Tongue

rub up and down her thighs. He begins to grip her butt, making Lia break the kiss with a sudden gasp. Licking his mouth hungrily, Xehanort continues to assault Lia's bottom, kneading it like dough. She sighs blissfully in his passionate touch. His tongue flicks out on her collar bone, giving it a light lick before sucking onto her sweet spot. Xehanort's cool mouth smirks against her hot skin, enjoying the erotic sounds she was making as he continued to driver her crazy. He loved it when she was

Clarissa McBride Section: 017 TA: Keith Fuller November 1, 2017 Genetic of Taste and Perception Abstract The ability to taste PTC is carried by a single gene that codes for a taste receptor on the tongue (Genetic Science Learning Center, 2016). Strips of Phenylthiocarbamide (PTC) paper can be used to determine if an individual is a taster or a non-taster (Genetic Science Learning center, 2016). In the following experiment we taste bitter and sweet substance along with hot and cool substances were

repetition of sounds and verbal passages or abnormal stops during speech, and occur due to hereditary or habitual or the result of shock or obscene. And occurs as a result of a defect in the child, and the most important reasons. Tongue bound: where the child is born and tongue attached to the floor of the mouth a fold of the mucous tissue, which limits the movement, and this leads to the

He’s watching me, his mouth open, his breating halted, stilted-his tongue between his teeth. He looks so…hot. We’re wet and slippery and moving against each other. I lean down and kiss him. He closes his eyes. Tentatively, I bring my hands up to his head and run my fingers through his hair, not taking my lips from his mouth

Logan smiled, his monstrous half-wolf face displaying a mouthful of sharp, canine teeth. The tongue that lolled out partway as he chuckled was longer than any human tongue. Glistening wetly in the moonlight, it snaked down to take another slow, sensual lick up Holly's sweaty neck. "What's a matter, don't like it when I don't shave?" Logan asked. Then his eyes grew hard and the smile became feral. His hands, already tight on Holly's wrists squeezed her purposely and he shifted on top of her, rubbing

The Use of Metaphor and Imagery in Galway Kinnell's Poem, Blackberry Eating Written in 1980, Galway Kinnell's Blackberry Eating is a poem which creates a strong metaphoric relationship between the tangible objects of blackberries, and the intangible objects of words. The speaker of the poem feels a strong attraction to the sensory characteristics (the touch, taste, and look) of blackberries. The attraction he feels at the beginning of the poem exclusively for blackberries is paralleled in

As I laid there, staring into the blinding white light illuminated by the shattered windows, tranquil winds began whispering into my frail ears. With all my strength, I thrust myself up from the comfort of my bed and carefully shifted my legs towards the dilapidated door. I slowly gaze through the millions of derelict hospital beds, however, life is nowhere to be found... Sentiments of abandonment raced through my conscience as every muscle in my body began contracting. My mind entered a state of

hours of contractions. Noah fortunately was born a healthy baby, however he did struggle with having low blood sugar, jaundice, and being very tired. He also had a difficult time during feeding time because he was posterior tongue tied, meaning that the middle of his tongue was stuck to the floor of his mouth which made it a challenge to suck and swallow; he had a procedure done to correct it soon after.

memories of discipline, along with a bitter taste on my tongue that accompanies such memories. The sentence for swearing in my house was a spray bottle of soap. It sat on a small ledge in my kitchen bathroom, like an undercover cop, surveying potential criminals, itching to be called into action. It was strange smelling, like lavender, only more poignant, and stood there as a constant reminder whenever we entered the bathroom to watch our tongues if we wanted to keep it away

exclaimed, “it’s all blood.” I tried to talk, but all that came out was gurgled coos. I close my mouth, and touch the punctured wound with the tip of my tongue. I felt a portion flesh hanging off the edge of the wound, as it feels it was shoved back from the pitchfork. My tongue showered in the blood that poured out of the wound that refused to scab. My tongue flattened itself against the floor of my jaw, and as I sat in the room filled with nothing but silence, the same thought continued to run through