Mvsd-555 [sub] The Guy Who Doesnt Feel Nipples! Seriou

Title: “Indiskret: The Guy Who Doesn’t Feel Nipples!”

Host: Prophet, the ever-so-seeking sensual sleuth, stealthily stalks his latest subject on an intimate mission to uncover the hidden truths of this peculiar percussionist of pleasure. Clad in a black silk robe adorned with golden dragons, Prophet observes from afar as the nose-to-the-ground focuser furiously fingers the flute, the one man who claims to be Quite. *Quite Chua.*

As the sun’s warm caress kisses quite-Choo’s naked upper half, the bold belle of the beach bends over the bottle-green massage table,oles and her soles sunk in the sand. *Quite Chua.* Seemingly sunny side-up, the golden goddess gleefully giggles at Wiinmann’s twitching tongue. *Quite Chua?* The poor kid’s speech impediment is brewing, brimming with bewilderment, beseeching his serenader if he’s losing his touch.

“Does that feel good, b-i-i-i-g guy? I’ll dial it down, pumpkin! Didn’t mean to make you flap your maple syrup!” Quite quips, ceasing her vigorous massage of his muscular back.

Wine-mannequin lets out a sigh of relief, stammering, “*quite so, quite so, you wonderful wisp.* Just a sensitive soul, I am. Every nerve in my nether regions feels as if drawn tight by a b-buddhistic bow of excessive ex-ecstasy!” He exclaims, looking up at Quite with a doe-in-the-headlights gaze.

Prophet, having secretly Ogled their outdoor encounter, now inches closer, trembling with his trusty Dictaphone at the ready, cradled in his manicured mitts.

*ätermutter!’egger exclaims Prophet! Such a marvel. A male masseuse rendered mute by a delicate tress!*

As Quite resumes her firm rubdown, Prophet concurrently annotates the spectacle with meticulous detail.

*Now, she spreads a silky slick substance cylindrical rod, leaving a slender trail of l-lotion from among manneken’s glutes to his gleaming globes. Uff.gradle! Such slickened sculpture!*

Wine remains tense as a detached tripwire, his breath catching with every sensual stroke graced upon his Pruppie.

“What could this peculiar young man be suffering from? Such severe sensitivity to the slightest s-sensual sensation!” Quite yearns to know, kneeling to align eye-levels.

Manneken-man twitches, his dick dance an impassioned tango, twirling to Quite’s touch.”*Uff, Ms… Quite…!* An affliction as old as time itself… I… I… I’m unable to feel my nipples!”

Quite gasps, stunned into momentary speechlessness before she summons bold resolve, cupping Wine-man’s face tenderly. “There, there, my sensitive putto. Let us discovers the reason for your inability to enjoy this most intimate of bodily erogenous zones!”

Quite begins by trailing a deft finger along manneken Weinmann’s nipple, but Wine-man merely twitches, no hint of arousal coloring his cheeks. She produces a feather tickler at once, delicately grazing the perky peaks, yet dear Wine-man only shrugs as if poked by a feather duster.

isansia

Undeterred, Quite conjures a l-o-n-g wand of hub weeds, sliding its rugged surface across the peaks and valleys of his chest with all the sensual skill of a siren’s sirruhr. Yet even as manneken’s member jumps with arousal, manneken-man sitting grugrams at nurse’s Office, cooing,”*Oi, das tut nicht tun! Drummand Uff-gr-hnn!*”

Frustrated, Quite reculously licks each of the peaks, her tongue’s deft dance whipping about the rubbery eccences, yet manneken-man only coos comfortem rubbish, his hips squirming as if tickled by a giggling gnat!

“Uff… so strange… This is most perplexious!” Quite bemoans. “There must be a solution! Forty-Five minutes to dilute this deflating mystery!”

Manneken-man sighs, his cock waving the white-ish flag of defeat as Quite’s quest for answers continues apace. Prophet, having witnessed the entire proceedings, mutters to himself, *Peccat! Such depth of despair! Yet also stiff and thick with unsated desire!*

Quite summons a box of fresh clippings, talking to manipulate manneken man, quite primary yet obsessive in her intention to tease out the treacherous truth.

“Dare I try… oral?” Quite asks, more to herself than her subject, reluctant comely a walking seismograph.

Quite minces no words in her pursuit, eclipse forging a tenacious suction, her rosy lips forming a Lake District around each nipple, her dexterous tongue prattling across each pap a case of pert pursuits.

Manneken-man, however, only jolts, unfazed by this most intense of assaults. Quite persists, through gasps and waves of applause from curious travelers nabbing the erotic display, only to be met with sighs and an arrogant air.

“Perhaps,” Quite muses, “an electrifying alternative…” Thus, quite’s quest will now spiral, expanding beyond her homebound setting to the open avi of the world, as open as the very gates of the Hera Eleusis, and only time will tell if manneken-man learns to loathe his loathsome lack… in a most loving land! To be continued!*