Nepali Girl With 2 Indian Boys

He knew how to get me into the space where I was almost mindlessly willing, where all resistance is gone. And he never minded that I first resisted, laughed and played. The bliss that overcame us both when he finally got me to that certain space, was worthy all the work. He was taking it slow. He told me exactly what to do to which parts of my body, slow, in his pace, not the pace that I started to crave.And one by one, he put dozens of clothespins all over my body. My breasts, my nipples, my earlobes, my lips, my belly, my sides, my toes, my thighs. I was not allowed to speak, I was to continue to do what he had to told me to. I was starting to moan from the pain, from the pleasure. “Sssshhh, little girl, you will have plenty to moan about later.”I wanted release, so bad, but he didn’t let me. I wasn’t allowed to. But still I had to continue. He was standing now, next to the bed, sometimes leaning over to pull a clothespin here and there, and watch me squirm. He had this twinkle in. I know I made up a story, but it wasn’t meant to hurt you… We’re friends. We’ve been friends for over a year. You mean a lot to me, our friendship means a lot to me. That’s the important thing.’ ‘Is it?’ His eyes held mine. ‘Yes.’ His hand reached out and touched my arm – tentative, conciliatory, warm. I didn’t know what to say. Nothing made sense except the man standing in front of me holding out his hand to save our friendship. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it – somewhere we could sit and talk and let the silences breathe?’ I nodded, grabbing my bag and letting him help me on with my jacket as if we’d done this a thousand times before. He slung his guitar case over his shoulder and together we walked out into the night. He took me to a coffee house just off Hawthorn. The winding stairs and small, intimate rooms housed sofas covered with far eastern throws and low tables. He sat me down in the corner of a sofa, stopping any.
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