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"I seen this thing on TV that's not really a razor, but gets rid of hair for quite awhile." I know exactly what you're talking about." Linda said. "Follow me."Chrissie was confused and despondent as Zeke led her by the hand back across the highway. Yesterday she had been a normal college boy hitching a ride back to school. Last night she had been subdued and fucked by this man who led her. This morning she had sucked Daddy's cock and swallowed his cum. Worse yet, she had been sexually aroused by the fucking and the sucking and by being dominated. On the one hand, she felt disgusted by the things he had done to her. On the other, she wanted more. No - she craved more! She felt like she was falling deeper and deeper into a pit of erotic pleasure and submission; a pit that she was unable to free herself from. How could she escape and reclaim her life? This is crazy she thought. I'm a guy. And here I am thinking of myself as "she!" What is to become of me?Marked and OwnedChrissie could. " You try to cheat me," he gasped. "Five silver waves? Would you like to bleed me dry?"Five silver waves was half the cost of a gold torch, and I thought the price more than fair for a piece of black chalk. I folded my arms. "Fine. Six silver waves." Nine. I have seven children to feed back in Athlos. You wouldn't make beggars of my children by impoverishing their father."I licked my lips. Could I afford to part with nine silver waves? I wouldn't have much left of my stipend. "Eight," I answered. "No more. If you don't like it, I can find another merchant. And then your children wouldn't get any money." So cruel," he groaned. "Eight. For my poor children."I smiled. I highly doubted there was a woman in the world that would touch this man if he hadn't paid her first. I reached into my robes and pulled out a purse stitched with arcane symbols. Not too many pickpockets would risk stealing from a mage, but if one did, they would regret it. I opened it up and pulled out a golden flame, the.
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Mom had heard it and told Dad. Dad came into the room that evening and told Rebecca to get up. She did. Rebecca might push me around but Dad was an entirely different thing. Quite aside from that fact that our Dad was 6' 4, had muscles on his muscles from sweating under the hot sun on construction sites as a sheet metal worker, Dad could simply glare at you to get his own way.Dad had also had his brains bashed in by a two tonne girder that had plummeted onto his head on a high-rise construction and was incredibly violent. There wasn't a door in our house that didn't have a hole where Dad had put his fist right through the door. He did that rather than hit somebody, which was a rather good thing. You wouldn't get up if Dad hit you. The violence might have been caused by an air bubble that was left in Dad's brain but that didn't make it any easier to live with. He hit Mom once a few months later and I got in the way trying to protect her, terrified that Dad would kill her. Mom was.

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