Love flew away… Execution, sex story

Author: SCC
Description of sex stories: role-playing games, dominance and submission, bondage and bond

"For the five?! You would give this goat your virginity for the five?!!! Yes, after that, you just make a breakdown whore!" – I took off. A new wave of anger boiled in me and demanded a way out. I looked around motivated.

On the windowsill lay a KEO-3 cable troughs forgotten by an electrician. This meant: a shielded cable of one -cereal with a diameter of the central conductor three millimeters. A layer of insulating polyhlorvinil, and then a silver screech of shielding, walked around a copper core. The usual item I suddenly saw a slightly different angle.

I wrapped him in the hand, went to Irke, brought the wire above his head and sharply lowered him to her thigh. I am! A silver whip left a powerful red scar on Irinkina’s leg, and she screeched and clogged. "I am! I am! I am!" – Thinly sang wire, leaving more and more scars on the white skin of my traitor.
Soon I was tired of working with my hand and stepped aside. Irina’s legs burned with a red flame, they were all in scarves. But this seemed to me little.

Then I took a wooden pointer, turned the stupid end and sharply pressed Ira into the vagina. Something cracked there, Irina bit her lip to the blood, and the other blood flowed in a stream along the direction. I turned a little with this pointer there, pulled it back and threw it aside. Irinka had a rather miserable look – all red, beaten, with a torn vagina.

Dmitry Vladimirovich looked no better. All pale, in cold sweat, hands are nailed to the board, and in the crotch instead of a penis and scrotum a terrible bloody mess.

I took my dictionary, turned around on the threshold and warned: "No one should know what happened, no one, clear?". Then he sank to the lower floor.

Near the locker room I looked at myself in the mirror. Lord, well, Vidok! The hair is disheveled, on the sleeves of blood drops, the sweaty itself: horror! It will be necessary to wash at home.

Four days later we had a lesson in the second foreign. Our fagot came with bandaged hands and looked at me fearfully. Ira transferred to another school. That’s it!

And my love flew to her: she disappeared how the smoke from a smoked room flies through an open window. Will I ever forget this unhappy love? I think no.

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