We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. It's too hard. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. The booming voice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry.
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This video was uploaded to warmfuckclips.com on 19-09-2024 18:24:53
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