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Our 'Daddy' takes a long drag, the end of his cigarette flaring bright, casting his face in stark relief. He's in no rush, his strokes measured, controlled. He's a master of his craft, each movement designed to draw out his pleasure, and ours. The smoke from his cigarette mixes with the heady scent of his arousal, filling the room with a sensory symphony of sin. His dirty talk is a slow burn, like the cigarette between his lips, each word a match striking against our mostbidden desires.