Thread Closed
Thirst.
Eager, the bobber of the bottle made respite against the summit of her bare toes. Pointy fingers bent about its core. Inspected and pouched between her breasts, bearing the gin scent of its owner.
Scallywags, smelling of no good substance cooed at her with sweaty palms and salacious mouths. A peach of the orchard and destiny’s harlot of no shabby girdle, she was a prize to be amassed and relished. Often times she reveled in arousal from watching their lasciviousness mature in denial, and turn to brute upon a doormat lass more eager to screw. Damn those sniveling whores. Peddling their indulgences. She had once made her life a pander, now was more keen to hoist her own kirtle for the price of a head. Heady was the crave for merited bloodshed.
Prurience was dulling, its carnality lay as flat as the foam in her mug, which she had discovered to be inheritable from one of her agile admirers. Witnessing a near exchange she stood, tickling a coin. What black arts had that scheming baggage practiced to gain the patronage of that elezen dear? Unscrupulous persons could make even the innocent appear guilty. And that one strode off with resolve. Or so was conjectural. She took a place by the tap.
“I bet a fair wager on the youth.†She said, tapping down her gil and giving the Hyurian an ambitious smile.
Eager, the bobber of the bottle made respite against the summit of her bare toes. Pointy fingers bent about its core. Inspected and pouched between her breasts, bearing the gin scent of its owner.
Scallywags, smelling of no good substance cooed at her with sweaty palms and salacious mouths. A peach of the orchard and destiny’s harlot of no shabby girdle, she was a prize to be amassed and relished. Often times she reveled in arousal from watching their lasciviousness mature in denial, and turn to brute upon a doormat lass more eager to screw. Damn those sniveling whores. Peddling their indulgences. She had once made her life a pander, now was more keen to hoist her own kirtle for the price of a head. Heady was the crave for merited bloodshed.
Prurience was dulling, its carnality lay as flat as the foam in her mug, which she had discovered to be inheritable from one of her agile admirers. Witnessing a near exchange she stood, tickling a coin. What black arts had that scheming baggage practiced to gain the patronage of that elezen dear? Unscrupulous persons could make even the innocent appear guilty. And that one strode off with resolve. Or so was conjectural. She took a place by the tap.
“I bet a fair wager on the youth.†She said, tapping down her gil and giving the Hyurian an ambitious smile.
![[Image: varrr.jpg]](http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc17/donald55/varrr.jpg)