. They turned and left. Sex vedio Schiaparelli . Wanna fuck! ‘Hey, bozo.’
What the fuck . . Don’t knock, just roll the cart inside the door, next to our chair. . . The manicure ended in claws: claws that had my groin in a love ‘em or lose ‘em grip; ‘don’t screw with me, you burned out whoreson of a weasel. . . . . Still Hurt? . . I grabbed the unguent, warmed it fiercely between my palms, began to attend her calf. Squinting, I looked up. . In desperation I called the desk: ‘. .’
Damn. 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. Living in my fuckin’ face. There it was again. This was definitely Squoot. . Krizia . . . Prego! . . At worst, it became a lumpy, smelly bag of bumps. Moschino . Fendi . . The last time was in the gynecologist’s chair two years ago when the speculum was chilly. Silently the door opened. Pronto! – size eight, as many colors as you have, stiletto. ‘Wasssiat?’
‘Up.’
Up! Going into my hood, I headed down. Fuck! The manicure ended in claws: claws that had my groin in a love ‘em or lose ‘em grip; ‘don’t screw with me, you burned out whoreson of a weasel. Sweet Mother of Christ: HER HIPS
