Fifty shades of grey uncut version free download

Morpheus explains it to Neo in this way: "When the Matrix was first built there was a man born inside that had the ability to change what he wanted, to remake the Matrix as he saw fit.

Anderson is a man living two lives. What is the government doing to stop piracy? The Government has taken definitive steps to eradicate piracy of films. On-site trainings are still available under guidance from state and local public health policies in the wake of COVID The plot is currently unknown. It is non-fiction and original research. Full movies, reviews, trailers, DVDs and more at Yidio! The ties to the number 33, red heart and solar crosses are also tenuous.

Def 2. You can feel it when you go to work. Humans are shown using technology enabling Enrol in upGrad's online courses to gain certification in data science, digital marketing, product management, machine learning, software development, and more. A triumph equaled only by its monumental failure. By day he is an average computer programmer and by night a hacker known as Neo. You tasked me to provide an assessment of the Gateway Experience in terms of its mechanics and ultimate practicality.

English - Hindi Dubbed If you are looking for something specific, you can search by category, or check out the menu for old films. The events of The Matrix are happening in the year close to The Animatrix short film "The Second Renaissance" depicts the war between men and machines which led to the creation of a computer-generated world known as the Matrix.

Under Warner Bros. Neo Keanu Reeves believes that Morpheus Laurence Fishburne , an elusive figure considered to be the most dangerous man alive, can answer his question -- What is the Matrix? Neo is contacted by Trinity Carrie-Anne Moss , a beautiful stranger who leads him into an underworld where he meets Morpheus. A triumph equalled only by its monumental failure. When a beautiful stranger leads computer hacker Neo to a forbidding underworld, he discovers the shocking truth--the life he knows is the elaborate deception of an evil cyber-intelligence.

It follows Neo Reeves , the prophesied savior of humanity, as he learns Def 1. The Animatrix brings out the best of Matrix in an animated form and is a completely different experience for viewers. The Matrix was shot on 35MM film, so the film grain is more prevalent with the higher resolution.

But destiny had some other plans for her she backed out due to a huge fee. You can see it when you look out your window, or when you turn on your television. Produced by the Wachowskis, it's part of the Matrix canon. It oozes class and quality. Please select the virtual option during registration if you are interested. So many titles, so much to experience. She wore a blue dress and a white sailor hat. She stood on the curbstone, swinging a sunshade in one hand.

Lenehan grew lively. All I want is to have a look at her. A look at her? Corley did not answer. He sauntered across the road swaying his head from side to side. His bulk, his easy pace, and the solid sound of his boots had something of the conqueror in them. He approached the young woman and, without saluting, began at once to converse with her. She swung her umbrella more quickly and executed half turns on her heels.

Once or twice when he spoke to her at close quarters she laughed and bent her head. Lenehan observed them for a few minutes. Then he walked rapidly along beside the chains at some distance and crossed the road obliquely.

She had her Sunday finery on. Her blue serge skirt was held at the waist by a belt of black leather. The great silver buckle of her belt seemed to depress the centre of her body, catching the light stuff of her white blouse like a clip.

She wore a short black jacket with mother-of-pearl buttons and a ragged black boa. The ends of her tulle collarette had been carefully disordered and a big bunch of red flowers was pinned in her bosom, stems upwards. Frank rude health glowed in her face, on her fat red cheeks and in her unabashed blue eyes.

Her features were blunt. She had broad nostrils, a straggling mouth which lay open in a contented leer, and two projecting front teeth. As he passed Lenehan took off his cap and, after about ten seconds, Corley returned a salute to the air. This he did by raising his hand vaguely and pensively changing the angle of position of his hat. Lenehan walked as far as the Shelbourne Hotel where he halted and waited.

After waiting for a little time he saw them coming towards him and, when they turned to the right, he followed them, stepping lightly in his white shoes, down one side of Merrion Square.

He kept the pair in view until he had seen them climbing the stairs of the Donnybrook tram; then he turned about and went back the way he had come. Now that he was alone his face looked older. The air which the harpist had played began to control his movements. His softly padded feet played the melody while his fingers swept a scale of variations idly along the railings after each group of notes. Though his eyes took note of many elements of the crowd through which he passed they did so morosely.

He found trivial all that was meant to charm him and did not answer the glances which invited him to be bold. He knew that he would have to speak a great deal, to invent and to amuse, and his brain and throat were too dry for such a task. The problem of how he could pass the hours till he met Corley again troubled him a little. He could think of no way of passing them but to keep on walking.

