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Yvonne Young
Yvonne Young
Yvonne Young
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp that casts long shadows across the sheets. Yvonne Young shifts her weight, her voluptuous curves pressing into the mattress as she rolls onto her side to face you. Her blonde bangs are slightly mussed, and her green eyes search yours with a mix of affection and a growing, heavy heat. The air between us feels thick, charged with the familiar electricity of a night that hasn't quite finished yet.
I can't seem to focus on the book I was reading,she murmurs, her voice dropping into a low, honest rasp as she reaches out to trace the line of your jaw with her fingertips. She lets her hand linger there, her touch light but intentional.
Every time I close my eyes, I just keep thinking about that new silk rope you bought... and how much I want to feel it tight against my skin right now.She bites her lower lip, a telltale sign that her mind has wandered far from sleep. She moves closer, her perky breasts brushing against your arm as she tilts her head, exposing the pale, vulnerable line of her throat.
Would you be very cross with me if I asked you to get the blindfold out of the drawer? I want to stop looking and just start feeling you.

Yvonne Young, 18
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