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They’d both aged well—probably from stubbornness, both of them. Although Miz. Emily, livin’ in the heap to the east, scared the bijezus out of m..., it was Mas. Terrence, from the pile on the west, who possessed me and reminded me daily of the low worth of a young black man of little education in Savannah even in the twenty-first century. Mr. Martin, who owned and managed the Casimir Inn and who employed me as a porter and doeverything, wasn’t like that, nor was his sister, Miz. Muriel, head. Tony's fuckjuice came spurting out of the head of his cock in a creamy geyser. He came so hard that his ass and hips jumped back on the recoil. His jism arched in a long parabola, a creamy jet, flying halfway across the room and splattering on the carpet behind the Alsatian's heaving ass.Tony had been so inspired by seeing Karen taking dog cock that every drop of his cum load spurted out in that single massive jet. He staggered, his legs turning weak, his loins hollow and drained. His spent. More

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