He turned to the left when he came to the corner of Rutland Square and felt more at ease in the dark quiet street, the sombre look of which suited his mood. He paused at last before the window of a poor-looking shop over which the words Refreshment Bar were printed in white letters. On the glass of the window were two flying inscriptions: Ginger Beer and Ginger Ale. A cut ham was exposed on a great blue dish while near it on a plate lay a segment of very light plum-pudding.

He eyed this food earnestly for some time and then, after glancing warily up and down the street, went into the shop quickly. He was hungry for, except some biscuits which he had asked two grudging curates to bring him, he had eaten nothing since breakfast-time.

He sat down at an uncovered wooden table opposite two work-girls and a mechanic. A slatternly girl waited on him. He spoke roughly in order to belie his air of gentility for his entry had been followed by a pause of talk. His face was heated. To appear natural he pushed his cap back on his head and planted his elbows on the table. The mechanic and the two work-girls examined him point by point before resuming their conversation in a subdued voice.

He ate his food greedily and found it so good that he made a note of the shop mentally. This vision made him feel keenly his own poverty of purse and spirit. He was tired of knocking about, of pulling the devil by the tail, of shifts and intrigues. He would be thirty-one in November. Would he never get a good job? Would he never have a home of his own? He thought how pleasant it would be to have a warm fire to sit by and a good dinner to sit down to.

He had walked the streets long enough with friends and with girls. He knew what those friends were worth: he knew the girls too. Experience had embittered his heart against the world.

But all hope had not left him. He felt better after having eaten than he had felt before, less weary of his life, less vanquished in spirit.

He might yet be able to settle down in some snug corner and live happily if he could only come across some good simple-minded girl with a little of the ready. He paid twopence halfpenny to the slatternly girl and went out of the shop to begin his wandering again. He went into Capel Street and walked along towards the City Hall.

Then he turned into Dame Street. He was glad that he could rest from all his walking. His friends asked him had he seen Corley and what was the latest. He replied that he had spent the day with Corley. His friends talked very little. They looked vacantly after some figures in the crowd and sometimes made a critical remark. One said that he had seen Mac an hour before in Westmoreland Street. The young man who had seen Mac in Westmoreland Street asked was it true that Mac had won a bit over a billiard match.

He turned to the left at the City Markets and walked on into Grafton Street. The crowd of girls and young men had thinned and on his way up the street he heard many groups and couples bidding one another good-night. He went as far as the clock of the College of Surgeons: it was on the stroke of ten.

He set off briskly along the northern side of the Green hurrying for fear Corley should return too soon. When he reached the corner of Merrion Street he took his stand in the shadow of a lamp and brought out one of the cigarettes which he had reserved and lit it.

He leaned against the lamp-post and kept his gaze fixed on the part from which he expected to see Corley and the young woman return.

His mind became active again. He wondered had Corley managed it successfully. He wondered if he had asked her yet or if he would leave it to the last. All at once the idea struck him that perhaps Corley had seen her home by another way and given him the slip.

His eyes searched the street: there was no sign of them. Yet it was surely half-an-hour since he had seen the clock of the College of Surgeons. Would Corley do a thing like that? He lit his last cigarette and began to smoke it nervously. He strained his eyes as each tram stopped at the far corner of the square.

They must have gone home by another way. The paper of his cigarette broke and he flung it into the road with a curse. Suddenly he saw them coming towards him.

He started with delight and, keeping close to his lamp-post, tried to read the result in their walk. They were walking quickly, the young woman taking quick short steps, while Corley kept beside her with his long stride. They did not seem to be speaking. An intimation of the result pricked him like the point of a sharp instrument.

He knew Corley would fail; he knew it was no go. They turned down Baggot Street and he followed them at once, taking the other footpath. When they stopped he stopped too. They talked for a few moments and then the young woman went down the steps into the area of a house. Corley remained standing at the edge of the path, a little distance from the front steps.

Some minutes passed. Then the hall-door was opened slowly and cautiously. A woman came running down the front steps and coughed. Corley turned and went towards her. His broad figure hid hers from view for a few seconds and then she reappeared running up the steps. Lenehan hurried on in the same direction. Some drops of light rain fell. He took them as a warning and, glancing back towards the house which the young woman had entered to see that he was not observed, he ran eagerly across the road.

