The Nazi s BoyChapter 9
Lucky me. The 'pretty' boy was the most popular of choices. My knees were scraped and sore from the cement after losing count on how many flaccid cocks I squeezed the final spits of jism from. Eight? twelve? fifteen? It was all a blur. My jaw ached. My lips were dry and flakey and my mouth was sticky, tasting exactly as it should, stale semen. Some men were hair-triggered, others took time and patience. It didn't matter to me, after getting one guy off, another penis would soon be replaced...