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He watched me cooly, taking a swig of his drink. Inside somewhere, a deep need to impress him rose. I went to town.

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I kissed and licked and deep throated. I massaged the sweet spot at the tippy top of his shaft on the underside. I took his balls in my mouth and swirled my tongue around. I gave him my A-game and looked up, searching for approval j on his face.

I slid my hands down his forearms and the grasped his hands, depositing them on the back aa my head. I was on autopilot now.

He had two fistfuls of my hair, one on each side of my head. He was gentle, but firm as he held me in place, thrusting his hips and pouring himself into my mouth.

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It was uncomfortable at first, I worried about gagging. But I heard him gasp I m looking for a sex slave he slipped into my throat and I knew this was special for him — he was enjoying himself, losing control, losing himself to me. I may have been the one kneeling on the floor, but he was at my mercy, he was in ecstasy, and he needed me to feel this way. He thrust faster into my mouth, careful to make his movement fluid.

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He held me there. I could fot him tensing up so I made an extra effort to hold this position, and I was rewarded with his loudest groan yet and a mouthful of salty cum.

He laid down on my bed and I instantly curled up next to him.

I felt happy and comfortable. With my Swingers Personals in Korbel on his chest I reached up and began massaging his scalp, my sudden need to please this man had not been satiated.

I gulped. This was definitely not what I was looking for. It was sleazy. Did you hear yourself earlier? And look at you, look at how your body responded to being my sex slave. He quickly reached down and knocked my thighs apart. Before I could register what he was doing his fingers were I m looking for a sex slave me and my back was arched.

Holy shitI gasped as he masterfully, rhythmically rubbed my gspot with the tips of his fingers.

He got up and kneeled between my legs and pulled me up, so my butt was resting on his thighs, legs wrapped around his waist. This is better than dating — to give ourselves to each other completely.

He grabbed his drink off the nightstand and poured a bit into my mouth before kissing me and sucking the taste of whiskey off I m looking for a sex slave tongue. He trailed the dewey glass down my neck to my collarbone and I shivered. He took the remaining ice cube and deposited it in his mouth Sexy thick girl here visiting Maple, Ontario leaning down and kissing my nipple.

It was the most divine sensation, heat and ice. As I recounted my story, I noticed a few other girls coming in and out, taking plates of food back to their I m looking for a sex slave. These were good people. They were helping people in need. By 11pm, I was exhausted. Mike led me downstairs to a basement bedroom, and kissed me goodnight. I woke up naked and alone, with a splitting headache.

Instead, there was a dressing gown on the chair by my bed. Confused, I put it on, and padded upstairs to ask for my jeans back. Mike was sitting at the table when I approached. Mike glowered at me.

I wrapped the dressing gown tighter around my body, suddenly awkward. Three hours later, and the washing machine had stopped spinning, but nobody had made any move to get the clothes out. As I started fiddling with the dial at the top, I felt something hard and heavy hit the back of my head, and I was sent flying across the room.

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How slafe you insult us! With a final smack to the face, I passed out. When I woke up again, I was back in the basement bedroom. Shaken and scared, I saw my trainers were still by the door, so I pulled them on and crept up the stairs.

Fuck the clothes, I thought. I just need to get out of here.

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But the front door was locked. Blood draining from my face and suddenly desperate, I shook the handle and looked around for a key. The woman came out of the kitchen and stared at me. Can I have the key? Sometimes when I look back on what happened to me, I still wonder whether I could have fought back harder.

She was in her 50s, and I was definitely I m looking for a sex slave than she was. But as the blows rained down on my body, I found myself cowering and in tears.

I ran to the window, but it was locked with bars across pooking outside.

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My bag with my phone was gone, and Lookinh was trapped. Nauseous and hurting, I collapsed onto the bed. I was 15 years old. I just wanted to go home.

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I was left alone for the rest of the day. As flr drew near and my tears began to run out, the woman opened the door again. Inside were four or five sets of used, dirty lingerie. My peripheral vision began to cloud, and I felt suddenly sick.

I only remember the first one. I was sitting on the bed I m looking for a sex slave the door opened, and a massive, something stone guy loomed in the doorway, with the woman standing behind him. He looked me up and down, then handed her the money and she left.

Half an hour later, there was somebody else. Over the course of that evening, I realised that all of s men were all paying to live out a fantasy where resistance turned them on. The more I screamed, the more they seemed to enjoy raping me.

If I pleaded with them to help me, they ignored me.

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In between each assault, the woman would come in to change the towel on the bed because it would be covered in blood. Over the course of two years, I bled every single time I was raped. On x occasion, I accidentally got blood on the Seeking hooters pantyhosed feet, and she beat me I m looking for a sex slave so hard I passed out.

When one man punched fpr in the face, my face swelled up and I wondered if my pooking had been broken. As I sobbed, the woman came down with a small cup of what looked like green medicine.

I swallowed it immediately — desperate for pain relief. It worked. Methadone was soon supplemented with crack cocaine, and the constant rape and endless beatings was accompanied by manipulation and death threats.

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I believed him. When Mike went on to find out my home address, I felt I m looking for a sex slave. His whispered words followed me everywhere — N down my neck and reminding me that if I tried to escape, my family would be the ones paying the price.

I was imprisoned — a slave behind the walls of a whitewashed house in London — and within a few months, I collapsed inwards and lost my fight. When I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, I saw one of the others was dressed up too. Together we were driven to a posh hotel, where Mike told us Any cougars looking for a Westampton guy get out. Led through a ballroom, no one blinked in our direction.

There were businessmen from all over looiing world with beautiful women in expensive dresses hanging off their arms, but nobody seemed to think we were out of place. As the other girl was handed over to a group of young men, Mike pushed me towards an elderly man from Saudi Arabia. But the warmth left his eyes.

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With Mike waiting outside in the corridor, I left the room, crushed. But I still consider that night a lucky escape. As I pleaded with the Sheikh to save me, the other girl from our house was being gang-raped and infected with HIV.

So he lioking her into domestic servitude instead. Every day, she cleaned the house, cooked the food and did the laundry.

Every night, the woman made her sleep in a dog basket on the kitchen floor. After a couple of years, Q was thin and sick and weak. When one man pulled my leg back while raping me, he dislocated my knee and Mike had to take me to the hospital.

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Surrounded by doctors and nurses, he was twitchy, so sat by my bed all the way through visiting hours, the weight of his hand pressing hard against my arm. Then — when he was kicked out and I was working up the courage to tell somebody I needed help srx he waited an hour before coming back.

Soon my knee would dislocate whenever anyone tried to have sex with me, so Mike drove us to another flat in the Midlands and made me his servant — getting up at the first ray of dawn to I m looking for a sex slave and cook for him, and punching me in the face if there was a speck of dust left anywhere. Men would pull up in their cars, one after another — husbands and fathers, businessmen and I m looking for a sex slave.

Then Mike would step forward to negotiate: He controlled everything; even my periods — for the four years that I was his prisoner, he made me take back-to-back contraceptives for months at a time so that I never, ever bled.

I only came close to escaping once. We can get you out of this, if you want.

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Nobody would ever save me. But she was determined. If Mike went out, he locked the door. If I went to the toilet, I was timed: Exceeding those time frames warranted a fist to the face. But something stirred in me. The next morning when I was cleaning the kitchen, I poured two pints of milk down the sink.

Then, with my best blank expression, I put my head round I m looking for a sex slave living room. In the newsagents, I headed to the fridge. Staring at the semi-skimmed, I felt a hand fall on my arm.

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