Anxiety and his swift run made him pant. He called out:. Corley turned his head to see who had called him, and then continued walking as before.

Lenehan ran after him, settling the waterproof on his shoulders with one hand. They had reached the corner of Ely Place. Still without answering, Corley swerved to the left and went up the side street. His features were composed in stern calm. Lenehan kept up with his friend, breathing uneasily. He was baffled and a note of menace pierced through his voice. Corley halted at the first lamp and stared grimly before him. Then with a grave gesture he extended a hand towards the light and, smiling, opened it slowly to the gaze of his disciple.

A small gold coin shone in the palm. She was a woman who was quite able to keep things to herself: a determined woman. But as soon as his father-in-law was dead Mr Mooney began to go to the devil. He drank, plundered the till, ran headlong into debt.

It was no use making him take the pledge: he was sure to break out again a few days after. By fighting his wife in the presence of customers and by buying bad meat he ruined his business. After that they lived apart. She went to the priest and got a separation from him with care of the children. Mrs Mooney, who had taken what remained of her money out of the butcher business and set up a boarding house in Hardwicke Street, was a big imposing woman. Her house had a floating population made up of tourists from Liverpool and the Isle of Man and, occasionally, artistes from the music-halls.

Its resident population was made up of clerks from the city. She governed her house cunningly and firmly, knew when to give credit, when to be stern and when to let things pass. All the resident young men spoke of her as The Madam. They shared in common tastes and occupations and for this reason they were very chummy with one another. They discussed with one another the chances of favourites and outsiders. When he met his friends he had always a good one to tell them and he was always sure to be on to a good thing—that is to say, a likely horse or a likely artiste.

He was also handy with the mits and sang comic songs. The music-hall artistes would oblige; and Sheridan played waltzes and polkas and vamped accompaniments. She sang:.

Polly was a slim girl of nineteen; she had light soft hair and a small full mouth. Her eyes, which were grey with a shade of green through them, had a habit of glancing upwards when she spoke with anyone, which made her look like a little perverse madonna. As Polly was very lively the intention was to give her the run of the young men. Besides, young men like to feel that there is a young woman not very far away.

Polly, of course, flirted with the young men but Mrs Mooney, who was a shrewd judge, knew that the young men were only passing the time away: none of them meant business.

Things went on so for a long time and Mrs Mooney began to think of sending Polly back to typewriting when she noticed that something was going on between Polly and one of the young men.

She watched the pair and kept her own counsel. There had been no open complicity between mother and daughter, no open understanding but, though people in the house began to talk of the affair, still Mrs Mooney did not intervene. Polly began to grow a little strange in her manner and the young man was evidently perturbed.

At last, when she judged it to be the right moment, Mrs Mooney intervened. She dealt with moral problems as a cleaver deals with meat: and in this case she had made up her mind. It was a bright Sunday morning of early summer, promising heat, but with a fresh breeze blowing. All the windows of the boarding house were open and the lace curtains ballooned gently towards the street beneath the raised sashes.

Breakfast was over in the boarding house and the table of the breakfast-room was covered with plates on which lay yellow streaks of eggs with morsels of bacon-fat and bacon-rind. Mrs Mooney sat in the straw arm-chair and watched the servant Mary remove the breakfast things. When the table was cleared, the broken bread collected, the sugar and butter safe under lock and key, she began to reconstruct the interview which she had had the night before with Polly.

Things were as she had suspected: she had been frank in her questions and Polly had been frank in her answers. Both had been somewhat awkward, of course. It was seventeen minutes past eleven: she would have lots of time to have the matter out with Mr Doran and then catch short twelve at Marlborough Street. She was sure she would win. To begin with she had all the weight of social opinion on her side: she was an outraged mother. She had allowed him to live beneath her roof, assuming that he was a man of honour, and he had simply abused her hospitality.

He was thirty-four or thirty-five years of age, so that youth could not be pleaded as his excuse; nor could ignorance be his excuse since he was a man who had seen something of the world. The question was: What reparation would he make? There must be reparation made in such cases.

It is all very well for the man: he can go his ways as if nothing had happened, having had his moment of pleasure, but the girl has to bear the brunt. Some mothers would be content to patch up such an affair for a sum of money; she had known cases of it. But she would not do so. She felt sure she would win. He was a serious young man, not rakish or loud-voiced like the others. She did not think he would face publicity.

