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She tightened up again as she came and squirted onto my cock and I was still banging her into the bed. Which I guess is about to break under us, but that didn't stop me into going into doggy-style. I put the head of my cock to her pucker as the oddest thing crossed my ears."Thank you Alex, Thank you" Mom sobbed and she was finally crying, but not for the reasons I hoped. She was thanking me! Thanking me for, for fucking her!, raping her!, ravaging her!, turning her cunt inside out!- Literally, her pussy was exhausted and slacking. Her lips were loose and hanging. That pussy will never be the same. I growled and pushed her head into my pillow before painfully, for the both of us, slammed my cock deep into her ass all the way and her scream was music to my ears. Again I didn't go slow. I was going to do the same I did for to her pussy and ravage each of this bitch's holes. After this, her shit is going to be flopping out her ass. Her ass was tighter than her pussy and I. Or much more. It was the principle of the thing.After ten minutes hard, but agreeable bargaining, Melissa was sold to Quentin for a price of eight thousand five hundred pounds.It was, he thought, as they took coffee and brandy in the ante-room, really quite some bargain. Possibly it suited Madame Vesta’s book well to have a non-owned slave off the ‘Paradise’... which, in any event, never seemed to be short of new arrivals.“Has Svenson’s wife arrived?” he asked, apropos.“Yes,” answered Madame Vesta. “Quite a woman.”“I might take a look at her tomorrow.”“As you please, my dear Quentin.” Madame Vesta glanced at her watch. “Ah well, I think I’ll turn in. It’s been quite a long day.”Quentin stood politely as their hostess departed.“Enjoying it here?” he asked Glenda.“Very much,” came the answer. There was genuine warmth in Glenda’s answer. “It’s all rather like a dream though.”“I suppose it is,” nodded Quentin. “A dream for us. A nightmare for the slave girls.”“I’d like to look at his.
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I really didn’t socialize that much with anyone in this class, and Benson was cool. He didn’t pick on you if you weren’t hanging on every word he said. As long as you did your homework and did well on the tests, he pretty well left you alone. Math was one thing I could always do without sweating about it. I basically went into my own little world to think.I remembered things back when I was little, how I had imagined hearing others thinking, and talking to my mother without making a sound. I focused on these things, trying to remember what I did. I started to have a familiar feeling. Sort of like remembering what something tastes like after a very long time. I kept getting bits and pieces.After about half an hour, I noticed the room was a bit noisier than usual. I brought myself out of my daze and realized that while only Mr. Benson was talking, I was “hearing” several conversations all at once. In fact, I heard two voices from Mr. Benson. I realized I had turned on another part of.

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