Publié le 02 juin 2025
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I am Mademoiselle C, and in the burning shadow of intimacy, my body engages in pleasures so crude, so depraved, that they consume me to the soul. Let me confess to you, without modesty, what I feel when voracious lips and immodest languages ​​take hold of my most intimate areas, where desire explodes and drowns in an indecent ecstasy.

When a hot, humid, obscene language, ventures on my little smooth and thrilling pussy, it is a tornado of sensations that tears me away. Cunnilingus, this art of insatiable lubricity, brings back lightning of pleasure which cross me right through. Each language stroke, each greedy suction on my full and shuddering clitoris, makes me crazy, leaving me soaked, dripping with an abundant cyprine which runs between my thighs like an offering to this insatiable mouth. My pussy, shiny, gaping, opens shamelessly under these caresses, and I feel my intimate lips pully, spread, implore more. The lips that suck me, the language that turns out, voracious, insatiable, tear me away from groans. My hips twist, camber, pressing my wet flesh against this mouth that devours me, and I feel my whole body vibrate, my breasts stretching, my nipples harden until pain, while waves of heat overwhelm me, leaving me panting, streaming, at the mercy of this obscene pleasure.

And then there is an anulingus, this indecent act, where the border between taboo and worship collapses. When lips venture on this secret, so sensitive, so defended ring, it is an explosion of sensations that makes me lose ground. The tongue, daring, imperative, licks and teases this delicate flesh, and I feel my body ignited, each nervous termination lights up in a primary fire. Each movement, each wet pressure, gives birth to spasms that shake me, leaving me breathtaking, the shiny ass of saliva and desire. I camber, offered, exposed, while this indecent language explores, sinks, making me moan stronger, my body dripping with sweat and this guilty dampness that betrays my pleasure. This area, so intimate, becomes the center of a hurricane of sensations, and I drowned, dripping, each thrilling I bringing me closer to an ecstasy that tears me away.

In these moments, everything is based on exquisite slowness, a delicacy which borders on indecency by its control. Each movement is a calculated touch, a caress of almost cruel sweetness, without haste or brutality, as if each second was carved to prolong this delicious torture. The language that slides on my cock or lingers on my anus traces slow, lazy, precision grooves that make my nerves sing. This reservoir, this patience, amplifies each sensation, each brushing becoming an electric discharge which pulses my flesh, soak my thighs of a burning wet. My body, flooded, surrenders at this rate, and I feel every drop of my pleasure, thick, hot, as a proof of my total surrender to this ecstasy.

In these moments, I am a blaze, a storm of flesh and lust, where each drop of pleasure flows from me, each pulsation of my body, howls my abandonment. Me, Mademoiselle C, I wallow in this debauchery, carried away by these indecent caresses, by these languages ​​which fold me and break me in an erotic dance where each sensation is a cry, each thrill a capitulation.