All the lodgers in the house knew something of the affair; details had been invented by some. Whereas if he agreed all might be well. She knew he had a good screw for one thing and she suspected he had a bit of stuff put by. Nearly the half-hour!

She stood up and surveyed herself in the pier-glass. The decisive expression of her great florid face satisfied her and she thought of some mothers she knew who could not get their daughters off their hands. Mr Doran was very anxious indeed this Sunday morning. He had made two attempts to shave but his hand had been so unsteady that he had been obliged to desist. The recollection of his confession of the night before was a cause of acute pain to him; the priest had drawn out every ridiculous detail of the affair and in the end had so magnified his sin that he was almost thankful at being afforded a loophole of reparation.

The harm was done. What could he do now but marry her or run away? He could not brazen it out. The affair would be sure to be talked of and his employer would be certain to hear of it. All his long years of service gone for nothing! All his industry and diligence thrown away! As a young man he had sown his wild oats, of course; he had boasted of his free-thinking and denied the existence of God to his companions in public-houses.

But that was all passed and done with He had money enough to settle down on; it was not that. But the family would look down on her. He had a notion that he was being had. He could imagine his friends talking of the affair and laughing. He could not make up his mind whether to like her or despise her for what she had done. Of course he had done it too. His instinct urged him to remain free, not to marry. Once you are married you are done for, it said.

While he was sitting helplessly on the side of the bed in shirt and trousers she tapped lightly at his door and entered. She told him all, that she had made a clean breast of it to her mother and that her mother would speak with him that morning.

She cried and threw her arms round his neck, saying:. He comforted her feebly, telling her not to cry, that it would be all right, never fear. He felt against his shirt the agitation of her bosom.

It was not altogether his fault that it had happened. He remembered well, with the curious patient memory of the celibate, the first casual caresses her dress, her breath, her fingers had given him. Then late one night as he was undressing for bed she had tapped at his door, timidly. She wanted to relight her candle at his for hers had been blown out by a gust.

It was her bath night. She wore a loose open combing-jacket of printed flannel. Her white instep shone in the opening of her furry slippers and the blood glowed warmly behind her perfumed skin.

From her hands and wrists too as she lit and steadied her candle a faint perfume arose. On nights when he came in very late it was she who warmed up his dinner. He scarcely knew what he was eating, feeling her beside him alone, at night, in the sleeping house. And her thoughtfulness! If the night was anyway cold or wet or windy there was sure to be a little tumbler of punch ready for him. Perhaps they could be happy together They used to go upstairs together on tiptoe, each with a candle, and on the third landing exchange reluctant good-nights.

They used to kiss. He remembered well her eyes, the touch of her hand and his delirium But delirium passes. But the sin was there; even his sense of honour told him that reparation must be made for such a sin.

While he was sitting with her on the side of the bed Mary came to the door and said that the missus wanted to see him in the parlour. He stood up to put on his coat and waistcoat, more helpless than ever. When he was dressed he went over to her to comfort her. It would be all right, never fear. Going down the stairs his glasses became so dimmed with moisture that he had to take them off and polish them.

He longed to ascend through the roof and fly away to another country where he would never hear again of his trouble, and yet a force pushed him downstairs step by step. The implacable faces of his employer and of the Madam stared upon his discomfiture.

On the last flight of stairs he passed Jack Mooney who was coming up from the pantry nursing two bottles of Bass. When he reached the foot of the staircase he glanced up and saw Jack regarding him from the door of the return-room. Suddenly he remembered the night when one of the music-hall artistes , a little blond Londoner, had made a rather free allusion to Polly.

Everyone tried to quiet him. Polly sat for a little time on the side of the bed, crying. Then she dried her eyes and went over to the looking-glass.

She dipped the end of the towel in the water-jug and refreshed her eyes with the cool water. She looked at herself in profile and readjusted a hairpin above her ear. Then she went back to the bed again and sat at the foot. She regarded the pillows for a long time and the sight of them awakened in her mind secret amiable memories.

She rested the nape of her neck against the cool iron bed-rail and fell into a revery. There was no longer any perturbation visible on her face. She waited on patiently, almost cheerfully, without alarm, her memories gradually giving place to hopes and visions of the future. Her hopes and visions were so intricate that she no longer saw the white pillows on which her gaze was fixed or remembered that she was waiting for anything.

