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The Eternal Struggle of Man

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“So like um Assad…” Putin shuffled awkwardly, feeling very manly. “Just like go prepare your rectum.”
“Okay, like, that’s cool or whatever. I’m gonna listen to Kanye while I do it.” He smirked casually, fingering himself. “Don’t be alarmed if it’s brown and stuff--I’m gonna be using a coffee enema.”
Putin scoffed slightly, he never used enemas. He was a total top. He briefly imagined his balls slapping Assad’s asscheeks, like a boss. “Coffee’s cool, bruh.”
“ won’t be cool.” Assad winked.
“Whatever, so long as you don’t prolapse that anus I love.” Assad shuffled away from Putin, and the Russian leader-man watched his hot lover continue to finger himself, making his movements awkward but totally worth it.
After Assad had left the room, Putin stared longingly at the tub of lard that they used as lube. “I wonder what it would be like,” Putin thought to himself, “if I were to finger myself--” Putin gasped, covering his mouth in horror. He was not a uke--he was a leader of a country that could stand up to the United States of Ah-Suk-Ka-Ka. But...the desire was so strong in him.. but he was a top, not bottom, that’s why his name was “Put in.”
“Hallo!” sagt Assad von dem anderen Raum. “Mein Arsch ist fertig!”
“Wonderful, my sweet little Levantine darling, come to me, with your gaping anal-canal of love!” Putin’s eyes filled with tears, “I want to put my pulsing flesh-spear in your bubbly bottom.”
Assad giggled, but it would seem forced to anyone but the oblivious Putin. Assad wanted to stick his massive man driller in Putin’s untouched pink starfish. Assad should be the seme, he was taller and his penis was bigger by at least a fourth an inch.
Putin got dismounted his horse, named Powerful Pecs, and took off his shirt. He was ready to mount his other horse named Assad, and then he was going to ravage his lover, named Assad.
Assad walked over to Putin, who was atop the horse, Assad, and said, “Bruh, get off that shetland pony,” Putin made a sound as if to object, but his lover gave him a look who continued as if uninterrupted, “of yours and come talk to me like a man.” Putin didn’t want to do this, seeing as he was only, after mounting his horse, just as tall as his uke.
Putin, pouting, got a bottle of vodka and shot glass out of one the saddle bags. He took a shot. Then another. He was desperately hoping to quell the twitching of his sphincter. Assad’s controlling attitude. “Dan, Phil, stop it.” He snapped at the two haram boys. They were video-taping to archive the abilities of Russia’s dear leader. They shrugged and started making out. Putin pushed them out of the window with his selfie stick, and they landed in a tub of roses and olive oil. Ooooooo
Putin gets off his “horse.” Assad smiles coolly. The breeze was going up his anus, chilling to the core, so he stuck his furry, vibrating buttplug up there to allow him to concentrate on the ensuing “international diplomacy.” “Babe,” he says gruffly, “what would you think of, maybe, like… idk, you like, trying to uh, be the uke? I read a really good doujin of it.”
Putin felt as though the world were dropping out from beneath him. He was simultaneously excited and petrified. This was everything he wanted and feared. What would happen if Merkel knew? He would lose face in Europe, and Russia’s already severely worsening economy would get all the worse. “But babe, I’ve never done that before and I’M THE SEME, YOU KNOW THIS, COME ON, IT ISN’T FAIR TO SWITCH IT UP LIKE THIS ON ME. I’M THE BOSS. MY COUNTRY IS BIGGER.”
Assad sighed, Putin was throwing another tantrum, “Bro, you know my dick is bigger, you know I’m taller, and you know I’m the most suave mother-effer to run a country. I’m a total seme. I’ve only been a uke for the oil, but now that oil prices are dropping like hell, I ain’t got no reason to be taking your pencil dick any longer.”
Putin gasped.
Assad took him. It was dub-con.
Putin moaned like a whore. It was gross actually. These are men are old as balls. Wtf are you reading this for. Go to church.