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llamas pr0n

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Are you sure you want to move these files to the recycle bin?

It had been two days since Carl had returned from South America.  On the scale of things, the trip had been quite enjoyable – at least as delightful, if not more so, than the lovely cruise he’d taken last year.  The local cuisine had been excellent, especially when paired with a generous supply of mojitos and eventually the delicate flesh of the bartender supplying said mojitos.  Even more delicious by far however had been the anarchy he’d sowed when he overthrew several regional governments of varying legitimacy. 

Ah, how he had basked in the chaos and the tropical sun in equal measures!

Alas, now his vacation was over.  He had finished unpacking the last of the orphan meat this morning, and now he was seated in front of his computer about to tie up the trip’s last remaining loose thread:  namely, the rather unexpected discovery that his long-time friend and travel companion was in fact a male llama by the name of Paul rather than the lovely lady llama as Carl had heretofore assumed.  It had been the one metaphorical cloud in the otherwise pristine blue skies of the trip, but Carl wasn’t letting it bring him down.  After all, it would be dealt with in short order.  

He moved the mouse toward the button labelled yes and…

Hesitated.

Huh.

That was odd. 

Well, it really was a shame, Carl supposed now that he allowed himself to think about it.  He had meticulously curated hundreds of photos over the past few years, no small feat especially when you considered that he lacked the opposable thumbs necessary for the easy operation of most cameras.  It was an impressive collection by any standards, and they had all served him quite well.  To delete them now did seem like a waste…

One more scroll-through couldn’t hurt, could it?

He clicked no before he could second-guess himself, and was immediately glad as his eye caught the fourth photo down.  It was a particular favorite of his – shot from behind at a low angle and with the lighting just right to perfectly highlight the lines of Paul’s ass.  Carl double-clicked the image to bring it up in full size.  Yes, it would be positively tragic to have to delete this picture, he thought as he stared at the screen.  Perhaps if he just kept one or two of the photos?  This one for sure, and maybe that one from their cruise:  the one of Paul just as he was emerging from the ship’s pool, fur slicked back clinging to the curves of his body…

Carl felt his cock twitch at the memory, and before he could think twice about it, he found himself scrolling down to bring that picture up as well.  He almost moaned aloud as the image expanded to full size on his screen; it was even better than he remembered.  A distant part of his brain was screaming in protest – something about male llamas and the name Paul – but Carl wasn’t listening to it as he wrapped his toes around his rapidly hardening cock and gave it a gentle stroke.

He pulled up a third picture as he continued to stroke himself.  It was another old favorite of his: Paul asleep on the sofa in their house, legs unconsciously splayed like he was just begging for Carl to fuck him senseless.  Carl closed his eyes and let himself imagine it… 

He imagined sinking into wet heat, thrusting hard and deep until Paul was writhing beneath him begging for release.  At first he would be brutal, pounding hard into his companion like he intended to split him in two.  Then he would slow until his thrusts were deliberate, almost gentle, allowing himself to slide nearly the whole way out before pushing back in as deeply as he could go.  He would take Paul’s cock in his toes then, stroking him in time with his thrusts until Paul was undone and coming in hot spurts across his own belly.

It was too much.  The thought of Paul covered in his own cum was just too much for Carl.  A moment later his eyes flew open as he came like a sputtering faucet all over his own toes.  It would have been nicer to come in Paul’s ass, he mused absently, but the thought vanished into the post-orgasm haze rapidly enveloping his mind before he could examine it or its implications too closely.

That was just what he needed, Carl decided several minutes later when his heartrate had returned to normal and he’d wiped his cum off his toes with several conveniently located tissues.  One final satisfying wank – a last hurrah if you would – before deleting the photos for good.  He reached once more for the mouse, highlighted the images, and dragged them towards the recycle bin.  The same gray dialogue box greeted him this time as well.

Are you sure you want to move these files to the recycle bin?

He clicked no.