Becky-lynn Dakota Monroe Savannah Taylor in the sure has an interesting way of servicing her community. While everyone reserves their public reamings for the Best Buy customer service line; she has decided to start her charity work at home.
A 19 min adventure with a woman that doesn't believe the night is over until her junior mint has been turned inside out. The odor in that room must be diabolical.
Some people invest into their 401-K plans to insure a healthy retirement. Others, work until the grave. And then there's this marble garglin sonuvabitch who is going to burn every cent in the name of B tier semi-pornstar vaginal exploration.
On today's edition of "I remember masturbating to her while unboxing my launch copy of Halo 2 with my free hand" its Alexis. No comeback has been made official
Kind of embarrassing, but this level of uncontrollable pressure reminds me of a romantic moment involving myself, a $20.00 bill and the McRib. Let's just say mom's Plymouth Vista got a new interior paint job that night. [PART I] [PART II]
wtf is with this ❝i'm not stopping until medicare qualifies her for a wheelchair❞ approach to slamming married women nowadays? Call me old fashioned, but I preferred when it was more romantic and hidden in Taco Bell bathroom stalls.
Ya gotta respect the duo at the end willing to show their face. Because even attempting to hide their identity would be crossing the line, whereas doing "the Nutty Richard" behind a Rite Aid dumpster is considered acceptable behavior?
Harmony Wonder takes her satchel of uncured meat on the kind of adventure Netflix is probably going to launch a 10 episode series about in the near future.
Billy saved all of his birthday nickles for his favorite street performer... only to be left at half mast and dryer than an asshole full of sand paper. The dream is dead.
The Sasha Grey tag under this video made me think we were about to uncover something never seen before. Instead I was greeted with the kind of silicone tit job you can only get from a New Jersey deli butcher, and her merely spectating.
In a sea of Instagram fueled BBL copycat creatures slowly merging into some sort of SIMP-fueled Voltron monster, emerges something out of Brazil that won't eject your brain for looking at it the wrong way. Now all hail Theodora Moutinho.
Eye-rolling hotdog acrobat takes her show on the road. Sometimes it's on her uncles faux leather seats. Other times it's to channel her inner leather face. Whoever told you romance is dead was obviously lying to your fuckin face.
It may not be explicitly written, but there's only one translation for that body language. And it lives somewhere in between "I need to pay my taxes" and "$1 dollar pizza slices make me shit blood". Just three of life's little guarantees.
