Outsynk ran a finger around the rim of Martha Skidd’s special hole and sniffed the digit longingly, breathing in the pungent scent of Martha’s essence. “You smell divine, love,” he whispered into Martha’s hair as she lay on her back, her knees raised to the side, one leg bent, the other straight, still in her birthday suit. Martha was one of Synk’s very special holes.
Oh darling, you DO seem like a LOVLEY CHAP. Tell me, have you ever felt the hot hot breath of a HAUNTINGLY ATTRACTIV and DEVASTATINGLY GLAMOROS national treasure (called Sally) on your BARE INNER THIGH?