Part 2 India Girl Hardcore Pussy Fuck Indian Style

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I asked him to fuck me. Fuck me please. Please. A chill ran through me. My cock twitched. Fuck me please. I actually said those words. Me, the big tough guy, the macho stud. I asked him for it. Talk about a mind fuck. Wait a minute. Who was I kidding? Lets be totally honest here. One part of the night had been, had been what? Fun? Fun wasnt the right word. Satisfying? Ecstatic? The swelling, aching pounding of my cock had been an unbelievable experience. My cock had become the center of my universe. From the depths of my ass to the tip of my knob, I was in cock heaven. When the domination and abuse and man rape was occurring against me, the island of pleasure called my cock had seen me through. My thick, giant, hard cock. Indeed, talk about a mind fuck. The best orgasm of my life had been with a guy. Not with a gorgeous, perfect ten blonde. A domineering, faggot of a guy. I had been man fucked into sexual ecstasy. Too sick for words. Too true to ignore. I dont remember leaving. But, forthe first time, I was legally of age to view eroticmaterials. So, for the first time, I sought out theadult stores.Portland is FULL of them. I don’t know why. But itseemed that you couldn’t go a quarter mile downtownwithout going past one. I turned into the first onethat I found, one with a painted devil on the side,clutching his erect “tail.”Goddamn, I was so nervous. It was that intense,physical nervousness. It felt like my heart was up inmy throat, and I could feel it pounding in my skull,sending hot blood into my cheeks. Meanwhile my toes andfingers were could. A sick, squishy nausea squirmed inmy stomach.See, I had been sneaking peeks at dirty magazines anddirty movies for years, ever since I was 7. Since age11 I had developed the skills of a ninja by practicingbreaking into my parents’ locked stash. I signed the“verification” that I was an adult to acquire numerouscatalogs and a couple of videos. But, always, always, Ihad to be.
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With an influx of U. S. troops and confirmation of an offensive aimed at clearing Marjah, I was first assigned to embed with a Marine company but that was scrapped. At loose ends, I started hunting up a story and got what I thought was an interview with one of the Taliban commanders in Marjah itself. What I did not know was that the commander was an old school Pashtun warlord and knew very well who my grandfather was. He met me only to watch the fear on my face when his men beat me before trussing me up and spiriting me away from his stronghold.Even though I was terrified about what they were going to do to me once the truck stopped moving, I could not help but worry over the photographer I had roped into this stupidity. He was just some dumb, young Canadian kid looking for his spurs in combat journalism. He was kind of cute, in that bumbling, puppy dog kind of way. Even as I tried taunting my way into a quick death, foregoing the gang rape I saw in my bleakly short future, I kept.

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