“Aha, Bartholemew, I had no idea you were so strong,” Pokimane teases, rubbing your bicep. You blush, and nervously smirk. “Well, what can I say? I’m just such a gym-head.” She laughs, offering a tantalizing look, her cerulean eyes contrasting sharply with the dim lighting of the largest bedroom in your mansion. “Well, I’ve always liked a real man,” she replies with a seductive smugness tinted with a sarcastic edge. It was as if she was saying: “God, I know I shouldn’t go through with this...but my body disagrees. Goddammit, Imane...” You start stroking her hips vertically, the tension now so palpable you could cut it with your abs. You near her ears and lick your lips. “You know what I like most about you, Ms. Anys?” Her heart rate surges, and her knees immediately tremble. She loved when you called her that: it gave her this sense of power-a sense of power she desperately wanted you to take from her. “Yeah, what is that Matthew?” she inquires shaking in pure delight, barely able to form a sentence. You grip her hips with your manly hands. She’s desperate to disguise her true feelings, but you both know that deep down, she’s undergoing nothing but pure euphoria. Every inch of her body is willing to give in to you, no matter how much she wants to hide it with her above-it-all pompoussness. “I like that you’re such a risk-taker,” you finish with a sensual peck on her hear. Oh my God. “I can’t do this to Hasan,” Poki’s conscious desperately tries to convince her-but a woman’s urges are a woman’s urges. And these urges are far more powerful than any sense of moral righteousness that she may desire. You start scratching at the jeans wrapped tightly wrapped around her thick, voluptuous right thigh. “This is happening, right here, right now!” you order, as your other hand starts unbuttoning her top without resistance. “Oh y-yes, daddy!” she responds, with a girlish stutter. “Yeah, something’s starting alright!” you hear a booming Turkish voice respond. Before you can turn your head, Hasan Piker beats the shit out of you, picks up Poki, and then spits on you. “Oh my God, Hasan, I’m so sorry!” He smirks. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he said. “But I’m surprised you almost went through it-that guy was a fucking libertarian.” She couldn’t believe it. Oh my God, seriously?” she replies with disgust. “Yeah, and you know what we do to lib-“ before he could finish Pokimane drags your unconscious body to her front yard and runs you over with her ford carrola. “So much for the tolerant left,” you think, before it all blacks out.
i like thee stick man the intricate learning forawards of the body really portrays the sadnsssess and guilt from the murder 5 years ago remember its notw youre falult domonononic andrews they have forgiven yours soul in nirvana i want Seiros' communion cake :ppp
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car
i am so confused and amazed
r
ca
“Aha, Bartholemew, I had no idea you were so strong,” Pokimane teases, rubbing your bicep. You blush, and nervously smirk. “Well, what can I say? I’m just such a gym-head.” She laughs, offering a tantalizing look, her cerulean eyes contrasting sharply with the dim lighting of the largest bedroom in your mansion. “Well, I’ve always liked a real man,” she replies with a seductive smugness tinted with a sarcastic edge. It was as if she was saying: “God, I know I shouldn’t go through with this...but my body disagrees. Goddammit, Imane...” You start stroking her hips vertically, the tension now so palpable you could cut it with your abs. You near her ears and lick your lips. “You know what I like most about you, Ms. Anys?” Her heart rate surges, and her knees immediately tremble. She loved when you called her that: it gave her this sense of power-a sense of power she desperately wanted you to take from her. “Yeah, what is that Matthew?” she inquires shaking in pure delight, barely able to form a sentence. You grip her hips with your manly hands. She’s desperate to disguise her true feelings, but you both know that deep down, she’s undergoing nothing but pure euphoria. Every inch of her body is willing to give in to you, no matter how much she wants to hide it with her above-it-all pompoussness. “I like that you’re such a risk-taker,” you finish with a sensual peck on her hear. Oh my God. “I can’t do this to Hasan,” Poki’s conscious desperately tries to convince her-but a woman’s urges are a woman’s urges. And these urges are far more powerful than any sense of moral righteousness that she may desire. You start scratching at the jeans wrapped tightly wrapped around her thick, voluptuous right thigh. “This is happening, right here, right now!” you order, as your other hand starts unbuttoning her top without resistance. “Oh y-yes, daddy!” she responds, with a girlish stutter. “Yeah, something’s starting alright!” you hear a booming Turkish voice respond. Before you can turn your head, Hasan Piker beats the shit out of you, picks up Poki, and then spits on you. “Oh my God, Hasan, I’m so sorry!” He smirks. “Don’t worry about it, baby,” he said. “But I’m surprised you almost went through it-that guy was a fucking libertarian.” She couldn’t believe it. Oh my God, seriously?” she replies with disgust. “Yeah, and you know what we do to lib-“ before he could finish Pokimane drags your unconscious body to her front yard and runs you over with her ford carrola. “So much for the tolerant left,” you think, before it all blacks out.
giv me wholesome updoot 100 keanu reaves make arrow orangang pleaqse thang you kinde strasgner
nice
i like thee stick man the intricate learning forawards of the body really portrays the sadnsssess and guilt from the murder 5 years ago remember its notw youre falult domonononic andrews they have forgiven yours soul in nirvana i want Seiros' communion cake :ppp