Tweety Valentine

Hey, when your wimpy boyfriend's got a dick the size of a pinky, you gotta hunt down real heat to get your rocks off. Shane Diesel's massive black rod is like a goddamn ebony fireplug, ready to plug. Nothing beats roasting that pathetic white loser whose only boner comes from geek cons. Before diving balls-deep with Shane's monster, I locked my hubby's tiny tool in a cage—just in case the shrimp twitched watching me get wrecked by that beast. My jaw damn near dislocated stretching around his third arm. Saliva was flying as I slurped that thick black shaft, hornier by the second in this wild IR bang. Freaked me out thinking my tight white slit might be ruined forever when he finally hammered it home—took ages to bury that donkey dong. Cuck boy was gobsmacked, and hell, I couldn't believe I swallowed every inch. Shane blasted his nut sauce across my belly, and the loser lapped it up like a pro. If his prick was anything but below average, this wouldn't fly. Bullshit—I'd fake any reason to ride that juicy black meat.