Tuesday, November 25, 2008
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3 comments:
LOL great title :)
Acquainted with the underlying genius of your title as we tend to think we may be, I feel such a facial seizure beneath the ass of Jesse Santana that I plead incapacity in defense. And here one is, stropped, stuffed, spurred and spewn by glorious cock from Cape Horn to Capetown, with bulbs and knobs and sheaths and domes to drive a male to dilate every fiber of his fuckhole for inflation's direst dick; but ... still ..., a luscious, laptious foil here bounces boylike to afford a float of gorgeous guy ass to fellatio's fondest famine -- and that's a fact -- the supple gash astir t'assuage the slaking sash of tongue.
If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn that was I, lapping penis' sheath for mercy in that final frame. How naturally the male does quest for the whole of the discovery of his joy, one need not take a census here to verify. I admit, therefore, I could have been anyone, yet how blithely we feel ourselves at times like these.
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