“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, as well as a leash, collar, leather blindfold, tail with anal plug, nipple clamps (only the cam clients enjoyed them, but what if you treat yourself to a treat, and then...). My toys are witnesses to fiery nights; will she be using them with her new lover? I wouldn't be jealous (but I am jealous of the tweezers, to death). Will she do it with the next ones? No one knows: today Clint has no idea what happened to that languid creature who captivated him with tales of carnal adventures with strangers, single or in pairs, with Masters, in swingers' clubs, in private studios, outdoors, in public restrooms, without fear and with the 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. Nowadays we see each other occasionally. We still love each other, of course. But I no longer know anything about her desires, her arousals (do you still read the “Master seeks Slave” ads to masturbate, Calamity?), nothing about her orgasms (a blinding light that colored my last years... now only a slow, inexorable fade to gray). Is there anyone to spank you, at least, someone to slap that groped, abused, cummed on, beloved ass you carry around the world, making cocks erect with unparalleled grace, Calamity? Is there still someone to whom you whisper “301, please...”?
Date: 17-09-2025 19:06:11
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