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..MM....MM....MM!" she cried as he began forcing himself into her. With every thrust, he penetrated her a little deeper. "MM...MM...MM...MMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" she screamed into the gag as the sailor on her back finally drove the full length of his meat into her bowels. Sunk completely into her, he began grinding his pelvis against her ass, forcing the head of his dick even deeper into her. The two that had held her ankles released her, knowing there was no longer any reason to hold her down. "MMMMM...MMMMM...MMMMM...MMMMM!" Melissa cried out every time he drove into her. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. She kicked futilely with her legs as she was brutally sodomized. She felt as if her insides were being torn apart. "MMM....MMM....MMMMMMMMM....MMM....MMM!" Melissa was squirming and twisting under the sailor in an attempt to break free of him, or at least to limit how deeply he was penetrating her. Oh, God, please let him be quick! Oh, dear God PLEASE let him. ..late 40s, tanned and fit, surprisingly handsome. But with very dark hair and eyes and a few scars on his face, he also looked a bit dangerous. Jill found this exciting, and found him attractive. She decided she would keep the balls inside when she and David got down to business; give him a little extra sensation. She asked for and got a glass of cold white wine; sipped it slowly as she and David chatted. Jill considered this part of the adventure necessary "foreplay" - it didn't interest her at all and she barely listened. David had a nice voice...low and a bit husky...and rather elegant hands...long strong fingers. She imagined his touch, and wanted him to caress her breasts and pinch her always sensitive nipples. She clenched and released the balls inside her repeatedly, and became increasingly aroused. She needed to slow down. Pace herself. Sometimes when she got too frisky with the balls they would take over and.... "Shall we go?" Jill asked as she polished off the wine in a big.
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‘Mother…’ he said in relief. He set her down on the chair, wetted a towel in the sink and began dabbing the old woman’s head. As he mopped the blood from her his mother blinked slowly, as if she was trying to recall something important. She finally croaked out, ‘It is time you left, John.’ He knew exactly what she meant. Niyan. He had discussed going there for years. Getting a good job. Bringing her over, when he could afford it. Away from all this. He started gathering up the pots and pans, but his mother shrugged and told him not to bother. She kicked a path to her armchair by the television. She noticed on the sidetable a small picture had fallen. She put back straight. It was an image of her husband and her son’s father, portly, moustachioed, fishing pole in hand with a river running behind him. She breathed a yearning sigh and lit herself a cigarette that she had drawn from her pocket. John sat across from her. She explained she had acquired a great sum of money – from where she.

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