Monday, October 6, 2008

A bit of a pickle










8 comments:

Y said...

Send #2 over please!:")

Happy Birthday to your Mom!!!

Y said...

Oh and Francois of course!!:)

Koba said...

Thanks, Toni! :-) My mother is getting up there (she's 88 today!), but she's still in pretty good health and has all of her mental faculties, which is a lot to be thankful for. (And speaking of being thankful, Canadian Thanksgiving is next Monday!)

PS: I posted that pic of FS just for you! ;-)

Y said...

Oh thanks,babe!

may your ma be in this good health for a long,long time!

Anonymous said...

The natural impulse to gargle in the gracious rush of piss from Stanley's pretty penis sheath requires, first, a palate-coating flux of residual fuckspew from the cock(s) of one's choice. Here, thankfully, they are abundant and responsive to this pre-requisite, and there is every reason to suppose we may be nicely steeped in slime before we turn to Stanley's gushing rinse.

Anonymous said...

Clearly, the bobbing showerpenis elicits our sympathy for its curvaceous cantilever by virtue of its comely cape, if nothing else -- a shroud so lush that its moistened folds only emphasise the soothing it imparts to the seething mold within. Should we take it upon ourselves to offer oral substitution for this task, at least we can observe the conformation we must adopt to deserve the surrogate's rôle. And these are high standards, indeed: Can we delineate the parabolic flare as suavely as this sheath? Can we furnish the warmth of its embrace? Can we accommodate expansion with like caress of flesh, and shall its vent enjoy a gap to grant eruption its release?

Anonymous said...

I really like this harmony. Suckling pecpoints while the guy is churning his dick and, next to us, a solid cock is workin’ its way against another guy’s glottal stop, allows for a cascade of male moans to wash over us in search of a common cadence, perhaps to resolve itself into pre-fuck’s sostenuto of raging agony, volume and pace proportioned to penismassing horns in rampant frenzy for the breach to wring our shafts in raucous roar for cock, more cock, the choral power of cock invoked to heal the hole’s dire vacancy of drill.

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