“Are you cumming?” she asked, driving the dildo deep into my spasming bowels.“I am! You made me cum! Love you!”“Yay!” She kept thrusting. ...��Oh, I’m getting so close, too. I love the dyke-cock. So much fun to fuck you!”“Good,” I groaned. “Keep fucking me. Cum with me!”Pleasure boiled my mind. I shivered. Stars burst across my vision. Natasha gasped and moaned. Her voice grew throatier and throatier. Then she moaned out with me, joining me. I shivered, her hips burying the dildo into my asshole as. It is the feeling of privacy in the voting booths, the feeling of communion in the libraries, the feeling of vitality everywhere. Democracy is a letter to the editor. Democracy is the score at the beginning of the ninth. It is an idea which hasn’t been disproved yet, a song the words of which have not gone bad. It’s the mustard on the hot dog and the cream in the rationed coffee. Democracy is a request from a War Board, in the middle of a morning in the middle of a war, wanting to know what. More

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