His robe, he saw, lay on the ground,White linen in which he could hideHis blemishes, restore his pride,If he could but make no sound.Bending, he found...the gown lay justBeyond his reach; he almost fell,And, in his smarting eyes, tears welled--He must retrieve the robe; he must!Standing erect again, he steppedSoftly, as gently as a deer,His soul a reservoir of fear,Maintaining silence as he wept.Spying the hated, trait'rous twig,The shepherd youth began to hope--Could not the stick be used as. After all this her cunt was like the Nile in spring, flooding the banks. Her thighs were covered in juice. I licked them clean, but it was a losing proposition. I took on the flow at the source, drinking directly from her cunt. I had just pushed my tongue into her tunnel when she shouted, ‘STOP!’ I looked up, confused. ‘Turn around. You’re not doing all that to me unless I can get even. Send that cock up here so I can suck it.’ How could I argue with that kind of logic? I spun around and lay. More

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