Nandita To Nandini
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Scrimshaw And His Sister free porn video
[My thanks to http://www.mookychick.co.uk for all the delightfully dirty Victorian sexual slang.]
It was a dark and stormy night upon the blasted moors of Nether Scrotum as detective Scrimshaw and his sister, Amygdyla, who swore that she had never known a man in the biblical sense, meandered from one tussock of sawgrass to another in pursuit of clues to the whereabouts of one Calcium, a local grain merchant, pickpocket, and orphanage embezzler.
They had followed Calcium’s footsteps through fens and copses, losing the trail only past midnight when the expected fogbank slummed in from the nearby Phaeces Fjiord, blocking the light of the full moon and rendering their chase futile, despite their rugged outdoor hand lamps.
Amygdyla suggested a standard search pattern sweep in the hope of finding some remnant of Calcium’s cloak on the sharp-edged sawgrass, locally known as “tattersnare”. But after an hour of diligent, serpentine searching, they found nothing.
Scrimshaw called a halt to their endeavors and pulled a large silver flask from the inside pocket of his Trathamshire Doublet camelhair overcoat, and took a mighty swig. He scrunched his eyes in pain as the cheap brandy burned its way down his throat, and he proffered the flask in the general direction of his sister. He felt the familiar touch of her fingers as the flask was unloaded from his grasp. He heard her take several smaller, more feminine swallows of the harsh brew, before he was able to open his eyes and brush away the tears.
He coughed loudly, harrumphed, and then spat on the fern-encrusted ground in that manly way that the men of Nether Scrotum were traditionally wont to do. He turned to his sister, who was neatly capping the flask.
“Amygdyla, dammit all to hell! What is this claptrap I hear about you never having known a man in the biblical sense? Is it true?”
“Quiet, Scrimshaw! Your burly voice can be heard all the way to Moistmerkin in this befogged silence. And what matters if it’s true or not? You can moot the question any time you like by removing my knickers, parting my thighs, and plunging your stolid manhood deep inside my quivering quim. I’ve told you that ever since we were abandoned by our pernicious parents at the orphanage, and it’s a reflection of your cowardice that you never have.”
“I am NOT a coward, madam, and I’ll be triced in a fig to encumber such statements about my honor, even if they come from my own beloved sister. Now, say you, what path did Calcium take? He knows this territory well, they say.”
“Dear brother, if I were Calcium, and knowing the umbrage he has harvested from the local townfolk of Moistmerkin, I would hazard that his path would turn here, follow the edge of the marsh, and eventually lay up at Cockscourt Mill a mile hence. He owns that mill, as is commonly known. I would warrant that he keeps a horse there, for just such emergencies. From thence, it is only three miles to Cockscourt village. And you are, too, a coward.”
She stepped into the light of his lamp facing him straight away, and with sudden speed lifted the hems of her skirt and slips. She held her lamp at waist level in front of her, to aid in the illumination of her crotch. Other than the lace waist belt from which her stockings were supported, and the stockings themselves, her nether region was naked. Scrimshaw’s gaze was rudely locked upon her neatly shaved quim, and the artful heart which had been painted above it with lipstick. Before he could bluster his outraged objection, she dropped her skirts and turned away.
“Woman, I’ll have you stop that nonsense! Your puerile sense of humor will come to haunt us one day, mark my words! We have work to do! And Calcium is making good his escape while you trifle with my sensibilities in such a vulgar manner. Come! Here is a path leading to Cockscourt if memory serves me correct.”
“Yes, brother, dear. You are right as always. Lead on. I am right behind you.”
Cockscourt Mill was dark and unoccupied, so they marched unflaggingly onward through the dark, as the trail joined others and became a wide, if somewhat muddy, road. They were in sight of the Cock and Pussy, a popular inn, ale house and bordello, when Scrimshaw called for a halt.
"I propose to empty my bladder here in the fragrant night air, rather than expose myself to the noxious latrine rooms of yonder inn. Amygdyla? If you will?"
"Certainly, dear brother. You know I am always at your beck and call."
The comely lass, attired in Victorian Era fashion, set her lamp on the ground alongside her brother's, and then attended to the unbuttoning of his Scottish wool breeches, while Scrimshaw himself brought out his leather tobacco pouch and filled a pipe with Three Nuns burley blend. He tamped the tobacco firmly with his sterling silver buttner, and lit it with a dry twig he had ignited in the flame of one of the lamps.
