suck a golf ball through a garden hose: Chronicles of Dreams, Love, and Discovery

Oil glistens on every curve in suck a golf ball through a garden hose, turning her skin into liquid gold. She massages it in slowly, palms sliding over nipples, down the V of her hips, between slick thighs in suck a golf ball through a garden hose. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in suck a golf ball through a garden hose. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of suck a golf ball through a garden hose. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only suck a golf ball through a garden hose could orchestrate. When she comes in suck a golf ball through a garden hose, the oil makes her quiver look like ripples across a golden pond. Spent and glowing, she traces lazy hearts on her stomach, the final intimate signature of suck a golf ball through a garden hose.