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ANTROPOECCENTRICO
... CHAPTER 12 ...

Then the Red Pontiff stroked the little foot of a featherless cupid. A little blond cupid (just as all cupids), just a few years old, who had slept naked on his chest all night. The cupid let his legs fall open like Leonardo’s square-circled man. Then the Pontiff stroked the cupid’s little ass, which was soft as a peach in July and with relaxed glutei, following sleep, in the grip of universal gravitation. He put his hand between the cupid’s legs and felt his little fabric penis swell (a cupid’s penis, almost stuck in his belly, pink as the cave of an academic flower). He rubbed his glans (which didn’t moan yet), he stroked it slowly, until the cupid’s mouth opened, letting out a thread of transparent saliva onto the edge of his left breast.
Afterwards, the Pontiff ordered breakfast for three (the cupid liked to drink cool water before smiling).

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© 1998 Gianni Actis Barone