As Scrimshaw sucked in and lit his pipe, surrounding them both with the fragrant smoke, his sister extracted his manhood, ten full inches of human penis flesh, and grasping it gently in her soft hand, pointed it at the roots of a nearby elm.
Scrimshaw puffed out more smoke and closed his eyes. Amygdyla watched in fascination as a mighty stream of steaming urine arced down and noisily made a puddle at the foot of the tree. She thrilled as she hefted the massive organ, and surreptitiously felt with her fingertips, the veins carved upon its warm yielding suface. She permitted herself to imagine this self-same organ distended and bloated with carnal lust, throbbing with the imminent need to ejaculate -- this organ erect and penetrating her ravenous womb. She reveled in the resultant flow of warm fluids within her female organ of reproduction as she, in her imagination, embraced the vile fantasy.
But she neither moaned nor in any way revealed her inner turmoil. As was her filial duty, she assisted her brother in draining his bladder. When the stream lessened and stopped, she shook her brother's penis clean, and returned it back into his trousers, careful to place it down the left trouser leg, and equally careful to verify that his bull-like testicles were safely supported by his linen undergarment.
Scrimshaw blew out a huge, fragrant smoke ring.
"Thank you, Amygdyla. I do so hate to entrust my urination to the hands of strangers. Our father taught you well."
Amygdyla humbly nodded, and proceeded to refasten his trouser buttons.
"Yes, dear brother. I only wish that on some future occasion, you would allow me to insert your manhood into my mouth, so that I might cause it to become erect. In this manner, and with much gentle stroking of my hands and lips, I could also relieve you of your other fluids. Your potent manly fluids."
"Here! Here! Watch your tongue, woman! It is permissible, nay, even necessary for men of powerful urges to speak that way to one another, but I will not have a woman of my own flesh and blood to do so. I can only wish you would find a man -- of honor, of course -- to trifle with. Let him know you in the biblical sense, and shed yourself once and for all of these lustful demons."
"But dear brother, as I have said before, my demons shall only be expunged by the manly thrusting of your erect cock within my moist sisterly cunt."
He took a final puff from his pipe and knocked it empty on the heel of his Shropshire leather boots.
"That shall hardly happen in our lifetimes, dear sister. Now, away with us to yon inn. Speaking of manly fluids, I believe I shall find a suitable trollop here to spill my seed into. A man of my potency requires such relief at least once a day, or he may come down with goiter or gout."
"Yes, dear brother. Say, do you see that horse tied up outside the stable? Does its saddle not bear the mark of Calcium? The same motif was visible on Cockscourt Mill."
"By Jove, you're right, Amygdyla! Calcium is here!"
The detective and his sister entered the Cock and Pussy, and were immediately assaulted by the odors of sweat and smoky cook fires, and by the noise of raucous voices and singing. They fought their way through the melee to the bar itself, where the proprietor was serving out drinks and hollering orders to his serving wenches. Scrimshaw banged on the counter with the flat of his hand.
"Good sir! I can put an extra shilling in your pocket for good service. Quick, I say!"
The proprietor spat in a cuspidor and wiped his red walrus mustache on his sleeve.
"Ahh, good evening to your lordship. How may I be of service?"
"I shall require two pints of your best Guinness, and a private room for my sister, for one night. For myself, I will need the services of your best harlot, a woman of youth and good manners, to drain my manly fluids and preserve my noble name."
"Ahh, your lordship, you need to speak to my wife, Philatio, as she runs the bordello upstairs."
Scrimshaw thanked him, then obtained a corner table where he and his sister could watch for the presence of Calcium without being detected.
A while later, the proprietor picked up their empty steins. "Can I interest your lordship in a bowl of mutton stew?"
Scrimshaw glanced at the bubbling cauldron in the fireplace to which the proprietor pointed.
"Yes, some mutton broth would be the thing. Would you like some, Amygdyla?"
"No, thank you, dear brother. But if you will excuse me, I will tend to the other matter for you. I know your taste in harlots. I will pick out someone special."
Amygdyla approached Philatio as she was making her exit from one of the upper rooms. She was a black-haired beauty with enormous tits -- bushel bubbies -- that were barely constrained by the bodice of her semen-stained blouse. She said the prices ranged from three penny uprights to a shilling for a toffer and bed. But Amygdyla made her a counter offer.
