Indian Wifes Ass Torn

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It was all meant to fun, but instead she found herself in a maelstrom of negative emotion and fear. Was Peter the right man? Did he truly love her? Was she making a big mistake? These thoughts and worries had increasingly dogged her and now she wasn’t sure she wanted to get married at all. Her fiancé, Peter, was a handsome hunk of man, who spent a lot of time honing the muscles on his buff body. He owned his own gym and so he had plenty of time to do so. Christelle was physically attracted to Peter. She was often overwhelmed by the masculinity and strength of his powerful body. Sex was often forceful and intense. He would lift he like a twig, holding her in precarious positions as he pounded her with his long thick dick. It was vigorous and exhilarating, but there was little love and tenderness. It was all lust and basic instinct and Christelle had wondered if this was enough to sustain a marriage in the long term. Peter had also been keen to experiment, convincing Christelle that. My nails were done in a hot-pink tippedfrench style at a length too long for anything practical. Basically, Iwas made to look like the kind of woman that sucks dick for aliving...which is what I was, except I was still hiding a secret in mydiapers (I was only allowed one changing a day and was made to drinkbottles full of Cum, Laxatives and vitamins as my main source ofnutrition and that made my diapers very uncomfortable and messy.)Because I was nothing but a cum dumpster, I didn't really need anythingother than my mouth and hands to do my job, so everything below thewaist was kept off limits for the customers, only my master and hisclose friends had access to the area inside my diapers.* * *I heard a knock on the door to "my" bedroom (a horrifying room full ofbondage equipment, whips, paddles, and all kinds of devices that couldbe put into my mouth to facilitate oral humiliation...and a closet fullof petticoats, corsets, platform heels, stockings, maid uniforms andother sexy.
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I turned around and looked at her and she smiled at my probably very grumpy-looking face before she walked up to me and put a cool and smooth hand on my face. ‘Simon,’ she said ‘let’s just talk about it, ok? I’ll feel better at least, and perhaps it will help you too, you never know.’ I nodded, perhaps it would help to talk about it, but I really didn’t think so. I’d tried to think it all away a couple of thousand times already and talking about it would just more of the same, but out in the open, with someone else listening in too. I walked with heavy steps and followed her to her small office at the back of the house. She sat down, I sat down and there we were, sitting, staring at each other, none of us saying even one word. ‘So, Mary, tell me about her?’ mom said after a short moment of silence, putting her finger straight in the open wound, like she usually did. ‘I really don’t want to.’ I answered in a whisper. ‘I really wish you would.’ she whispered back ‘Because I haven’t.

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