Oh, that's good.

Their cupoling was a build up of passion, Nikitia longed for the release that, as a BASE jumper, she knew would be like free fall. Michael was her parachute.

Her passion built and grew, Michael kissed her, laved her skin until she rithed on the sheets, soft as down. Nikita moaned, low and long. She was gushing between the white pilars of her legs, Michael hovered over her, his stiff, solid column readying to plunge within her. He plunged again and again, like a jet blast his pent up passion rocked her rotunda.

These are making my brain hurt.

Continue.

He was the specialist of love...his hands as rare and magical as a warmed-up speculum and just as precise. This was one physical Nikita would not have to be reminded to get." Examine me!" Nikita cried in passion's gathering throes.

I knew I could count on you guys.

He ferried her across the river of passion, slipping his pole deeper and deeper into her murky nether parts. The waves surged higher and higher until they both drowned, their lungs filled with the fluid that flowed from their overheated depths.

(ew. have now grossed myself out.)

I will pay cash munny to the person able to incorporate "raising the tent-pole in the love circus" into their snippet.

A spanner and a wingnut thrown together by the shaken toolbox of life, Micheal and Nikita clung to each other's apendages with the force of a G-clamp to a table ledge. His metal-hard screw-threaded lever wound ever harder into the soft wood of her core, leaving a round indentation on her G-spot which she knew would mark her infintesimaly.

infintesimaly

This made me laugh a lot.

This made me laugh a lot.

Good. I considered "incorrigibly" but decided it wasn't bad enough.

Michael balanced on a thin line between pleasure and pain, like a tight rope walker blanacing on a thin thread. Nikitia was the source of this thread, she nipped and laved, suckled his skin, she nipped at his skin with sharp bites like gnats.

She teasted him, moving from one anatomical region to another, blindfolded he tried to guess where her next move would be, but she the rope of her soft hair to confuse him even more. Michael gridded his teeth, desperate to cry out her name, his love for her, but he was a devoted mime and so called out his love only mentally, hoping that she would catch his minds desire and echo it with her voice.

Nikita, his sweet daring love, slid down his body and engulfed his burning hot rod into her cool sweet throat. Michael stiffened, went still, worried that his thrusts would hurt his delicate love, but she pumped his organ with her mouth, urging him on faster and faster.

He could do nothing but surrender to the sensations -- the air heavy with the scent of animals and popcorn, the sounds of laughter and muffled desire, her touch, sweet and soft as spun sugar. He wanted this to last and last, but she urged him on with constrictions of her throat, and he mentally screamed as he went off like a canon shooting his hot salty load down the sweet tunnerl of her throat.