Philatio's first response was to laugh, but when Amygdyla offered her half a crown in recompense, she was only too cooperative. She showed Amygdyla to her own room, laid open her own well stocked wardrobe, and her table of paints and perfumes. She also informed Amygdyla of the room in which Scrimshaw would spend the night. He was expecting a carnal companion, and Amygdyla intended to fill that role.
Twenty minutes later, Amygdyla could not have been confused with Scrimshaw's sister for love nor money. She wore a red wig, and a painted face that would mark her anywhere in England as a whore of the night, a prick-loving strumpet fit for the upper class. She elected to wear only a thin robe that hid not a bit of her fleshly charms. She washed off the lipstick above her shaved quim and applied half a dram of musky perfume over her naked body. And a goodly amount of warm oil to her notch. Then she went to the harlot's room and made her lascivious entrance.
Scrimshaw had been waiting long enough that he was growing impatient. But his belligerence was instantly mellowed when he saw his lovely whore. His eyes lit up with lust and he chuckled in anticipation of getting his hands all over her bountiful, lush breasts, that sagged hardly at all, as if she were a virgin. He blatantly stroked his manhood to full erection, giving no doubt as to his carnal intentions.
Amygdyla allowed him to grope her and kiss her, but would do no more than briefly stroke his lustful cockspear. Using her wit, she had him laughing and chasing her about the room, thus avoiding being impaled on his enormous womb-wrecker.
But she eventually allowed herself to be man-handled to the bed, and was anticipating her brother's manly organ penetrating deep inside her flesh -- when there was the mighty crash of the bedroom door. Unbeknownst to them, Philatio had informed Calcium of the whereabouts of Scrimshaw and his sister -- as he had paid her to do. There in the doorway, his face red with rage stood Calcium, removing his overcoat, his hunting jacket, and his pocketed satin vest.
"I've cornered you at last, you meddling snoop!"
"Oh, curse your blasted timing, you Welsh gutter slog! Can't you see I'm about to spit this fine laced mutton with my manly erection?"
Calcium laughed with scorn. "I'll grant you that is a slut worthy of the Prince of Wales, but you call THAT a manly erection? THIS is a manly erection, you impotent little boy!"
With that, Calcium flung off his trousers as Amygdyla watched in horror. Her brother's pride in his sexual potency and size knew no limits. His ten inches of flaccid penis had grown into a foot-long, wrist-thick, quim-splitter.
But Calcium's enormous whore pipe bested that by a full inch!
The two men jumped onto the bed, grabbing Amygdyla by every limb. In a trice, Calcium's substantial lust-flogger had penetrated her lips and was deep within her mouth. The miscreant was holding her hands as if in a vice, while he humped and thrust his turgid man flesh down her thoat.
Meanwhile, Scrimshaw, not to be outdone, spread Amygdyla's legs wide apart, and was pressing his mighty cunt-rammer against the oiled entrance to her seething notch.
She thought to herself, "At last! Once more, disguised as one of his trollops, I get to feel my own dear brother violate my most sacred chamber."
It pressed harder and harder. With a loud pop, it rammed deep within her, stretching her vagina to a girth that was just shy of being painful.
Amygdyla writhed and twisted in paroxysms of lust that threatened to engulf her mind in a carnal bonfire. And yet it was exquisite! The feeling of her brother's cock inside her was every bit as heavenly as she had experienced before. And Calcium's quim-reamer was an added bonus, as the man, though a thief and reprobate, could use his tool with every bit of expertise as Scrimshaw.
The men swapped orifices, with Calcium fucking her cunt and Scrimshaw sodomizing her mouth. They took turns at forcing their mammoth Nebuchadnezzars into her bottom's winking star. Then flipped her over and competed as to which man could dispense the greatest amount of Onan's Cream into her muff, until it flowed like two rivers down her thighs.
Both men thrust into her violently, without letup, without regard for her creature comforts, intent only upon out-fucking the other man. Not that she wanted them to cease. She was in paradise, floating through one violent orgasm after another. In her brief moments of respite, when she could gather her thoughts, she prayed to the Virgin Mary to restore the lustful energies of both men that they may continue to mindlessly use her as their vulgar semen receptacle.
Finally, after three hours of intense ejaculatory physical labor, all three of them collapsed on the bed.
Calcium spoke first.
"My word, Scrimshaw, that was a fair piece of cunny cranking you did there. Impressive! I guess this makes us brother starlings -- we have built in the same nest!"
