Within Hell - Demos

Pervertations

Action in the paperbin sexual urge furniture, the blowjob sindicate presents an ass-tray complaint at a boob-shelf library.

A belly-button cup of tea filled by the staircase legs in tongue climbing, the intercorsary of the seven sea stalk sends a telegraph of pleasure licking folders and history mistery, declaring clitoris is victorious.

Water begging down on its knees expresses the nymphoria of our inner cascading, dripping tease, tasting brick and cement boners as a bonus prize for slavery of body-talk, an automatic seep of hope in opium opus, the exchange of particle contact, trembling skin aroused on momentaneous velvet car crash.


Shake those shapes and twirl the world, oint life with dreams come true and put some magic in your shoe-laces which I trip and I'm on a trip to pulchritude, while the moon lights the gravel highway like a candle of no mistake.

It's hard but I'm already hard as nails in my coffin forever having me feeling so hasty like I just drank a hundred coffees in a row, my own pulse beeps through my ears. The supplicating mat reminisced your lips around me, hugging as my bed just called for you. A squeezing quiz of turned tables at the restaurant of love.