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Cosimo Galluzzi
cherry valley forever
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
YOU ARE THE REASON
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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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almost home
AnasAbdin
taylor price
ellievsbear
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Product Placement
Mike Driver
Show & Tell
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Discoholic 🪩
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@luluandcat
Pleasure
       He had always been so shy. He was there now, staring at the woman he had always loved, his throat dry, his saliva tasteless. He began to sweat, his hands were chilled. She was watching him as if she was studying every little movement of his muscles, as if they could tell a story in the form of pulsing moments under his skin.  Every fragment of the prelude to their sex was emerging…
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Pleasure
       He had always been so shy. He was there now, staring at the woman he had always loved, his throat dry, his saliva tasteless. He began to sweat, his hands were chilled. She was watching him as if she was studying every little movement of his muscles, as if they could tell a story in the form of pulsing moments under his skin.  Every fragment of the prelude to their sex was emerging…
check part II of the ghost story
From my archives, my ghosts
If you enjoy dreamlike stories, strange cities, and solitary characters, you might also like this piece from my archive.
In that hotel courtyard, there was a statue of a woman, her face bent on the ground, a mantle covering her body, one of her breasts naked. And she looked down at her body, as if surprised at her own shapes. When the clouds moved away, the gray of the pebbles rose up to her head, the green of the moisture became darker, the marks of rain appearing right under her eyes were more visible. He noticed…
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
In that hotel courtyard, there was a statue of a woman, her face bent on the ground, a mantle covering her body, one of her breasts naked. And she looked down at her body, as if surprised at her own shapes. When the clouds moved away, the gray of the pebbles rose up to her head, the green of the moisture became darker, the marks of rain appearing right under her eyes were more visible. He noticed the shadow of her face bent on the ground, the dark corners the sun had never reached. He touched her breasts, they were warm, although they had lived for centuries without love. And he imagined why the sculptor had made her that way, looking down, the centuries reduced to pebbles, to the leaves running in the autumn and at the men’s feet. She had never seen a man’s face; had never had a lover.
check my story! thanks ! first part
Two haunted faces, a short story.
The winged man - Part I , II, III
every week a new chapter There was a statue of a winged man in a courtyard in Prague, its stone body interwoven with the colors of the night. The garden around it grew at random, wild. The grass dissolved into darkness, reflecting the disenchantment of those hours, hiding the shades of green it bore in the morning. When it rained, a scent of oxide filled the air. After the rain, a perfume of…
The winged man - Part II
Every week, another fragment is revealed. But he imagined that symbols could be seen in the amber-colored eyes of his unknown neighbor. The man blew out the candle, extinguishing it in a second—his existence, conditioned by fire, vanished then, in the early morning. There was a white, light curtain at the window, an almost transparent veil that stirred in the wind. When the candle was lit, the…
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The Ghost Story of a Forgotten Lover in the Shadows
a page of my book, hope you like it  The woman passed her hand through her gray hair, her fingers sliding down the strands until they reached a knot. Her head bended slightly to the right, under the weight of her thin and wrinkled arm. She fixed her eyes on a spot on the wall, the inert covering of the dark room. Small points of light were dancing there, like the eyes of a wolf – a dark hunter,…
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two haunted faces
    There was a statue of  a winged man in a courtyard in Prague, the stone body woven by the colors of the night. The garden around the statue grew at random, wild. The grass faded into darkness, reflecting the disenchantment of those hours, hiding the shades of green it had in the morning. When it rained, a smell of oxide filled the air. A perfume of lavender fell from the starts after the rain, mixed with the heat of the weather.Â
   Nikolai lived there, round that desolate courtyard, in a small room with a gothic window. From there, he could see the winged man´s back, the spine a depression running as inert as a dry lake. Sometimes, there seemed to be some movement in that body, as if it were impelled by the clouds walking in the sky, the pilgrims in the late afternoon.
   It was spring, the days when the winged man was surrounded with ill-cared flowers bending slightly to the left, following the wind. The vivid colors of the flowers hid the winged man´s feet perfuming them with their smell carried by the coming of the night.
   The twilight tints fell upon the statue giving the impression that its wing moved in the emptiness and then, lit by the red glow of the sun, came in through the window, turning it into a stained glass. When night swallowed the sky, the day died in Nikolai´s room, leaving there images that were pure illusion. Â
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Glass flasks
It was raining. He was at the window, watching the lightnings flash the dead streets. But only one face was lit, a woman´s face behind one of the windows opposite his.
Between the woman and the window there was a curtain, not one made of cloth but of small glass flasks, coloured and scented, dancing in the dark. It was a waltz with no name or notes, just visually beautiful. She had created a private world there, with no intruders or logic.Â
When the lightnings vanished, the streets slept by the music coming from the slow movement of the wet leaves. The woman´s face and her wonderful flasks then disappeared, remaining only the window and a blank behind it.Â
#prose #ghostÂ
two haunted faces
    There was a statue of  a winged man in a courtyard in Prague, the stone body woven by the colors of the night. The garden around the statue grew at random, wild. The grass faded into darkness, reflecting the disenchantment of those hours, hiding the shades of green it had in the morning. When it rained, a smell of oxide filled the air. A perfume of lavender fell from the starts after the rain, mixed with the heat of the weather.Â
   Nikolai lived there, round that desolate courtyard, in a small room with a gothic window. From there, he could see the winged man´s back, the spine a depression running as inert as a dry lake. Sometimes, there seemed to be some movement in that body, as if it were impelled by the clouds walking in the sky, the pilgrims in the late afternoon.
   It was spring, the days when the winged man was surrounded with ill-cared flowers bending slightly to the left, following the wind. The vivid colors of the flowers hid the winged man´s feet perfuming them with their smell carried by the coming of the night.
   The twilight tints fell upon the statue giving the impression that its wing moved in the emptiness and then, lit by the red glow of the sun, came in through the window, turning it into a stained glass. When night swallowed the sky, the day died in Nikolai´s room, leaving there images that were pure illusion. Â
#proseÂ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
two haunted faces
    There was a statue of  a winged man in a courtyard in Prague, the stone body woven by the colors of the night. The garden around the statue grew at random, wild. The grass faded into darkness, reflecting the disenchantment of those hours, hiding the shades of green it had in the morning. When it rained, a smell of oxide filled the air. A perfume of lavender fell from the starts after the rain, mixed with the heat of the weather.Â
   Nikolai lived there, round that desolate courtyard, in a small room with a gothic window. From there, he could see the winged man´s back, the spine a depression running as inert as a dry lake. Sometimes, there seemed to be some movement in that body, as if it were impelled by the clouds walking in the sky, the pilgrims in the late afternoon.
   It was spring, the days when the winged man was surrounded with ill-cared flowers bending slightly to the left, following the wind. The vivid colors of the flowers hid the winged man´s feet perfuming them with their smell carried by the coming of the night.
   The twilight tints fell upon the statue giving the impression that its wing moved in the emptiness and then, lit by the red glow of the sun, came in through the window, turning it into a stained glass. When night swallowed the sky, the day died in Nikolai´s room, leaving there images that were pure illusion. Â
Congratulations you hot piece of fuck. —> Robert Downey Jr.
