After a while, he stopped kissing me, turned me towards himself, kissed my forehead and kept his forehead against mine. I still had my eyes closed, and now my hands on the inner side of his elbows.-hameeda…my love, why did you cook? You are not a servant here…I looked at his eyes. They were filled with love, rather than lust, I must say. I smiled at him and said,-I know that, imad…i am here as your love, right?-yeah…but why did you cook?-I felt like…what if I can become your loving wife, and live happily like this foreverHe smiled and cuddled me to his chest. It was so comfortable to be cuddled against such a muscular and strong stud. Omar was none like that. His cold touch and his bones exposed through skin was never good to satisfy my desires.-you know we cannot do that, honey. They will kill me. Anyway, thank you for cooking. I will treat you like my wife, or more like my queen…It was so loving to hear these words. Later, we had our meals. This time he was not rubbing my leg. When. Barely noticeable, despite the staggering effort she put up in her fight to repel the invader, a small trickle, starting with just one drop, a clear viscous fluid dripped. From pink cleft, it dropped, alighting on the wrinkled skin of his swaying sack, before elongating and stretching toward the floor. It hung in midair for a moment, before snapping and falling to the floor with an inaudible splat. His chest rumbled like a lions. He leaned forward, withdrawing his shaft slowly away from the steel grip of his hands. The thick ring refused to loosen its grip, the pink sheath stretched away, continuing to fully encase his prong. Then it could stretch no further, and the shaft began to reappear, veins popped back up from the released pressure, slickened by a clear moisture. He reversed his motion, not wanting to be any further outside his most pleasurable encasement. He pressed the ring back inside her. She grunted and fought against him once more, trying with all her might to.
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