Desi Girl Masturbation On Floor

He cried out, a low, grunting noise, and stopped moving. She strained to see past him, around him, to glimpse her mother’s face, needing to see her to reassure herself that this was okay, that she was all right. Susan held her breath until he lifted his head. For the rest of her life she would wish she hadn’t seen the blankness in her mother’s eyes that looked up at the ceiling, past him, past anything in this world. He was gone from her line of vision then, and it was just her mother, lying there motionless on the floor, a trail of blood running from the corner of her swollen mouth. Susan wanted to go to her, and would have, threat of the belt or no, if he hadn’t laughed then. ‘Pretty good, Jen,’ he said, and something landed next to her mother’s face with a sickening thud. A small paper bag. ‘Here’s a little something extra. See you next week.’ Susan heard his boots on the linoleum and scrambled under the covers on the couch, settling into the indentation made by her mother’s. But he was now experienced at recognising the cycle and spiral that Suzanne was capable of being sucked into and this was only the beginning. The binge cycle would include slurring of her speech, clumsiness and unsteadiness so that she ended up hurting herself, bruises appearing on her body where she fell down. She would have black outs and passing out unable to remember where she had been and who with. The drinking changed her personality, making her hit out at him, throw things and verbally abuse him, and as cycle went on extending itself each time, it would take him longer before he could get her to sober up, and then she would promise not to take anything or drink anything again, the deep depression would set in, the high of the drugs leaving her, plunging her down into the depths of a black well. Then the blame would start, telling him it was all his fault, that if he loved her more, paid more attention to her, didn’t stress her out, she wouldn’t need to use the drink or drugs.
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