You are an artist by the Divine right of birth, but whatever form of expression may come to you at some time it will not be painting. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six.
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This video was uploaded to warmfuckclips.com on 18-09-2024 19:25:10
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