Indian Village Aunty Fucking Neighbor

“Hey,” he said softly, giving me a small smile.“Hi,” I replied, coughing to cover the gag from needing to throw up.“Am I really that disgusting to look at?”I rolled my eyes.“No fever, at least,” he murmured. “Was it something you ate?”I shook my head. “Drank,” I croaked.“Too much whiskey?”Fuck, he knew me. He read the look of shame on my expression and laughed.“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he said, gently taking me into his arms. He lifted me off the floor and carried me back to my room.“What if I throw up on you?”“There’s this great invention I have to tell you about, Celie,” he said, pressing his lips to my temple. “It’s called a washing machine.”I punched him in the chest.“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled.“It’s been over a year now and I still don’t have the right to give you a nickname?”“I don’t like nicknames.”“And I don’t like Mondays, yet here we are.”I snorted, but it was replaced a moment later with a groan. “I should be at work,” I complained. “I can’t keep slacking off. Wanting to show their respective perversion, the other white maggots began to perform as well, one fist fucking himself with no lube or spit, another torturing his balls in ways that indicated that they hadn’t produced sperm in a very long time. By the time Donald had made his fellow submissive shoot a feeble stream of cum in his mouth, the final bid was $400. Sold! Now, he could truly be called a slave. Donald was given a burlap sack, literally, a bag made from jute with two holes cut for his arms to wear, and he was ushered into a van out a back door of the building. Seated on a bench, Donald waited. One by one, the remaining three plantation slaves were loaded in the van and they were again chained together with heavy leg irons and chains that seemed to weigh even more now that the effects of the alcohol and poppers had worn off a bit. It seems, in his delusional lust, Donald hadn’t noticed that the bidding was for a package deal: all four subs were sold for $400, $100 a.
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