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A tear rolled down her cheek, stopped at her jaw, then splashed onto her neck. The lunar light cast a soft shadow about her pulmonary artery, pulsing wildly with terror. Her eyes flitted from me, to the pin in my hand. The hand was steady as a rock. I sat beside her on the bed, and put my tight pussy arm around her shoulders. She was trembling so violently the palsy almost shook my own limbs. I pulled her into the crook of my side, and rested her cold tear-streaked cheek against my breast. I stroked the matted her from her forehead, and kneaded my fingers into her mane. Then I yanked it back, exposing the bow of her neck, the artery pulsing wildly with the last beats of life. She opened her mouth to scream, but all that came out was a squeak not even a mouse could hear. I raised my fist, and masturbating plunged the hairpin deep. She croaked, her body spasming, her eyes bulging. Blood spilled from between my fingers, hot and thick, dripping onto her neck as she gulped manically for masturbation breath. “Why?” She mouthed. “I don’t know.” I whispered, and pulled the hairpin out of her shoulder. She choked in a breath then, one that caught in her chest with a violent shudder. The small hole in her shoulder seeped deep purple in the lunar light, spilling a thick rivulet down her arm. I pressed it with the bedsheet while she struggled to reign her panic in, her bodice heaving with each frantic intake. When Brunette she was done, her flesh glimmered with cold sweat, and she was paler than the light that shown upon her. She looked at me then, the terror high in her blue eyes, but it wasn’t just me she feared. I felt it too, that terror; that indescribable, unspeakable thing that hung like a weight in my breast, pulling my heart into my guts. “Elena, if-” she never finished that sentence. I pressed my lips to hers and plunged my tongue into her mouth. She didn’t miss a beat, but pulled me to her; her body frail, and cold, and soft, and deadlier than a hundred-thousand swords. We tasted each other’s terror as we tore our clothes asunder, our lips drinking it in, our mouths filled with it. pussy Oh, how sweet a flavor it was. Pain flared, meeting the electrifying bliss flowing from my nipples. The next morning, Estelle showed up. I would just simply think of my husband, or maybe even Brad Pitt while we were doing stuff. Since Tuesday—when I had witnessed my mother masturbate as Samantha Herbert took masturbation my cherry and fucked me with her futa-cock—my life had been in turmoil. She nodded her head with tight pussy half his cock crammed down her throat. She supposed she had known he was attractive, but he seemed somehow different, though she was probably just imagining things. “Don’t forget your pistol, Haynes,” I reminded him. She Brunette masturbating dropped the cloth down her lush legs, revealing a pussy pussy as denuded of hair like her mother's. “Hey, Mom whore, climb on kitchen platform” Rohit ordered Mom harshly. Eventually Clara said that we were going and we set off again.