“Something of that ilk,” I agreed, “But sample away and maybe we shall compare scores when all is done?”
Capthorpe stared, “A rare thing indeed, perfection, pert mounds, sweet hairless peach, tight yet at once copious, yet ordinary to behold, no facial beauty but when unwrapped there is but hidden bodily perfection.”
Bogue interjected, “Daughter of a whore, daughter of a whore’s son ,” he marvelled, “Bred to be a whore I’ll wager, look how carelessly she takes a foot or nigh on of black manhood without demurr.”
“But why?” Capthorpe asked, “Where has she been, why have we not sampled her before?”
“In the asylum I’ll wager,” Bogue laughed, “Caught pleasuring herself with a rolling pin and incarcerated for lust!”
“You bounder Harecastle, you’ve been breeding
