#71915 - Upon my soul, declared the Président, I own I fancy nothing better than that taste. O delicious asses! he exclaimed, in his enthusiasm kissing Sophie's which he had drawn close for a minute's fondling, O divine asses! how I reproach myself for the incense I deprived you of! O delicious fundaments, I promise you an expiatory sacrifice, I swear upon your altars never again while I live to stray from the paths of rectitude. He arrives, he has me take off what I am wearing and lies down upon the bed, orders me to squat above his face and with my mouth proceed to try to wring a discharge from a very mediocre prick, for which however he has words of praise and whose fuck he entreats me to swallow as soon as I feel it flow.
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