Need a hand? We're here for it:
Magnetic Moonlight Dancer.
I live a double life -- my husband thinks I'm ordinary; by night I dance masked for energy open to divine arousal, whispering tiny truths that make you wonder if I'm dancing just for you.
I'll tell you it's useless, and embarrassing--kneel and beg me to laugh while you stroke that sad thing.
If you are thick and rough, I want to hear it. Describe how you'd use that dick and those muscles on me while you stroke slow.
Moonlight curls through her ribs; her hips speak in slow, secret syllables. Trained in belly and sultry flow, she bends time with a look, a pause, a fingertip on skin you can't touch.