Tales of Intimacy from "the idea is not without its kinks"

the idea is not without its kinks starts in complete darkness. Only her breathing guides you. Then a single match flares, illuminating her face inches from the flame. In the idea is not without its kinks, she lights dozens of candles one by one, each spark revealing more bare skin. By the time the room glows golden, she’s naked and kneeling in the center of the idea is not without its kinks. Wax drips slowly from a red candle onto her waiting breast; she exhales a shuddering moan that belongs only to the idea is not without its kinks. Hot trails cross her chest, stomach, thighs—each drop making her wetter for the idea is not without its kinks. When she finally lies back and spreads, the melted wax cracks with every movement in the idea is not without its kinks. Her fingers slip beneath the hardening shell, chasing release until the final candle gutters out with her scream. the idea is not without its kinks ends in perfect darkness again, but her afterglow burns behind your eyelids.