“I love you, too.”“I’m going to take some measurements and then go to the home center for what we need to hook up that washer and dryer. Then,...we’ll be able to do laundry.”“I don’t love doing laundry,” she replied. “I love it when laundry is done. There’s nothing I like better than sleeping in clean sheets.”“I think the sound of a washing machine sloshing merrily away is the sound of home. I’ll be back in a bit.”“What should we make for dinner?” she asked.“Reservations,” I replied. “How about. Her skin screams a crimson red as she herself screams with each strike, acknowledging the pain. At least her body obeys me."Address me as daddy, you Rapewhore. Fuck her!" I can't." She protests. It's met by another three strikes against her side. I aim the last directly at her breast. Tracy howls in pain, knees buckling. "Please don't make me...daddy. Pleeeease!" She almost screams the last word."Post, belt her." Tracy looks around in confusion, not understanding the command. The Post is there. “Please don’t do this to me.” The hoarse voice was hardly recognisable as my own. “Please don’t. I don’t deserve it. Please stop.” He ignored me, lifted my legs and pressed his disgusting body against me. Unable to move in any other way, I spat in his face. “You bitch! You’ll pay for that.” The light glinted off the knife held at his neck. “She won’t pay for anything unless I order it.” Relief washed over me as Miles stood holding the knife against the guard. “Get off her now,” his quiet voice. Outside the pub, was picnic benches. We sat down and my hubby went to get us a drink. After a couple of drinks, I was feeling even more hornier. All the benches were filling up and a couple of men asked if they could share our bench. I welcomed the opportunity to flirt. "Please join us" I said. One sat one side and the other sat on my side. I couldn't help but show him what was on offer. I sat astride the bench, exposing my pussy (my now very wet pussy) to the guy. The shorts were right.
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