"Troubled times over troubled bridges, thenight sky is just a canvas. But in the bitter morn, when the velvetfades, the troubadour still doth play..."...onya opened to the poem in the book and followed along with the man'srecitation. His spoken words sparked through her body like somethinginside her was coming to life. He got almost every line right, thoughmissed a few toward the end. But most importantly, he got the last lineright.When he finished she looked up at him and he was smiling."Not too. I can't speak either when that cock is owning me! Just concentrate on it: Feel the in-and-out rhythm of your new God as it subjugates you to that beautiful male authority every healthy woman craves! Because, Brittanny, you ARE a woman now!!!"This sent the youngster over the edge. Crying out in pleasure this time, I could feel her cunt spasming in orgasm, it's hot, welcoming walls gripping my cock tightly, milking it greedily."UGGH!" I half-grunted, half-snarled as I pumped what felt like a. More

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