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what would you actually do if you caught a switch? cry?
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my freedom flows in embers of submission unscathed by grasping hands so calloused with undeserving control.
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so endlessly sleepy you sway and stare at translucent strings slowly dancing on your skin, sighing in submission to glistening sirens taking you deep into consuming dreams.
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now a hint of smile in hysteria, broken toys make such good submissives when they play the role so well, don’t they? The subtle push and pull of your incessant waning, waxing poetic without the decency to shine in authentic light.