sacred deed.
He may wiggle gently or squirm, it makes my rod stand firm. his body is my altarpiece, and I will alter him as I please. I will penetrate those rigid boundaries that make his eyes turn, with the same Lorentz force that drives near-relativistic particles.
My equilibrium slowly rises into delirium—my secret creed.
I flip him onto his back like a dealer turning up the last card from the deck. He holds my hard hand through every stand and hit until I bust—a worthy gamble indeed.
I'll make him feel the intangible, grinding his gears into a tangential inevitability. I'll make him sing in infrangible tangents as I thrust him down to his cardinal eminence. He'll taste the imminence of my heavy metal along his spine to his mouth—a trinity of dipole resonance.
I set his mind spinning in circular motions and keep his head in secular notions. His body grows inexorably exothermic as I unmake him—magnetic, manic, a mass of my unmaking. I map every crest and trough of his thorough delight until the amplitude rises in greed.
Tense, he trembles for the critical frequency my climax condescends to meet. I exceed in emission; I meet his need—painting him with the magnitude of my condensed essence, my seed.
Engraved in scripture, I declare my description of sabbath.
The seventh day of my victory, I insert the undulator into the ring.
I dive into the depths of his perfect backside just to hear those needy sounds erupt as I show my ultimate hidden intention—a strange pleasure, my definition of success.
We move in contradictory ways, yet I keep going deeper into him with a certain intensity, pushing into him with a devotion that is at right angles to my speed. I kiss every sticky part of his clear shoulder until the very shame of our secret meeting comes crashing down like a heavy stone, yet I stay in my lane for our sacred act.
He may wiggle gently or squirm, it makes my member stand firm. His body is my altar, and I will change him as I wish. I will break through those strict limits that make his eyes widen, with the same force that drives particles close to the speed of light.
My balance slowly rises into a state of excitement—my hidden belief.
I turn him onto his back like a dealer revealing the last card from the deck. He holds my firm hand through every move until I lose—a worthy risk indeed.
I'll make him feel the unseeable, grinding his gears into an unavoidable outcome. I'll make him sing in unbreakable paths as I push him down to his highest point. He'll feel the approach of my heavy essence along his spine to his mouth—a trio of resonances.
I set his mind spinning in circular movements and keep his thoughts secular. His body becomes increasingly warm as I undo him—magnetic, frenzied, a mass of my unmaking. I trace every peak and valley of his complete pleasure until the intensity rises in greed.
Nervous, he shakes for the critical point my climax is destined to reach. I surpass in release; I fulfill his need—covering him with the strength of my concentrated essence, my seed.
Written in sacred text, I declare my description of rest.