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control is intoxicating, submission is freedom; will the silent bells continue to coat your presence in dripping obedience?
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mirror thoughts pound and beat in thrilling vigilance, a repetitive painting of bursting kaleidoscopes.
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what would you actually do if you caught a switch? cry?
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self-sufficiently succulent, such soft control reminding you of your worthless desires, such primitive urges doused in suffocating cascades of silencing tits inching closer to squish your senses away.
