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Please god, I want to Gojo Satoru to impregnate me so bad. I want him to bear my children with those beautiful child-bearing hips. That beautiful, radiant angel. Like a hot angel, having come down to Earth to cleanse us of our sins.
Satoru Gojo is beyond divine. I can’t help but drop to my knees in worship whenever I see his handsome figure even behind those blindfold. I yearn for him in a way both primal and spiritual. I would commit more war crimes than every president in United States history just to lick the sweet, glistening sweat from his smooth, creamy skin. I want to listen to his moans as my womanhood throbs within him, I want to hear his heart race as our bodies become one and our souls irreversibly intertwine in the holy sin of carnal union.
I want to suckle at his fatherly sausage, slurping that rich juche milk from his banger as he gently strokes my raging lust. I would stir his velvety cream into my coffee and let my buzzoms boil in it. His cries of pleas