Trieste knew that Helga wasn't going to try to stop the boys now. Why should she, what else could they do? Nor did she care at all about Helga taking the pictures of the double fucking: the only thing occupying Trieste's mind was the feeling of the two massive spearheads plunging deep into her straining body: two spearheads driven towards each other by forces which were going to rip her apart like a chicken's wishbone.
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