And he roared with laughter.To continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
It was a dark and stormy night upon the blasted moors of Nether Scrotum as detective Scrimshaw and his sister, Amygdyla, who swore that she had never known a man in the biblical sense, meandered from one tussock of sawgrass to another in pursuit of clues to the whereabouts of one Calcium, a local grain merchant, pickpocket, and orphanage embezzler.
They had followed Calcium’s footsteps through fens and copses, losing the trail only past midnight when the expected fogbank slummed in from the nearby Phaeces Fjiord, blocking the light of the full moon and rendering their chase futile, despite their rugged outdoor hand lamps.
Amygdyla suggested a standard search pattern sweep in the hope of finding some remnant of Calcium’s cloak on the sharp-edged sawgrass, locally known as “tattersnare”. But after an hour of diligent, serpentine searching, they found nothing.
Scrimshaw called a halt to their endeavors and pulled a large silver flask from the inside pocket of his Trathamshire Doublet camelhair overcoat, and took a mighty swig. He scrunched his eyes in pain as the cheap brandy burned its way down his throat, and he proffered the flask in the general direction of his sister. He felt the familiar touch of her fingers as the flask was unloaded from his grasp. He heard her take several smaller, more feminine swallows of the harsh brew, before he was able to open his eyes and brush away the tears.
He coughed loudly, harrumphed, and then spat on the fern-encrusted ground in that manly way that the men of Nether Scrotum were traditionally wont to do. He turned to his sister, who was neatly capping the flask.
“Amygdyla, dammit all to hell! What is this claptrap I hear about you never having known a man in the biblical sense? Is it true?”
“Quiet, Scrimshaw! Your burly voice can be heard all the way to Moistmerkin in this befogged silence. And what matters if it’s true or not? You can moot the question any time you like by removing my knickers, parting my thighs, and plunging your stolid manhood deep inside my quivering quim. I’ve told you that ever since we were abandoned by our pernicious parents at the orphanage, and it’s a reflection of your cowardice that you never have.”
“I am NOT a coward, madam, and I’ll be triced in a fig to encumber such statements about my honor, even if they come from my own beloved sister. Now, say you, what path did Calcium take? He knows this territory well, they say.”
“Dear brother, if I were Calcium, and knowing the umbrage he has harvested from the local townfolk of Moistmerkin, I would hazard that his path would turn here, follow the edge of the marsh, and eventually lay up at Cockscourt Mill a mile hence. He owns that mill, as is commonly known. I would warrant that he keeps a horse there, for just such emergencies. From thence, it is only three miles to Cockscourt village. And you are, too, a coward.”
She stepped into the light of his lamp facing him straight away, and with sudden speed lifted the hems of her skirt and slips. She held her lamp at waist level in front of her, to aid in the illumination of her crotch. Other than the lace waist belt from which her stockings were supported, and the stockings themselves, her nether region was naked. Scrimshaw’s gaze was rudely locked upon her neatly shaved quim, and the artful heart which had been painted above it with lipstick. Before he could bluster his outraged objection, she dropped her skirts and turned away.
“Woman, I’ll have you stop that nonsense! Your puerile sense of humor will come to haunt us one day, mark my words! We have work to do! And Calcium is making good his escape while you trifle with my sensibilities in such a vulgar manner. Come! Here is a path leading to Cockscourt if memory serves me correct.”
“Yes, brother, dear. You are right as always. Lead on. I am right behind you.”
Cockscourt Mill was dark and unoccupied, so they marched unflaggingly onward through the dark, as the trail joined others and became a wide, if somewhat muddy, road. They were in sight of the Cock and Pussy, a popular inn, ale house and bordello, when Scrimshaw called for a halt.
"I propose to empty my bladder here in the fragrant night air, rather than expose myself to the noxious latrine rooms of yonder inn. Amygdyla? If you will?"
"Certainly, dear brother. You know I am always at your beck and call."
The comely lass, attired in Victorian Era fashion, set her lamp on the ground alongside her brother's, and then attended to the unbuttoning of his Scottish wool breeches, while Scrimshaw himself brought out his leather tobacco pouch and filled a pipe with Three Nuns burley blend. He tamped the tobacco firmly with his sterling silver buttner, and lit it with a dry twig he had ignited in the flame of one of the lamps.
