My friend Samson of Sasamón, one day he pointed out an apartment in Madrid run only by women, such as “Seamstress Workshop,” telling me that “If they have admitted the priest, who is my friend, to their house, why wouldn’t they admit me? Me!”

As I usually go down to Madrid from time to time to visit relatives, I decided to go see them with the happy dream of eating a portion of cunts, because I love to suck pussies and bite their clits.

As I am from Burgos, and I always like to bring some detail of the City, I bought five well-cooked black puddings on Calle de la Paloma, as I don’t like them vacuum-packed.

“How handsome you are, neighbor,” a neighbor told me; answering her:

“Yes, I’m going to the capital, Madrid.”

The trip, like all those made by bus, was very heavy. But I passed it, because I was very happy to meet some hot girls who I would tear their panties with my teeth.

I arrived at the building in the Argüelles area, and on the third floor door number “A2,” I had placed a sign that said “Seamstress Workshop.” I called and was opened by a brunette with dark eyes, scantily clad, that burned and burned mine. She told me:

“Pass; Samson has already told us that you would come.”

I went to the sewing room, and on a square table, eight more women were standing and bent over working, also light clothes.

I said to them, a bit confused:

“Here I bring you these five recent black puddings. They are still warm, even though the coach took almost three hours to arrive.”

To which she opened me, and four others, at random, I gave them a blood sausage. They, happily, smelled her, exclaiming: “How delicious! It is good in good faith,” and they put it in their bosom between the two tits, marching to the kitchen.

When they came out of the kitchen, the one who opened the door asked me while the others were looking at me:

“Why did you come?”

I replied:

“I’m a fan of women’s pussy, and I come to eat your pussies.”

Instantly, they said nothing, but I saw them looking at their scissors, getting a little scared, remembering that there are females who cut the male’s cock.

At the end of the silence, the one who opened me, said:

“Now we are not for work. Come another day that we are prepared and choose who you want. But call first. Here is the phone.”

I felt very sorry, and did not want to leave. I wanted to give life to my tongue, even if it was with the work of sucking their colt even without paying them, and standing while they worked.

“You have to leave,” she ordered the one that opened for me. “Many villains come looking for us, even if we are lesbians, and we have not given any of our phone more than you. You can leave happy.”

I replied, starting down the stairs.

“Okay. There’s no Saturday without sun, and lesbian without blush.”