My Secrets And The Lace: Part One - Laced In My Hunger
A glimpse of lace becomes obsession, and every thread knows what I’ve done.
They haunt the streets in skirts and silk, in slips of lace like spilt warm milk. A bra strap peeks, a hemline lifts my cock responds to subtle shifts. I pass a rack at Macy’s slow, where satin thongs in lilac glow. A breeze of pussy, ghosted faint a scent that makes my fingers taint. At shows, at clubs, on flashing screens, in every form from rough to clean. Fishnets grip each sinful curve, her ass a shape I don’t deserv...