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Drink it, bitch," he growls, his BBC throbbing in his hand. You're on your knees, eager, the scent of his musk and the tang of urine filling your nostrils. He coats your tongue, your lips, your chin, his piss drenching your face and clothes. You swallow, feeling the warm liquid slide down your throat. He laughs, a deep, dirty laugh, enjoying your humiliation. "Good girl," he purrs, "Now, let's see you clean it up with that pretty mouth.