We are all from the earth.
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I usually mold the pussy last. It’s such a finite act. It’s the moment when my lovers truly realize that they will never penetrate a woman again. However, I am always gentle with them. Sweet words ease them into acceptance as I use my soothing touch to shape a blooming flower from a lump of blunt flesh. They always squirm when they feel my fingers sink into their wetness for the first time - yet they never object. They are usually too overwhelmed by their delicate, nubile forms to feel anything but pleasure.
This new lover seems especially responsive. She surrenders to my spells with such fervor! I can sense a feminine soul begging for release within. My fingers have already melted her masculinity away and my kisses have blessed her with supple lips. Her heart absolutely soared as her breasted ripened atop her chest. Femininity is blooming everywhere I touch, from her slender graceful arms to her dainty shoulders.
I am nearly finished with my art and now my own needs are stirring with anticipation for this one. I feel my mind wondering if her nectar will be as sweet as I expect or what she sounds like when she orgasms for the first time. I can tell from how she responds that I won’t have to wait long for an answer. However, I’ll have to think of good name for my new masterpiece . . . something that rolls off the tongue during intimate moments. . . .