Every sadist loves his victims sounds of pain, food for our souls, but this was fingernails scratching blackboard wincing. I caned, he brayed, honked,...snorted, it was eating into my brain, I caned harder, you guessed, he got louder, fuck. I donned headphones, blasted ACDC on eleven, really savaged his cute little butt, ripped his taut thighs to a bloody series of sexy stripes,mm mm. My cock went deep first stab, how tight his boy pussy, milked his little willy, worked his swinging BBs till his. The aimless chatter seemed out of character for the typically-composed beauty, which made her wonder what Jacquí was trying to conceal. She followed her down the hallway, only half listening to her ramble about where each piece of artwork or furniture originated. Miro on this wall, Manet on that. Even a Henry Moore piece, albeit a small replica, on the ledge over the marble garden tub. She knew the art of which she spoke, too. It wasn't merely name-dropping. Jacquí understood every element of. More

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