Chapter 7: The Power of God

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Pope Francis started slowly and only with the tip, so it wouldn't hurt. Too much. Donald Trump screeched like an eagle - 12 inches for your first time is a nightmare in hell for even the most veteran ass-fuckers. The Pope had a strong, giant cock, unlike any of those in America. It throbbed and pulsed inside of him with all the power of the Vatican, Donald's anal cavity was still stiff and tight, just how Francis liked it.
"You're one of the fresh ones," he muttered, allowing another inch or two to ease in, "your abstinence is appreciated in the eyes of the Lord. And such a strong grip!"
Donald blushed at the new compliment, for a few seconds, he almost forgot about the crippling pain. His body went limp when the holy man inserted another couple of inches. It felt like his soul would leave his body once he was up to the balls. His eyes bulged under his heavy blonde eyebrows and you could almost see a vein pop underneath the rolls on his forehead. The relentless Pope continuously took the longest strokes possible, amused at the complete power he had over the monstrous man. Quivering, Trump grasped a locker to stop himself from falling over when the mature man began thrusting with all his might, allowing all 12 inches of meat to tunnel inside of his burrows.
Pope Francis cracked his whip over Trump's folliculitic buttocks, which caused his entire body to writhe and jolt - Francis enjoyed watching the big bad boy jiggle. They thrashed like fish caught in a net, wild and in a frenzy of intense loving.

The Pope lasted a long time, much to Trump's pleasure. There was an entire hour of changing positions, passionate kisses and tender touching. When the Pope finally finished, Trump swept a sweaty mop of yellow hair from his forehead and clenched his teeth, all the time staring at the Pope with admiration and sexual enlightenment. Warm, sticky fluid seeped out of Donald's hefty tush, dripping onto the polished changing room floor. Neither of them said a word - they were both exasperated.

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