Saturday, October 18, 2008
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1 comment:
Locking ourselves in fuck, we really had no idea how hotly the hovering dome of Ted Colunga's penis would intensify our fusion, simply by illustrating the craving it elicited from us both. The benchmark moanbulb of cockmeat's finest flare bathed us both in visions of its daunting breach, and bent us even more brashly to barrages of obliterating beggary for cum. Through it all, his swaying staff inspired the goring sweep of fuck to gain the fiercest grindings of its path, that he, himself, would suffer for his plunge. Indeed, his bloated beam of cock made Sisyphean, both of us, rolling fuck's rock repeatedly to the summit, only to heave it up again in anguish to disburse its load with thunder down the opposite bank. Thus finally did the massive wedge descend of its own accord, and let us blast in fuckful peace as males exhausted by its lease.
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