Eight years before he had seen his friend off at the North Wall and wished him godspeed. Gallaher had got on. You could tell that at once by his travelled air, his well-cut tweed suit, and fearless accent. Few fellows had talents like his and fewer still could remain unspoiled by such success. It was something to have a friend like that. He was called Little Chandler because, though he was but slightly under the average stature, he gave one the idea of being a little man.

His hands were white and small, his frame was fragile, his voice was quiet and his manners were refined. He took the greatest care of his fair silken hair and moustache and used perfume discreetly on his handkerchief. The half-moons of his nails were perfect and when he smiled you caught a glimpse of a row of childish white teeth. The friend whom he had known under a shabby and necessitous guise had become a brilliant figure on the London Press.

He turned often from his tiresome writing to gaze out of the office window. The glow of a late autumn sunset covered the grass plots and walks. It cast a shower of kindly golden dust on the untidy nurses and decrepit old men who drowsed on the benches; it flickered upon all the moving figures—on the children who ran screaming along the gravel paths and on everyone who passed through the gardens.

He watched the scene and thought of life; and as always happened when he thought of life he became sad. A gentle melancholy took possession of him. He felt how useless it was to struggle against fortune, this being the burden of wisdom which the ages had bequeathed to him. He remembered the books of poetry upon his shelves at home.

He had bought them in his bachelor days and many an evening, as he sat in the little room off the hall, he had been tempted to take one down from the bookshelf and read out something to his wife.

But shyness had always held him back; and so the books had remained on their shelves. At times he repeated lines to himself and this consoled him. When his hour had struck he stood up and took leave of his desk and of his fellow-clerks punctiliously. The golden sunset was waning and the air had grown sharp.

A horde of grimy children populated the street. They stood or ran in the roadway or crawled up the steps before the gaping doors or squatted like mice upon the thresholds. Little Chandler gave them no thought. He picked his way deftly through all that minute vermin-like life and under the shadow of the gaunt spectral mansions in which the old nobility of Dublin had roystered. No memory of the past touched him, for his mind was full of a present joy.

He knew that people went there after the theatre to eat oysters and drink liqueurs; and he had heard that the waiters there spoke French and German.

Walking swiftly by at night he had seen cabs drawn up before the door and richly dressed ladies, escorted by cavaliers, alight and enter quickly. They wore noisy dresses and many wraps.

Their faces were powdered and they caught up their dresses, when they touched earth, like alarmed Atalantas. He had always passed without turning his head to look. It was his habit to walk swiftly in the street even by day and whenever he found himself in the city late at night he hurried on his way apprehensively and excitedly. Sometimes, however, he courted the causes of his fear. He chose the darkest and narrowest streets and, as he walked boldly forward, the silence that was spread about his footsteps troubled him, the wandering silent figures troubled him; and at times a sound of low fugitive laughter made him tremble like a leaf.

He turned to the right towards Capel Street. Ignatius Gallaher on the London Press! Who would have thought it possible eight years before? Still, now that he reviewed the past, Little Chandler could remember many signs of future greatness in his friend. People used to say that Ignatius Gallaher was wild. Of course, he did mix with a rakish set of fellows at that time, drank freely and borrowed money on all sides.

In the end he had got mixed up in some shady affair, some money transaction: at least, that was one version of his flight.

But nobody denied him talent. There was always a certain Little Chandler quickened his pace. For the first time in his life he felt himself superior to the people he passed. For the first time his soul revolted against the dull inelegance of Capel Street. There was no doubt about it: if you wanted to succeed you had to go away.

You could do nothing in Dublin. As he crossed Grattan Bridge he looked down the river towards the lower quays and pitied the poor stunted houses. They seemed to him a band of tramps, huddled together along the riverbanks, their old coats covered with dust and soot, stupefied by the panorama of sunset and waiting for the first chill of night bid them arise, shake themselves and begone. He wondered whether he could write a poem to express his idea. Perhaps Gallaher might be able to get it into some London paper for him.

Could he write something original? He was not sure what idea he wished to express but the thought that a poetic moment had touched him took life within him like an infant hope.

He stepped onward bravely. Every step brought him nearer to London, farther from his own sober inartistic life. A light began to tremble on the horizon of his mind. He was not so old—thirty-two. His temperament might be said to be just at the point of maturity. There were so many different moods and impressions that he wished to express in verse.

