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Seven – A Fairytale of Sorts

One Eirwen woke, stretching languorously. Hair as black as midnight tumbled over her shoulders, stark against skin so pale it was almost translucent.  Lips, lush and ripe and red as an apple, quirked upward as she surveyed the sleeping form next to her. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she said, reaching over him to grasp his cock,...Read more ...

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