I was so fed up with you. If I’d known you liked it so rough you had to have your friend keep the cops on speeddial when you banged your next would-be ‘master’ (and anybody else is going to need to stick their d*** in a coke can before they stick it in you if they want to hit the places I did) and if I still wanted anything to do with you by then, I would have taken out all the frustration on your droopy t***, flabby thighs, bruises of my fingerprints all over your a**, and ripped your taint like a obstetrician with a tough delivery. By the time I stopped respecting you enough to want to do that, though, we were no longer an false-hopes item. Oh well. Every time I fantasize about just savagely sodomizing some piece of meat, thoughts of you come back.