Ellen's breath caught and her nostrils flared as she watched them, her loins suffusing with a warmish kind of sweetness. The man's body rose and fell ...owerfully between her mother's long white legs, pinning them even wider apart on each punishing in-stroke. Now Ellen could make out his wetly glistening penis as it moved rhythmically in and out of her mother's splayed cuntal lips, gobbling it into her as if it were candy, then clinging to the thick base as it slid out on the upward stroke.God,. Boring. We’d even sketched it out from different angles and it was a good composition. Caravaggio could have assembled the exact same still life in 1600.“This isn’t us,” I agreed. “It should say something about our world. You got that on the midterm with the objects from Kelly’s Kat House. I even got it with the bloody meat and stewpot. They were things that were relevant to where we live.”“Vases of flowers and bowls of fruit were everyday objects to classic artists. What are our everyday. More

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