“I have a gift for you, Clint”: a cat-o-nine-tails peeked out from a bag filled with whips, handcuffs, paddles of every shape and material, and then a leash, a collar, a leather blindfold, nipple clamps (the clamps, damn it! Only the clients from her camgirl days enjoyed them, it still drives me crazy after all these years...) Toys witnessing unforgettable nights, starring Calamity, Clint, and the lucky few chosen to gain access to Heaven. MY toys. Is she using them with her new lover? I wouldn't be jealous (I am jealous of the clamps, though, damn it). Will she do it with the next ones? It's impossible to know: today Clint has no idea what happened to that sweet creature who captivated him every night with tales of her adventures with strangers, single or in pairs, with Masters, in swingers' clubs, in private studios, outdoors, in public restrooms, fearlessly and with the libertine joy of giving and receiving pleasure. Every night an anecdote, every night a sensual fragment to complete the Calamity puzzle and build our unrepeatable, absolute intimacy. We continue to see each other occasionally (and love each other, somehow), but I no longer know anything about her desires, her arousals (do you still read the "Master seeks Slave" ads to masturbate with, Calamity?), nothing about her orgasms (a dazzling joy that illuminated those years, then a slow, inexorable fade to gray). Is there anyone to spank you, at least, someone to slap that beloved, groped, abused, cum-filled ass you carry around the world with unparalleled grace, making male humanity drool, Calamity? Is there anyone left to whom you whisper, "301, thank you..."?
Date: 15-09-2025 18:27:11
Added by:
CalamityeClint
Viewed: 0 times
No comments posted for this picture.
Write comment
Report FAKE
