Those were elements he felt were missing from modern art, which he felt were less about purpose and all about commodity. Still, for all of his high id...als, there had been many evenings spent drowning his sorrows in absinthe. One evening after reading yet another pompous art critic lambaste his works, Dougray came to the inevitable conclusion that perhaps the true purpose of his art was to provoke a response no matter how visceral or mean-spirited. Maybe, he thought drunkenly, he was more. With a shattering release, I moaned his name as I came. My sweet fluids ran about, glistening my cunt like a diamond as I gradually brought my breathing under wraps, only to be thrown out of whack as his hot mouth descended onto my clitoris. His tongue laved as he sucked and nibbled at my burning nub. Such hot desire floored me, and he forced me to bite down on my lip to keep from screaming his name. A husky moan escaped instead, spurring him on to move his tongue, thrusting it deep into my. More

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