It was in a caravan in Sharpinghead one
long hot summer that Paul and Mara lay safe in the darkness as modesty abates
and their inhibitions melt away into the night.
Soft lip touches lip as hot mouths engage and inquisitive tongues employ and
passion grows.
Eager trembling hands explore eager young flesh in clumsy groping as they cling
together beneath the covers.
Writhing in unison, moaning, panting, gasping, the language of lust spoken fluently
in licentious converse until the immodest cacophony peaks to imminent crescendo
with uncontrollable desire, and the throb and ache of want for that final
urgent coupling as they feed in their gluttonous sweaty consumption as they
attain their base and primitive satisfaction.
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