Four writers for the price of one blog
It had been two weeks since he had penetrated her. She was kneeling and on display with just a chain over breasts and around her waist. Pearls hung from her distended nipples and a dripping diamond hung from her clit. She was kneeling in her master’s tent and in the company of western visitors.
“I envy your your ways with women,” said one of the businessmen.
She guessed they were from the midwest. She had been flooded by visions of outrage, rescue and liberation. Her heart had raced. But the first westerners to see her since her kidnapping behaved no differently than the desert tribesmen. Now that they were free of western laws and culture, they looked at her like as if she were rightfully where she belonged. The veneer of the west?
They discussed real-estate and minerals. As they spoke, the businessmen would periodically glance at her as if they sipped wine. One had already undone a zipper and casually stroked his cock, making sure that she saw. Finally all of their conversation turned to her master’s property – her.
“I wouldn’t last long,” said the red-haired businessman.
“You’d take her now?” asked her master.
“I would. I’d throw her on her back, or maybe just push her forward on her knees and I’d fuck her. God damn, I’d fuck her till she was screaming for my cum in her twat.”
“You think that would do it?” her master asked.