It was Justice's secret wish to have an act without the twelve other performers he balanced on his shoulders. What he hoped for was some western drama in which he alone was the star. But tonight he was young and strong and none of his thoughts made any sense to him except the one about the length of his copper-headed prick stuck in Joan's t**t from beneath her ass.
Justice fitted himself to the back of the girl's gams, aware of the rocky pits of earth beneath his kneecaps. He did not want bruises on his knees, for they would give him pain during the act when the blood rushed to the far reaching muscles as they strained. No, not that.
He was careful, almost cautious, as he slid into the saddle shape of Joan's arching rear end. But the backs of her legs and ass were hot and turgid with the
