They were written in Chinese, in a smeared, dark red ink.I sat down, looked them over. Used translation software on my phone to scan, translate them. ...hey were a prison diary, written by Lily.The diaries were mundane, showed the tedium of her death row existence. Every day was the same. She’d be awoken at dawn by fire alarm type bells. Then she’d wash up from a cold-water tap and sit on her bunk, eat a bowl of porridge.Then she’d be forced to stand, for an hour, in her cell, in contemplative. He releasedthe pressure on the back of my head and I pulled upright, his cock slidingout of the back of my throat with an audible pop and, as my head cameup, the last few pulses of his ejaculate landed on my tongue.I had literally never tasted semen before. The stuff that he had pumpeddown my throat had gone straight down without touching the taste buds,but now the last bit was in my mouth and I had to put my hand over mylips to stop from retching. I looked up at him as he smiled down at. More

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