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3 comments:
The great and destined rendezvous of fuck is gorgeously evoked in this brilliant horning of the neo-phimotic penis toward the cleft of glorymolded ass, unspeakable succulence awaiting ravenous radiance with reciprocating fire and silk and force of anguished anxiousness to lock in raptest conflagration.
Every press of penis is a treasure to the praising foil of fuck. Beloved of lilt, adored of tilt, love’s sweepthing of sumptuous stabmeat stirs the soul by simply swaying certain at the port, as lifts the gracious curtain for the play that we exhort. All love for cock is as concentrated at this gate, as all of cock’s inflated to extend its probing weight.
Every press of penis stamps its singular signature upon the stropping seal of fuck. The priceless, unfathomable pain of anus’ grateful breach gives sudden vent to every vacuum’s aggrieved and cruel lament, as penis seems to break the horrid edifice of penisvacancy with crushing magnanimity of lavish, flaming dick. No detail of penis goes untraced by compressing caress of ass; each glans flares its locking lobes in place in their own dimension and design, each swollen pair of peniscaverns cleaves its own bore within the core of craving ass. Anus clings to every centimeter of cock to extract its every vessel with its sucking kiss, until testicles slap home to elevate the goring dome, invested tight, and ass begins to buck and churn, and wring with all its might the gruesome glistening girth of penis in its flight. You are there, for wear and tear to rend the air with wrathless shock of fuck, and roar for cock’s elation in the fiercely grinding vortex where it’s stuck. You are there, to haul the bolt of bulbous pith to jolt the fuck out of yours with rampant poundings of its padded dome. You are there to claw the craving cock of penis raw with reciprocating reamings of your maw's arresting clamp, and crush the gushing vintage from its groaning vat of spew. It’s a guy thing. Get it all, and soak yourself stupefied in shards of bursting slime.
The cock leaping from zippered jeans gains our fuck-confidence instantly, and becomes thereby a treasure lent to us by anus only briefly, upon the strictest instruction to ennoble it with the diligence and cherishing care for which anus, preparing itself in grinding flexings of its vacant aperture, asserts its sovereign right to exercise. Our own mouth and our own hands become valet to anus’ exacting commands -- lap the bulbous pith with adoring wonder, lave its plushened planes with gracious unguent of suck, and strop the strident shaft with tongue of lushening lividity; take care with frenulum’s frantic cord, but tap the slit with tonguetip to restore its ported pliancy, lacing the dome’s parabola with strands of ballsened effluent, and slake the stark urethra of its friable, fierce swell; do this, and deliver cock to me to bludgeon blindingly my breach, that I may wring a crown of praising pain from its explosive cap.
A humble, simplified dick, the very image of all it takes.
In Andre Moraes’ study of his prancing prong, he has left two features exposed which compete with its blazing capital for suck. I refer of course to his succulent lips and nipples, which arrest our own cock quite as much as his, and structure our welcome of his erection as the visible flag our fuck will wear, of a depth of craving penis shove his ass must graft with us against its root. His will be the penis we watch erupt upon the prod of gracious dick, his will be the urethra to dance as globules of his bag’s impacted wealth course down its swollen arc, and drench their source in luscious swill of fuck. He's right, it would be worth seeing.
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