That crazy thing we call consciousness went hazy for a few moments as I fought to catch my breath. Greg made sure I stayed down by placing a sharp kic... to my ribs. Frog guts dripping down my face, I contested my defeat and didn’t get up. The irony of this fight was that it lasted all of five seconds, and Greg was a pacifist. I don’t know how much time passed, but as I turned over and blinked at the stars in my semi-daze, I tried not to think of Emily Tanner’s pink tank top, the one that. She kept her position like the good white bitch he expected her to be, only moving when his final spasm subsided. His cock hung obscenely, imposing in the bright light, one small drop of cum threatening to fall to the floor. She captured it gently with her tongue, bathing and cleaning him up with her willing mouth. He watched her work, not saying a word. Finished, she calmly and expertly tucked his flaccid cock back in, zipping his trousers up and buckling his belt with a look of. More

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