Watching [girls like this] bait the socially inept into a monthly subscription reminds me of a black widow documentary I once accidentally watched for 2 hours. All that's missing is David Attenboroughs voice and an invigorating supply of Cialis.
The strange tale of how an alleged rapist wife beater got his penis severed and became a porn star. John Wayne Bobbitt has suffered every man's worst nightmare and accomplished most guy's wildest dream. [FULL STORY]
Tiny Texie is built like an action figure and Cotton Candi is 1 Wendy's coupon book away from putting the entire insulin industry on tilt. In other words: This may be the greatest love story our generation has ever told.
It's not like Woodman sending 18 year old girls to the Depends section at Super Walmart is some sort of secret, so one has to question the motives at this point. Is it an act? Are they sadomasochists? And most importantly: If Ronda Rousey were to crowbar her vagina open, would it be comparable to the consistency of pulling apart a peanut butter sandwich?
Poor prosti gets sandbagged by a local gentleman who's only sexual experience involves Walmart's checkout line & Colt 45. But apparently her dugout is built for the major leagues, cause despite his John McLane ingenuity... she still walks away with a smile. Fucking amazing.
When it's a girl's first time doing hardcore porn and she's too nervous on camera to put two syllables together, you get what I imagine to be the closest experience to fucking a corpse you can have without taking a trip to the morgue. Luckily the awkwardness only makes me harder.
Enter the strange world of MyFreeCams. Where internet prostitutes webcam models do weird shit for cyber money, like sexually teasing the local pizza delivery guy. What could go wrong?
Some real memorable facial expressions in this one. Almost as if she can't believe someone would pay good money to hookup with a person possessing less sexual prowess than a New York City hotdog, and still achieve climax. 4/10; would penetrate again.
Who the fuck comes up with these hybrid fetish flicks? Next time you producers want to get creative, how about coating a machete in Zoloft and fucking Logan Paul up the cornholio until he's smiling like Matt Damon on the cover of Good Will Hunting? Google it.
What happens when you try to clone Mike Tyson, but the machine takes the eggplant emoji seriously? Sorry, but that specimen needs to be noted here. Was it's purpose to inflict maximum damage, or an aerodynamic choice to reach a new velocity?
At this point, self-aware cousin fuckers really deserves their own sub-genre. Decades of inbreeding and limiting toothbrush ownership to 1-per-household has carved itself into a niche that I can only describe as recession proof Walmart porn. Ohio sends it's regards.
