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My husband was a fucking crack addict. When he lost his job and couldn’t afford his habit he sold me to the gang down the street. I don’t know how much he got for me, only that it was enough for his next fucking fix. I do know that these fucking guys are getting their monies worth. I fought them at first at every turn, but after being chained in the closet without food or water and being beat, I soon became submissive. Now I do as I am told without question. I keep my eyes lowered at all times and never look any of them in the face for fear it will be taken as a challenge to their authority some how. I cook and clean and tend to their every need from the early morning hours to long after the sun goes down. My pussy is always swollen, raw and bruised from the abuse. They don’t feed me much but the protein I get from always having a belly full of cum keeps me alive. More then once I thought I would surely die from the beatings that they administer. But they won’t allow that. They enjoy their fucking Black Bitch. I am the gang’s Midnight Whore. One day I will die here and no one will remember I was ever alive. They will dispose of my body like they have so many others and I will have served my purpose. They often share me, perhaps if you are lucky they will share me with you. Is it wrong that the sweet release of death always intrigues me?
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3 comments
It has been to talk to you about being a BDSM sex slave, and a submissive.
I could hear in your voice your willingness to do as I command.
Mister Gardner
Layla
Send me a response to my call so I know you really want suck a call
Mister Gardner
I want eat someone