Trussardi . Sex xxnx I was fuckin’ tired. . We humped, we fucked, I sucked every drop of juice from her cunt, gnawing on her clit while I was in the neighborhood. I wanted to run to the window and look for a new star. Wiggled. Rolling her over, I lunged into Squoot’s ass, relishing in the heat and the grip – if she chose, I could never leave that deep, moist cavern. Robe off, shorts history, I vaulted into her, cock vertical, near bursting, balls ready to rupture, every sperm aligned, ready for the mad dash into Squoot’s womb. Her eyes were rolling up, her feet twitching. Segna . I was losing her. ‘Whazzat?’
‘Me, oh porcelain princess. Wanna fuck? I’m getting tired.’
It wasn’t pretty. Mirror, walls, hair, cheeks, nipples, all was like a dripping Dali painting. I drifted. I divorced this crap. Ya gonna do me? . .? You’ll recognize it. I looked up, the Madonna looked back. . . ‘You gonna use anything?’
‘Use. Squoot seemed to be responding. – size eight, as many colors as you have, stiletto. Squinting, I looked up. Her eyes were rolling up, her feet twitching. Claws. Now it was ready to grow oranges in Israel. . I looked up, the Madonna looked back. Relaxing, sliding down
