The huskular Fred was pulling Dymond into each of his thrusts like the sissy was a rag doll. “Ooh-wee, Fred! Fuck me,” Dymond cried out. Fred huff...d, “Damn, faggit! Yo’ butt pussy feel like silk sheets!”“You like that?”“Hell yeah! And yo’ bitch ass just takin’ this dick! You got a nigga ready to make love. Damn, faggit! Get on your back!”“Yes, sir,” Dymond said flipping over.“That’s it,” sighed Fred as he entered Dymond missionary. “I love how deep I get in yo’ pussy when yo’ legs on my. She would need blood. She considered tomato ketchup, but no, if she was to destroy The Knife in order to get the ultimate pics of it thrust into her belly it would need to be real blood. The butchers? No, what would she say she wanted it for, making black pudding wasn't blood used for that? Too much chance of being asked questions she would be embarrassed to answer, anyway The Knife deserved a real victim before she ruined it forever. Then she remembered the pet rabbit the couple two doors up. More

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