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It was in a moment like this where fight or flight is supposed to kick in. Me? I played possum.
“Stop doing that!” I said to him, “I’m ticklish as hell.” “Dickless?” he muttered. “Oh, my lord… No! Ticklish!”
At his strong touch, I felt my thighs close around his hand, like my legs were acting out of their own free will. The sluts.
I can’t believe I just let a… a… caveman dry hump the shit out of me, and now I’m checking him out… I need to see a therapist when I get rescued, I thought.
“Dickless,” he grinned and waggled his fingers at me. “No, no! No tickling. Not now, please?” Rowe, of course, didn’t pay any attention and just hauled me towards him and started tickling my sides.
“Ugh, you can’t be annoying one minute and then super sweet the next. It makes it hard to be mad at you,” I tell him as he moves to the other side.
Every thrust he made, Rowe would grunt, the sound bestial and guttural, and God help me, it fucking turned me on.
Like ‘jugra’ meant with, or belong, and belong to. Mmahch meant nice, pretty, and good, while brahda meant bad, not like.
Having this man fuck me like he owned me, his eyes greedily devouring every inch of me, made me feel so beloved I lost myself entirely as I began to push back, meeting each thrust he gave.