My Desi Husband Fucking Me

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Her body shivered and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. It was just too damn hard to believe that her life would end like this, at the hands of the man she despised the most. ‘Michael, just let her go.’ Agent Scott said calmly. Michael tightened his grip on her arm and pressed the gun even harder against her skin. Leigh whimpered and held her breath. There was nothing she could do but pray. Michael’s eyes showed nothing but loathing and were glued on the agents in front of him. He was cornered with only two options available−give in or die. ‘Why should I? I have nothing to lose, but I will take what is mine down with me.’ Michael said impassively, his words stabbing Damien right in the heart. Damien wouldn’t look at her, he couldn’t. If he did, he would lose his mind completely. He was on the verge of shooting the bastard just for having touched her. Her ripped blouse exposing her chest and her bruised face were the proof of Michael’s brutality and that he was quite capable. .. black dick...shoved to the balls... up inside... your tight... naked white ass... fromunderneath... and behind you... before He once again... slips hiselbows... up underneath your legs... as you even help Him... raising yourknees... and offering yourself up... already knowing... what He wantsfrom you... as He slips His elbows... behind your knees... and then thenslides His arms... and both hands... upwards... along your sides... pastyour thin... delicate... birdlike ribcage... and His forearms... upunderneath your armpits... until His black hands... are once again...clasped together... and with such utter familiarity... around the back ofyour neck... into a brutal full nelson... and you're helplessly...submitting to Him... as this perverted scenario... has now become... Hisfavorite way... to rape you... at least once... every single day... justlike this... He's brutally raping you... with this same kind of crude...and ugly familiarity... reserved only for white girlfriends... who.
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No, my focus was entirely devoted to the woman who had become as central to my existence as the Seven Sacraments had once been, before three fatal years at university which had all but severed my spiritual bond with the Church. To paraphrase Heath Ledger in ‘A Knight’s Tale,’ I had taken to saying my Rosary to Mistress Aubrey and no-one else. Even as the bus pulled into Grosvenor Gardens, my fingers were tracing the links of my silver chain in much the same way as they had once counted off the endless repeated sequence of the ‘Our Father,’ ‘Hail Mary,’ ‘Glory Be’ and ‘Apostles’ Creed.’ I had fallen into a silent reverie, thinking back to that first night that Aubrey and I had declared our love for each other, and to the following morning, when I had passed her my Claddagh Ring at the breakfast table. As she had placed it back upon my right hand, the heart now pointing inwards, I had pledged my devotion to her, and declared that – regardless of what I might ‘get up to’ with other.

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