Gotmoor

I am the god of anal torture

Gotmoor
Your fingers smell like my ass.
And my fist does of yours.
She says she hates me for it.
But still she comes crawling back for more.
Oh what am I to do?
Just shut up and assume the position, you're nothing more than another meat-puppet on my fist.
And in again, deeper down.
Tear your asshole inside out.
Keep on pumping, speed up the pace.
Drilling holes with my fist.
I'm pushing in my face.
Feel the rush, accept don't resist.
Over and over untill you bleed.
Another fistful of raw perversion.
Up yours, just sit on it.
Swallow it whole, consume me more.
That good old anal treatment.
A touch of rectal delight.
Getting medieval on your ass.
And taking a bite out of the shit you are.
Force-fed fist, plunged in hard.
A different kind of booty call.
Pleasure and pain walk hand in hand.
To invoke annother lacerating gushing orgasm.
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