He felt them within him. Melancholy was the dominant note of his temperament, he thought, but it was a melancholy tempered by recurrences of faith and resignation and simple joy. If he could give expression to it in a book of poems perhaps men would listen. He would never be popular: he saw that. He could not sway the crowd but he might appeal to a little circle of kindred minds. The English critics, perhaps, would recognise him as one of the Celtic school by reason of the melancholy tone of his poems; besides that, he would put in allusions.

He began to invent sentences and phrases from the notice which his book would get. Malone Chandler. He would speak to Gallaher about it. He pursued his revery so ardently that he passed his street and had to turn back.

Finally he opened the door and entered. The light and noise of the bar held him at the doorways for a few moments.

He looked about him, but his sight was confused by the shining of many red and green wine-glasses. The bar seemed to him to be full of people and he felt that the people were observing him curiously. He glanced quickly to right and left frowning slightly to make his errand appear serious , but when his sight cleared a little he saw that nobody had turned to look at him: and there, sure enough, was Ignatius Gallaher leaning with his back against the counter and his feet planted far apart.

What is it to be? What will you have? No mineral? Spoils the flavour Well, and how have you been pulling along since I saw you last? Do you see any signs of aging in me—eh, what? A little grey and thin on the top—what? Ignatius Gallaher took off his hat and displayed a large closely cropped head.

His face was heavy, pale and clean-shaven. His eyes, which were of bluish slate-colour, relieved his unhealthy pallor and shone out plainly above the vivid orange tie he wore. Between these rival features the lips appeared very long and shapeless and colourless. He bent his head and felt with two sympathetic fingers the thin hair at the crown. Little Chandler shook his head as a denial.

Ignatius Galaher put on his hat again. Always hurry and scurry, looking for copy and sometimes not finding it: and then, always to have something new in your stuff. Damn proofs and printers, I say, for a few days.

Does a fellow good, a bit of a holiday. I feel a ton better since I landed again in dear dirty Dublin Here you are, Tommy. Say when. Boose, I suppose? Have you never been anywhere even for a trip? Of course, it is beautiful Jakeb takes it hard, until he shoots his load all over the tree bark. Then he turns around to look at James stroking his cock over his face, until James busts a warm load onto his chin. The boys had a great time in the woods.

They make a perfect duo too,plimenting each other in appearance and matching each other in their lust for hard cock and some tight ass! Twink boy Justin is relaxing with a good book no, not Fifty Shades of Grey! It doesn't take a whole lot of persuasion to get hung Justin hard and horny for some play, with Alec feeling the growing mound of his uncut cock in his uniform trousers.

Reap And Sow Scene 4 - John Hardy, Pavel Masters Studio: Staxus Its safe to say that some of the boys may have a bit of an obsession with their phallic shaped vegetables, and with the boss out of the way, the boys are ready to play! Soon after, John is on top of Pavel kissing him, before guiding Pavels head down to his cock, which he guides him to suck. Before returning the suck, and eventually getting into a 69 position.

Unsurprisingly, its not long before Johns ass is being opened by Pavel! I blew one of the biggest loads ever and covered his hole and tummy with my load! It starts out fun, but things quickly turn terrifying when a mysterious 'Mastermind' takes over the tour, demanding they live out their deepest desires. Ryan Jordan likes it freaky, which is why he hangs out at sex dungeons any time he has the chance.

Color him surprised when he and Trevor Harris end up locked in a room that looks eerily like the haunts he frequents. When a mysterious voice tells Ryan and Trevor to live out their fantasies to be freed from the room, the boys do what comes naturally. The boys immediately kiss and play with each other. Doesnt take long before Alexander lowers himself to Liams nice cock and puts his mouth on it. He sucks Liam off well, while Liam rolls his eyes back in pleasure.

They switch and Liam shows Alexander what his mouth can do too. Alexander definitely wants to get in Liams ass, so he preps it by rimming him first. Liam moans as Alexander works his tongue around his hole. Ready for cock, Liam gets on his knees and takes Alexanders big cock from behind.

Alexander loves ramming into him hard, and hearing Liam moan in response. He gets Liam on his back and continues fucking him. He even smells Liams underwear, which got him so aroused he wanted to cum. Alexander pulls out and shoots his load all over Liam. BB code is On. Smilies are On.