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better to be an empty, pretty doll. better to pose and play and obey.
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roaming thoughts hang low in clouded whispers edging you closer to my touch; tracing hands in lulling motions so gracefully, euphorically sinking into satisfying control
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piece me together with swelling articulation as you grow hungry for my absent mind and submissive dollification.
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mirror thoughts pound and beat in thrilling vigilance, a repetitive painting of bursting kaleidoscopes.