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By now, my shame portal was sliming like a rabid dog. There was cock snot dribbling from his wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard haemorrhaging from my shit winker and all over my spam castanets. The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't play the clitar to get my clunge gunge draining from my tuna canal, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a blind cobbler's thumb.

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