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Don't leave me please!" as she threw herself at me again just like last night. I held her tightly talking quietly telling her I would stay. Her crying eventually subsided as I guided us both back to the kitchen table with her sitting on my lap."So what happened? A few minutes ago you screamed like a banshee calling me a 'fucking bastard' and know you're acting like your cat just died." To be honest, a few minutes ago I had the thought of strapping you down to the bed and ass raping you with the largest dildo I could find." The smile on her face scared me. "But if we don't stop now, we won't have a marriage. I really don't want to fight anymore and after the sex last night, I remembered how you and I matched up in that department. It's been a long time since we have had a sex life and I want it back." She took another sip of coffee, "So what do we do now?" she asked.I placed a bottle of rinse treatment for her hair on the table in front of her, "First you go upstairs and rinse that. When their lips pulled apart, she felt his cock pressing at her stomach, throbbing. Sliding a hand between their bodies, Sandy began to stroke his prick. "Are you terribly angry, darling?" she whispered, tightening her fist on his hard prick. "Are you really mad about what I did?"Rob didn't reply, but his hands dug harder into the cheeks of her ass. Sandy writhed, and when Rob lifted her, she curled her legs about his waist. Holding his shoulder with one hand, she reached behind her ass and brought the head of his cock to her still-burning, bubbling cunt."Fuck me, Rob," she whispered against his ear. "Fuck me now!"He pressed her against the wall of the shower door, holding her up by her ass. His cock slithered into her wet, slippery cunt, and began to fuck her. Sandy clung to him tightly, unable to move with him."Oooo, fuck it, darling!" Sandy whimpered hotly, nibbling at his ear. "Fuck that cunt, Rob! Ohhh, I love it so very much! God, what a cock you have, darling! It stretches my.
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Then the Royal Air Force messenger had come who gravely informed her that Christopher, her pilot husband of less than a year, had been reported shot down over the English Channel. There was no sign of him and he was presumed dead.While she had always known it was a highly probable event, she still screamed and wept. The courier fled and her landlady ran to her.Clara rented a small cottage on the farm of Martha, herself a war widow of longer standing, whose husband had been in the infantry and was reported missing in action at Dunkirk. She was in her mid-thirties, a solid and no-nonsense country woman. Martha consoled the young woman from empathy, knowing there was no way to stem the grief."My dear, my dear. I'll leave you for a while. I have a visitor in a bit and I'll fetch you when he's gone. You can sup with me," Martha said as soothingly as possible.The two women ate quietly in front of the fire. Martha had offered a small glass of war-rationed wine and it was gratefully.

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