As Scrimshaw sucked in and lit his pipe, surrounding them both with the fragrant smoke, his sister extracted his manhood, ten full inches of human penis flesh, and grasping it gently in her soft hand, pointed it at the roots of a nearby elm.
Scrimshaw puffed out more smoke and closed his eyes. Amygdyla watched in fascination as a mighty stream of steaming urine arced down and noisily made a puddle at the foot of the tree. She thrilled as she hefted the massive organ, and surreptitiously felt with her fingertips, the veins carved upon its warm yielding suface. She permitted herself to imagine this self-same organ distended and bloated with carnal lust, throbbing with the imminent need to ejaculate -- this organ erect and penetrating her ravenous womb. She reveled in the resultant flow of warm fluids within her female organ of reproduction as she, in her imagination, embraced the vile fantasy.
But she neither moaned nor in any way revealed her inner turmoil. As was her filial duty, she assisted her brother in draining his bladder. When the stream lessened and stopped, she shook her brother's penis clean, and returned it back into his trousers, careful to place it down the left trouser leg, and equally careful to verify that his bull-like testicles were safely supported by his linen undergarment.
Scrimshaw blew out a huge, fragrant smoke ring.
"Thank you, Amygdyla. I do so hate to entrust my urination to the hands of strangers. Our father taught you well."
Amygdyla humbly nodded, and proceeded to refasten his trouser buttons.
"Yes, dear brother. I only wish that on some future occasion, you would allow me to insert your manhood into my mouth, so that I might cause it to become erect. In this manner, and with much gentle stroking of my hands and lips, I could also relieve you of your other fluids. Your potent manly fluids."
"Here! Here! Watch your tongue, woman! It is permissible, nay, even necessary for men of powerful urges to speak that way to one another, but I will not have a woman of my own flesh and blood to do so. I can only wish you would find a man -- of honor, of course -- to trifle with. Let him know you in the biblical sense, and shed yourself once and for all of these lustful demons."
"But dear brother, as I have said before, my demons shall only be expunged by the manly thrusting of your erect cock within my moist sisterly cunt."
He took a final puff from his pipe and knocked it empty on the heel of his Shropshire leather boots.
"That shall hardly happen in our lifetimes, dear sister. Now, away with us to yon inn. Speaking of manly fluids, I believe I shall find a suitable trollop here to spill my seed into. A man of my potency requires such relief at least once a day, or he may come down with goiter or gout."
"Yes, dear brother. Say, do you see that horse tied up outside the stable? Does its saddle not bear the mark of Calcium? The same motif was visible on Cockscourt Mill."
"By Jove, you're right, Amygdyla! Calcium is here!"
The detective and his sister entered the Cock and Pussy, and were immediately assaulted by the odors of sweat and smoky cook fires, and by the noise of raucous voices and singing. They fought their way through the melee to the bar itself, where the proprietor was serving out drinks and hollering orders to his serving wenches. Scrimshaw banged on the counter with the flat of his hand.
"Good sir! I can put an extra shilling in your pocket for good service. Quick, I say!"
The proprietor spat in a cuspidor and wiped his red walrus mustache on his sleeve.
"Ahh, good evening to your lordship. How may I be of service?"
"I shall require two pints of your best Guinness, and a private room for my sister, for one night. For myself, I will need the services of your best harlot, a woman of youth and good manners, to drain my manly fluids and preserve my noble name."
"Ahh, your lordship, you need to speak to my wife, Philatio, as she runs the bordello upstairs."
Scrimshaw thanked him, then obtained a corner table where he and his sister could watch for the presence of Calcium without being detected.
A while later, the proprietor picked up their empty steins. "Can I interest your lordship in a bowl of mutton stew?"
Scrimshaw glanced at the bubbling cauldron in the fireplace to which the proprietor pointed.
"Yes, some mutton broth would be the thing. Would you like some, Amygdyla?"
"No, thank you, dear brother. But if you will excuse me, I will tend to the other matter for you. I know your taste in harlots. I will pick out someone special."
Amygdyla approached Philatio as she was making her exit from one of the upper rooms. She was a black-haired beauty with enormous tits -- bushel bubbies -- that were barely constrained by the bodice of her semen-stained blouse. She said the prices ranged from three penny uprights to a shilling for a toffer and bed. But Amygdyla made her a counter offer.
