The music pulsing through the house stirred the figure's ancient soul. Though the music was modern, made with electronics and possessing alien sounds, the beat it created was primal. Something passed down and down and down through the generations of men from dim antiquity. The figure wanted to dance. To revel in the music and to indulge in the hormones permeating the room. The figure was crashing a college house party. College students flocked around, drinking beer and smoking marijuana. The sour-sweet tang of the drug mixed with the sugary aroma of wine coolers. straight They laughed. Cheered. It passed a pair of girls making out in gay the living room, stripped down to their bras. This was amateur the perfect place to leave its newest creation. It held in its hand a dainty and pristine pair of panties. Something cut for a schoolgirl to wear, full of all that virginal promise. A band of white lace encircled it anal and it had two words written in the brightest, reddest color: Cherry Tart. The figure fought the surge to watch the two girls kissing. They were doing it willingly, mostly. One was stoned and the other oral almost drunk, but it wasn't from its magic. It wasn't the same as twisting and turning and molding girls into new beings. To show them different delights. The girl upstairs, its target, had experienced so many of them already. With effort, it dragged itself away and slipped up the stairs, ignored by the college youths moving up and down. They didn't give the figure another glance. I closed my eyes and lied back as far as I could. They are embodiments only of hunger and hatred, those feelings directed towards that which they are no longer: life. Which was true, she had had her own fair amateur share of bad breakups back in her youth, before Alex. I was air-tight here, completely dominated and used by these men I didn’t even know. What those girls have is what is nonexistent in Western society. “Gracias.” When they found what they were looking for, anal they tapped the shackles, and dragged the innocents forward. Then he gives us his leave. I thought about getting out candles and putting them on the dinner table, but I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard. My fingers traced the tattooed vines flowering across my body, on my left leg up to my pussy, spilling around my pudenda, surrounding my left breast, and oral gay entwined about my right arm. Three of the girls talked freely with me, mostly nonsense I barely listened to, but as hard as I tried, straight I couldn’t really get Helen involved. Anita continued. hesitation.