Sarah’s seduction. Part 2

The shoulder was greasy, with bits of fried hamburgers and hot dogs stuck to it. Sarah lifted it carefully and handed it to the elderly woman.

  • You have a tight cunt, Sarah. Even after you gave birth to two evil monsters, I can still feel your hungry cunt squeezing my fingers, ”Mrs. Anderson said as her fingers barely showed, quickly moving back and forth, fucking and raping her wet hole. – Frank is a happy man.

Mrs. Anderson hit Sarah with a spatula on her elastic bottom with a resounding slap, leaving a bright mark on her with four white holes from the pattern on the shoulder blade. Grease and bits of soot also remained on the young girl’s firm bottom. – What did I say about gratitude?

“Thank you,” Sarah breathed. It couldn’t be true. Not here. Not in public. Within sight of her husband and children.

Mrs. Anderson inserted her plump finger into Sarah’s anus.

“And such a tight little brown thing,” she commented.

  • Uuuu-oh-God – Thank you Waaam, – Sarah’s mind clouded. A finger poked into her back hole, making her shiver with arousal she knew she couldn’t feel.
  • Frank is fucking you here? – Asked Mrs. Anderson, – I bet you love being fucked in the ass. Whore.
  • No. He doesn’t, ”Sarah murmured. She’s not like that at all. And Frank is not that kind either.
  • But you love it. You love it when your ass is entered, don’t you, Sarah. So, are you a born whore?

A plump, little finger wriggled like a worm in her ass. He elicited the truth from Sarah’s pursed lips.

  • Yes. Yes … I love being fucked in the ass.
  • Good girl, – said Mrs. Anderson, – Well now, throw all thoughts of my husband out of your little, stupid brain, do you understand me, girl? From now on, you will try to look beautiful only for me. And shave off those curly blonde hairs.

Mrs. Anderson tugged at Sarah’s pubic hair, her nose wrinkled in contempt. – I like my girls to be clean and fresh. And I want to mark you so that it can be seen that you are mine. It could be a collar, ring or tattoo. I have not decided yet.

Oh god no. How can she hide this from her husband? This is madness. And yet, she could not help but admit that such thoughts, thoughts of becoming a slave to this old woman, brought her so that she felt that inside her it became wet, as if she consisted of jelly.

  • I will decide by Monday morning, – continued Mrs. Anderson, and now two of her fingers entered the front hole of the young housewife, and one was still in the back, – And I expect you to be ready to meet me on Monday. Scented, freshly shaved. Ready to fuck. Do you still have your wedding dress?
  • Uuuuu … Yes … Yes, Maeam, – Sarah’s voice was weak and rattled. Her breasts rose and fell heavily. Tight nipples protruded, bulging forward through a thin, fitted T-shirt. Her body was sweating and sweat began to show on her clothes.

“I haven’t given you permission to cum yet, whore,” Mrs. Anderson warned.

“I can’t help myself.” Her body didn’t want to accept the refusal.

“You better get over yourself, find a way,” Mrs. Anderson slowed down her fingers, but did not take them out. Sarah’s pussy continued to chomp with every movement of the adult woman’s fingers.

Reaching for the ice container, Sarah grabbed a handful of ice and pressed it against her slot. She prayed that it would work. The cold was shocking. It hurt, but I had to endure. She pressed the scalding ice hard against her vagina and shivered.

“Good bitch,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Now, as I said. When I arrive tomorrow, I want you to be in bed, to have your wedding dress on, your legs spread wide, your pussy open waiting for me.

  • When … when will you arrive? – it took a lot of effort to ask this. Sarah struggled to speak a word between breaths.

Mrs. Anderson took a finger from the young housewife’s rear and gave her a loud slap.

“It doesn’t matter when I get there, bitch. But when I arrive, you better be in bed and longing for me. By that I mean I want to see your wet fingers, hot and ready cunt. And you better not come without my permission. Bitch, I’m serious, don’t you cum

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