Body worship ain’t just about touchin’—it’s about surrenderin’. And baby, I was born to be adored.
There’s nothin’ like feelin’ your lips trace every inch of my soft, Southern skin… slow, reverent kisses across my tummy, my thighs, my tiny perky tits. You start soft—like I’m somethin’ sacred. And sugar? I am.
But body worship don’t stop there. I like it when your hands get a lil’ greedy, squeezin’ my ass like you’re claimin’ it. When your tongue dips low and hungry, like you need the taste of me. I’ll moan real sweet-like, but make no mistake—I want it messy, I want it deep, I want it worshipped.
And I return the favor, sugar. I get down on my knees in those baby-pink panties, lookin’ up at you with big doe eyes, and I devour every inch of you like you’re a gift from God himself. I’ll kiss your chest, your thighs, trail my tongue where you shudder the most. I’ll wrap my lips around your cock like it’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held.
That’s what body worship means to me. Giving in to pleasure. Letting your whole body become an altar to the sin we’re about to make. Tender. Fierce. Southern. Slutty. Sacred.
Now hush… and show me just how much you adore your lil’ peach.
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