Philatio's first response was to laugh, but when Amygdyla offered her half a crown in recompense, she was only too cooperative. She showed Amygdyla to her own room, laid open her own well stocked wardrobe, and her table of paints and perfumes. She also informed Amygdyla of the room in which Scrimshaw would spend the night. He was expecting a carnal companion, and Amygdyla intended to fill that role.
Twenty minutes later, Amygdyla could not have been confused with Scrimshaw's sister for love nor money. She wore a red wig, and a painted face that would mark her anywhere in England as a whore of the night, a prick-loving strumpet fit for the upper class. She elected to wear only a thin robe that hid not a bit of her fleshly charms. She washed off the lipstick above her shaved quim and applied half a dram of musky perfume over her naked body. And a goodly amount of warm oil to her notch. Then she went to the harlot's room and made her lascivious entrance.
Scrimshaw had been waiting long enough that he was growing impatient. But his belligerence was instantly mellowed when he saw his lovely whore. His eyes lit up with lust and he chuckled in anticipation of getting his hands all over her bountiful, lush breasts, that sagged hardly at all, as if she were a virgin. He blatantly stroked his manhood to full erection, giving no doubt as to his carnal intentions.
Amygdyla allowed him to grope her and kiss her, but would do no more than briefly stroke his lustful cockspear. Using her wit, she had him laughing and chasing her about the room, thus avoiding being impaled on his enormous womb-wrecker.
But she eventually allowed herself to be man-handled to the bed, and was anticipating her brother's manly organ penetrating deep inside her flesh -- when there was the mighty crash of the bedroom door. Unbeknownst to them, Philatio had informed Calcium of the whereabouts of Scrimshaw and his sister -- as he had paid her to do. There in the doorway, his face red with rage stood Calcium, removing his overcoat, his hunting jacket, and his pocketed satin vest.
"I've cornered you at last, you meddling snoop!"
"Oh, curse your blasted timing, you Welsh gutter slog! Can't you see I'm about to spit this fine laced mutton with my manly erection?"
Calcium laughed with scorn. "I'll grant you that is a slut worthy of the Prince of Wales, but you call THAT a manly erection? THIS is a manly erection, you impotent little boy!"
With that, Calcium flung off his trousers as Amygdyla watched in horror. Her brother's pride in his sexual potency and size knew no limits. His ten inches of flaccid penis had grown into a foot-long, wrist-thick, quim-splitter.
But Calcium's enormous whore pipe bested that by a full inch!
The two men jumped onto the bed, grabbing Amygdyla by every limb. In a trice, Calcium's substantial lust-flogger had penetrated her lips and was deep within her mouth. The miscreant was holding her hands as if in a vice, while he humped and thrust his turgid man flesh down her thoat.
Meanwhile, Scrimshaw, not to be outdone, spread Amygdyla's legs wide apart, and was pressing his mighty cunt-rammer against the oiled entrance to her seething notch.
She thought to herself, "At last! Once more, disguised as one of his trollops, I get to feel my own dear brother violate my most sacred chamber."
It pressed harder and harder. With a loud pop, it rammed deep within her, stretching her vagina to a girth that was just shy of being painful.
Amygdyla writhed and twisted in paroxysms of lust that threatened to engulf her mind in a carnal bonfire. And yet it was exquisite! The feeling of her brother's cock inside her was every bit as heavenly as she had experienced before. And Calcium's quim-reamer was an added bonus, as the man, though a thief and reprobate, could use his tool with every bit of expertise as Scrimshaw.
The men swapped orifices, with Calcium fucking her cunt and Scrimshaw sodomizing her mouth. They took turns at forcing their mammoth Nebuchadnezzars into her bottom's winking star. Then flipped her over and competed as to which man could dispense the greatest amount of Onan's Cream into her muff, until it flowed like two rivers down her thighs.
Both men thrust into her violently, without letup, without regard for her creature comforts, intent only upon out-fucking the other man. Not that she wanted them to cease. She was in paradise, floating through one violent orgasm after another. In her brief moments of respite, when she could gather her thoughts, she prayed to the Virgin Mary to restore the lustful energies of both men that they may continue to mindlessly use her as their vulgar semen receptacle.
Finally, after three hours of intense ejaculatory physical labor, all three of them collapsed on the bed.
Calcium spoke first.
"My word, Scrimshaw, that was a fair piece of cunny cranking you did there. Impressive! I guess this makes us brother starlings -- we have built in the same nest!"
And he roared with laughter.To continue reading this story you must be a member. Join for FREE here.
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