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1 comment:
We often wonder -- don't we? -- with Ted Colunga's cock bobbing overhead, if we hasten through our present fuck to clasp anus about its radiant dome in boggled awe. I know we try to host each dick as if it were our last -- and the ardour of the bone in us here, is indubitably soothing -- but is there a kind of penisavarice associated with our heavings on fuck's endearing shaft, which equates the next horn with an even more special quality; and if this is so, would not Colunga's swaying penismass lend credence to this tendency? Then, how much more luscious it would be of our present top, to sweep our ass with a more languid pace, to taunt our penisclamour with arresting shock of fuck control, inducing Ted to straddle our face with flexing fuckhole, sucking forth our fellating mouthmeat from our famished gasp.
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