I swirl the tip over and around your little bud, and continue upwards now…up the crease where the front of your thigh meets your torso…then the ot...er side…painting shining trails on the pallette of your skin. I lick my middle finger. Coating it, then gradually but insistantly using it to bookmark your wonderful ass. You feel it against you, wet and slippery, its tip rotating gently into you as i return to my sensuous feast. From somewhere in the room the smell of incense drifts by, sweet and. "Sunrise asks what happened to your feather's Hank," Pinky said. "I told her that you didn't like them and you took them off."One of the men was explaining that flamingos were social creatures and that they formed friendships by social grooming. A woman chimed in that like humans did, flamingos had their own language. The background chatter of school children and teachers and scientists formed a perfect cover as Pinky and Hank conversed through digital radio. Pinky would relay questions to the. More

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