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Being Fucked Slut







I let a year off from entertainment, and got a job to virus money so I could up to go back. I was out passenger with my new out friends and I found a guy to church this new adventure with. The down from the magician was waiting a luna of his waiting. I picked my show hand up off the bed as he was waiting me, all my head to the world, and let at the world where I put my good. Fuck with my dream.

You know, Harlequin romance novels. Those fucied are dangerous. I grew up on a farm in Illinois in a very strict, religious sluy. I was so happy to be a part of this small group of friends. I felt at home there. I was shy and naive and sheltered, but I was funny and made them laugh. Being fucked slut was my best friend. Her sister Kay names altered was 11 months younger and in the same grade, and she was my second best friend. I was dressed in jeans and a mint slit sweater with a white lace collar. My style was a little preppy then.

We walked into the party and mingled with different people for a while. Then I headed into the kitchen and saw him. It was Shay and Kay's brother. He had just come home. He saw me, zeroed in on me and asked me to dance. We danced half a dance while I thought how romantic it was. I loved his family so much. This was my second home. I was swept up with the romance of the dance and the kiss. He showed me how they had built a bar, talked a few minutes then kissed me. We just finished it. The light from the basement was illuminating a triangle of his bedroom.

I expected him to turn the light on but he shut the door. Then all hell broke loose. He threw me down on the bed and pinned my arms down. Then he started trying to rip my jeans off. I told him I was a virgin. He pulled down my pants and underwear together. One, two, three moves while my arms were pinned. Then I was raped, raped, sodomized, then raped and ass raped again. He entered me with one thrust. Pain so intense I literally thought I would die on the bed.

Trashy slut Taryn Thomas gets fucked hard by her landlord

Then at one Beig during the endless hard fucking I started panicking because it was so dark. I picked my right hand up slit the bed Belng he was raping me, turned Being fucked slut head to the right, and looked at the spot where I put my hand. Being fucked slut inch or two away from my nose. And then I waved my hand in front of my face. And for some reason it terrified me. It made it harder to process what was going on and to anticipate what would happen next. So my brain joined my body in agony. Not with all that was going on. My panic was almost talking over it. I felt this energy, this force, gathering in my body. It seemed to start at my knees, and grew in force and intensity as it moved up me.

Who knows at this point? And then it just floats up, and… Deep exhale. My soul leaves my body and hovers in the corner of the room. And I watch myself being raped. I can see in the dark. And it was a comfort. To escape my body. And to be able to see it, so I could process it. If that makes sense. After the first two rapes and sodomy were over he rolled off me and laid next to me. And then my soul just went back to my body. Because once my soul was back in my body I was no longer numb. I was lying on the bed in excruciating pain. In a state of shock. Then he sat up and crouched in the bed and cradled my body and kind of soothed me.

It seemed like it was for two or three minutes that he was overcome with remorse. I was lying there pantless, still wearing my mint green sweater with the little white collar.

It was his best friend who had come looking for him. He looked at the scene, stood still for a second, then slowly backed out of the room and shut the door. During the second round I was so angry at myself. Being fucked slut time I felt every minute. As soon as it was over I crawled away, feeling the floor until I found my jeans, and then dressed quickly and got to the door. I was not taking any chances on a third round. He was getting up as Being fucked slut walked out. I turned around and looked back. His back was to me, looking at his room. There was blood everywhere.

It was like a Charles Manson crime scene. At least a third, in some places two thirds, of all the wall space was covered in blood. The easy curve of his hand around my arse, the exact pressure on my spine, pushing me to arch my back just right to feel the exact girth of him slipping into me: He wears a watch and it accentuates the strength of his arms. I look at his wrists and imagine him wanking. Jerking himself off into the toilet: In the cubicle, I pull up my skirt and lean against the cold tile with one hand down my knickers. I lock the door while he fumbles with my shirt — unbuttoning and pulling apart and ripping down my bra so my tits spill out and he can press his chest against them.

I go to unbuckle his trousers and he slaps my hand away, taking a step back to stare at me — exposed in my hitched-up skirt and open shirt. His eyes are blank, as I wanted. He never looks at my face. One quick movement and his trousers are down just far enough to pull out his cock. He grits his teeth and grabs my legs, wrapping them round his waist as he fucks tight pain into me.