Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. A brief calm succeeded. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould, they soon reached the building. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. He felt his orgasm explode into her as his mouth was filled with bitter, metallic blood. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. She could not see clearly.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4xODkuMzcgLSAyOS0wNi0yMDI0IDE2OjA4OjQ4IC0gOTYxMDQ3ODIw
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