Paintings of wives and children were more the product of imagination than the real thing. Sometimes the beauty of a child was found in the model found...on the hillside tending the sheep ... sure ... the tender and the Duke's son had the same father but the son ... he was impossible.The instructor just wasn't having it.Finally, The Wanzor touched the hand of the instructor transported him to 1560 and watched Giovanni Battista Moroni paint Antonio Nicolinis as a woman, titled it Portrait of. Fighting the ethereal lace of her outfit, Mike ran his fingers up the cool skin of her legs, pulling her crotch toward his face. Half of it was lust, the other half curiosity, but a single sentence had been reverberating in his head since last night.“I wonder what banshee tastes like.” Her skin practically glowed at his touch, Mike planting light kisses on her inner thighs. Pulling aside her panties, he marveled at the odd hue of her pussy, the fact that it didn’t change color as he spread her. Joe silently stared at the gate, an imposing figure with his 6’ of robust build. Him, and the Pellit brothers, Tommy and John, were the biggest and toughest men I could rely on in Rashbelt. They had sheer power, but I always believed that somehow they had less guts than Herman, or even our amazons, Lucy, my girl, and Maria, which shared the bed with Herman.Lucy, my pretty lady, smiled to me when we crossed eyes. God, I loved her smile, the sincerest thing in the world. She was a miracle. Her. He was an expert, he licked and sucked each nipple in turn, he kissed my neck and nibbled my ear, all the time pushing in gently, drawing out and then in again. I was in heaven, his was only the second black cock I'd ever had, but I knew it wouldn't be the last.He increased his pace and with each thrust of his cock, I felt it against my cervix, I realised that the power of his thrusts was making me squeal but I couldn't help myself, I couldn't breathe normally, my breaths became sobs, but still.