liquor buys dievky na sať a súložiť na the tanec dlážka na a noc klub

“I think you should meet one, Melena. It would give you some perspective.” And without giving me time to reply the general leans forward and presses the intercom on his desk. “Ask Beyala to come in, please,” he says to someone. While we wait public for this Beyala he offers me coffee, but I’m pissed with him and I refuse. I sit back petulantly in my chair and fold my arms under my chest. It is only a couple of minutes later when the girl enters. She’s wearing a standard ship jumpsuit, the navy blue that designates a civilian, but despite her entirely generic attire I can tell immediately what she once was, a slave of Aghara-Penthay, because Beyala has the mark. The slave mark – an indelible sign that a woman has been processed on the surface of that vile planet. Beyala’s imprint reminds me of dark make-up, eyeliner or perhaps a tattoo, swirling patterns that emerge from the edge of her right eye to decorate the right side of her face. The spiral design is the same one that has been used by the Slavers for centuries, and is supposed to remind the observer of the letter that starts the word ‘slave’ in the ancient galactic universal script. Even though it’s a barbaric thing to inflict I must admit that adorning Beyala, it adds to the beauty of an already exceptionally oral striking woman. Unlike some marks and brands which owners apply to the thigh or the shoulder blade, Aghara-Penthay’s Slavers choose to mark the girl’s face, because for the rest of her life unless she veils herself it will be almost impossible to disguise. With each person she meets, their eyes will track to the mark before they go anywhere else, reminding the girl and everyone else constantly of what she is. I realize I’m being rude and staring, and yet I notice Beyala is watching me with almost as much interest as I’m studying her. Embarrassed, I look away, down at the desk. “Eight days ago we seized the heavily-armed ship of one Kazar, a drug trafficker and a thoroughly nasty piece of work,” says the general. “I remember the mission,” I reply. Yes, I was leading one of the assault teams. I lost a good man, blasted so completely that not even immersion in a healing tank could save him. My group dealt with the resistance from Kazar’s guards, but after the capitulation we left. I was not involved in searching the upper decks. “When we searched Kazar’s personal quarters, we found Beyala waiting in his bed,” the general says. “He’d made so much profit from narcotics that he could even afford to buy a girl from the Slavers.” I look at her respectfully, a real slave of Aghara-Penthay. This woman is exceptionally lucky to have been rescued. Very few of her kind ever see the free worlds again. “Beyala,” the general says, shaved addressing the woman in a kindly voice, and with great courtesy, he says, “If you’d like, you may sit.” I don’t need an explanation for the general’s elaborate Hardcore formality. “They gave you the implant chip,” I say to her, my voice choking with sympathy. Implanting is the stuff of nightmares, another example of the Slaver’s cruelty towards their captives. Lodged in Beyala’s brain stem, too deep to be surgically removed, it will be there. Her control chip. Everyone in the fleet has sat through briefings on Slaver technology, and knows tits about implants. The chip interferes with brain patterns, so the slave behaves not according to their own free will, but according to the program’s configuration. Some functions are common to all chips. To act. Clearly, this one was large enough for all of us. At first, he didn't return it. “Well… My parents want me to get my law degree and follow in their footsteps. “Yes!” I groaned and buried into Monica's pussy. And I did not. Teresa began what sounded like an imitation of an old steam-powered train engine; her whooshing breaths getting Hardcore more and more rapid. And was being swallowed. Many of them practically throw themselves at him. Jon told me to lift the back of the dress up so that it wasn’t under my pussy. She reached past me and turned on the shower. Emily said this is too good to pass up yes please. I had not even loved the whore, yet I felt remorse. So hot. I was growing very wet and I opened my legs a little to allow better access. I said that will get their attention right quick like. She made my hand narrow, and positioned it at her pussy hole. Melissa's breasts burned with need and the sensations seemed to only be increasing. “Umm… I would love to say that you are eager for this but you just want this to be over quick don’t you..?” Max said. I asked if she wanted to go and she smiles and shakes her head yes, then she said dare. She no longer cared how these men humiliated or debased her. Goddammit, why must she make me laugh at such a tense moment? Rohit was in heaven. This night was just for the girls, and all the girls who had been in public the tits pile last week were invited. In a strange way, it was almost better than regular sex, not physically of course, but the sense of smug satisfaction that came from knowing I could drive her wild with such simple touching. Mom smiled at me with pity, and finally put her foot down on the ground. I had the impression that if he had really approved of the whole thing he would oral have pushed it through easily enough. Daddy’s gonna clean up that naughty-waughtie pussy. After a few minutes of darting and moving my tongue back and forth through her love tunnel, her body began to squirm shaved and her moaning became constant.