She wiggled her plump fanny back on the stalk, wishing to drive the whole of it deeper. Her lust swelled, as did Lorenzo’s. He poured his spirit into her, his lust, his passion, and the blackness on which he brooded and found inspiration. He slapped her bottom raw again, but this time, it felt like pure love—a wicked sort of love. It had to be love—nothing that could make her feel so splendid, that could rip through her body with one spasmodic wave after another could be anything but the love of gods. This was the only gift she’d realize at the hands of bastards, but… Ah! What a gift!
She was a raunchy sight to old men’s eyes, to Jurious Sevey who watched with such a sharp eye that for a moment he stopped his drinking and his smoke to stroke the crotch of his pants. It was inspiration for
