. I brought along his boots and uniforms, as well as other memehat would remind me of him. I knew what I wao keep for myself and what I would eventually pass to Brandon for his keepsake.
August 1, 1990. That’s the day Boris took the bullet for me. I never really knew what happened but I watched him die hours later in the hospital, after an unsuccessful surgery. Brandon and I were ba the US on August 31 the same year. I missed a week of school but I was ba one piece. Boris’ murderer was shot himself by Boris’ friends. I receive odd packages now and again and I k was from them...
“Ouch!” Daydreams last too short. “Ouch! God damn it!” I roared. My balls were on fire!
I turo look at the giant ss and saw that Evil Ace had removed his boots and hung each boot off eay balls. Damn it! Each boot goes all the to Evil Ace’s knees and these would weigh heavily. God... pain!
The endomorphins rushed to my brains to help with the pain as Evil Ace removed Boris’ boots from my face, pulled out his did shoved it into my mouth, right into my throat. I suppressed my gag reflex. The last person who did that to me was Boris and he rewarded me with a massive load of month old Russian cum when he came. As a w the field and given his impending divorce, he never had ao touch himself. I greedily swallowed all that Boris shot out of his dick.
The remaining cum from Evil Ace’s last cum shot wiped off on my tongue. I tasted the salty bleachy taste of the cum. The smell of Evil Ace’s groin ― he had been in his suit for the past over four hours and he has definitely worked up a solid musky smell there ― and the testosterone charged cum that he made me taste and the face fuck he was giving me restored Bruce Jr to its flory. I got used to the pain and became so hard I ached for release.
“Mmmff...” I struggled to say.
“What do you want, Ace?” Evil Ace asked.
“Mmmkkkmmmm..” I tried again but I ’t get any sensible words out.
“What does he