Mental Emasculation: Manti-Milk


My face had contorted into a sneer of disgust as I peered into the depths of the laundry basket. Lurking at the bottom with all the innocence of a grinning alligator was a pair of Chasity’s boxers. Her splodgy, crusty, cum stained boxers. With a sigh of the inevitable, I reached in and extracted the offending garment, pinched between my thumb and forefinger. Holding them up to the light only made matters worse. By the looks of it, a considerable cornucopia of slugs had decided to host an Acid House Rave, utilising the crotch area as their dance floor…