bugs having sex: Chronicles of Dreams, Discovery, and Love

Oil glistens on every curve in bugs having sex, 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 bugs having sex. The shine catches every light as her fingers dip inside, emerging glossy in bugs having sex. The sounds—wet, rhythmic, desperate—fill the room of bugs having sex. She adds a second hand, one circling above while the other thrusts below, building a crescendo only bugs having sex could orchestrate. When she comes in bugs having sex, 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 bugs having sex.