I can feel the throbbing sensation exciting me. A slight touch, and I squirm. I don't know how to keep myself from ever touching you again, because to me, it feels like you're calling, wanting, deliberately pleading for my warm finger tips.
As I look around to check for prying eyes, I slowly caressed you in front of the mirror. I see you're swollen red now and I couldn't be more excited. But I worry that maybe If I get too aggressive, I might induce an overflow of gooey liquid. So I whimper in soft moans, slowly massaging the sides of what appears like an enormous mass of circumferential entity.
Oh my dear swollen, bumpy zit, when will you be ripe enough for a harvest?
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