Sex stories

Short sex stories




Beginning Again Ch. 04

Author's notes:

Thanks again to everyone who took the time to read, vote, or comment on the previous three chapters. I truly appreciate the feedback and support. I expect there will be two more chapters after this one.

All characters are fictional adults.

Also, although I strive for accuracy, the information on sexual health in this chapter should not be considered factual. For accurate information about STIs please contact a qualified professional.


**

Even folding the laundry made her think of Mac.

She could tell by touch what clothing belonged to him and what was hers -- the sizes and textures were different. The fact that she had clothing at all was another reminder of the impact he'd had on her life in just two short weeks.

Aden, her former pimp, had kept her in nighties and slips most of the time, with a single pair of uncomfortable high heels for those rare -- and always unpleasant -- occasions when they left the apartment together to meet a 'client'.

But Mac had bought her shirts and pants and shoes and socks and boots. Bras and panties. Indoor clothes and outdoor clothes. And not for any specific purpose -- he said she should have clothes like every other normal woman. She doubted he was even aware of how much a simple gesture like that meant to her.

She was a woman again.

Not a complete one -- some pieces were damaged, some tainted, some missing entirely -- but enough remained that she felt worthy of womanhood at last.

If nothing else, she wanted Mac in all the ways she imagined a woman would want a man. His hands on her, his cock filling her. His scent. The sound of his voice, the almost tangible feel of his eyes on her. His company and his attention. His warmth as they lay together in bed.

Four years of forced sexual slavery had smothered the flame of arousal within her, but so what? She still rejoiced in the simple pleasures of an ordinary life. Cooking. Washing the dishes. Doing laundry. Helping out in any way he needed. Only two short weeks ago, even this modest lifestyle had exceeded her wildest fantasies.

Mac had saved her, claimed her and restored her. And with every day that passed she grew more determined to become the woman he needed.

She'd long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would always belong to a man. Blind and undocumented -- she didn't have citizenship or even identification -- an independent life seemed unattainable. Did she even want that? What would she do on her own?

Having a man like Mac at the centre of her life seemed natural, secure and stable. In a short time he'd proven himself to be not only the best available option, but also a darn good one.

So she'd started a deliberate process to eliminate whatever remained of her old life and her old self, to remake herself into someone worthy of his respect and affection.

And a trip to the clinic was a necessary part of that plan.

There had been so many men before Mac, so many risks. Aden had rented her out carelessly, happy to risk her health -- her life -- in exchange for a few extra dollars. Now that she'd escaped him, she had to know what damage had been done and how much of it was fixable.

Mac had been kind to call around for her, to find a free clinic where she could be tested anonymously and confidentially. He'd scheduled an appointment for her. She guessed that a lot of men wouldn't have been so generous, would have recoiled in disgust at the idea that she might be unclean.

She had no idea what to expect. She'd showered and dressed and now awaited Mac's return from his dish washing job at Maria's Grill. They'd go to the clinic together.

She could feel a growing anxiety, dreading both the tests themselves and the results. In a sense it was better not to know, and if her life had been the only one affected she would have chosen to remain ignorant. But Mac's interest in her was growing and she needed to know what she could safely offer him.

He'd assured her that whatever the test results, her place in his life was safe. She wanted to believe it, but couldn't shake the feeling that so much of her future -- and indeed her very life -- depended on the outcome.

**

She sat on the couch and listened to him dress. Her appointment was only a couple of hours away. She wished she could see him; all she knew of his appearance she'd learned by touch. But her sight wasn't coming back.

"If the tests turn out...badly...and you wanted to think about another woman..." she said, and left the rest hanging. It made her feel awful to say it but she needed him to know that she was willing to be reasonable if the worst came to pass. A woman in her position needed to be practical above all.

"We've been through this. Good or bad, it doesn't change anything between us. Anyway, a second woman in my life is the last thing I need."

"It's just...I wouldn't expect you to limit yourself to a woman who was...ruined."

There was a brief silence, and she knew she'd make a mistake.

"Goddamn it, Nadja, I've had it with that shit. Take your clothes off, now," he snapped. He sounded irritated though not angry.

"Why?" Her hands were already undoing the button on her jeans. Just two weeks removed from slavery, her obedience was still automatic; a conditioned reflex.

"You know why. I told you what would happen the next time I had to listen to that crap."

She blushed and smiled nervously. "I didn't think you were serious..."

"You're damn right I was serious. You think I'm going to put up with that kind of bullshit? You're better than that."

She quickly pushed the jeans down her legs and stepped out of them. Her plain cotton panties followed, and she imagined his eyes lingering on her smooth pussy. She began to tug her t-shirt up over her head. Soon she stood naked in front of him. Under normal circumstances she found it comfortable to be nude in his presence. But just now...

"Over my knee," he demanded.

She felt his hand take her wrist and guide her into position, draped over his lap, her hands and feet on the rough carpet on either side of his legs, her bare ass presented to him.

The position felt vulnerable, and for a moment it terrified her. She'd been hit many times in the last four years; slapped, kicked, whipped, pinched and punched by her pimp and by her clients. The memory of that abuse brought a feeling of near-panic. Was she going to suffer at the hands of another man?

But the thought lasted only a second. This was Mac. She trusted his hands. A part of her even felt an anxious excitement, an eagerness to please him in a different way, with her obedience, her acceptance of his lesson. It was another chance to inflame him, to delight in his enjoyment of her naked body. To be his in an entirely new way.

"Tell me why you're over my knee," he said, his tone now one of feigned annoyance.

"I talked badly about myself," she said quietly, feeling the flush deepen in her cheeks.

The admission made her feel childish, and highlighted again the difference between her last man and this one. Aden had demeaned and degraded her at every turn, and over time it had become natural for her to do the same. But Mac wouldn't hear it, and over the past week had become increasingly intolerant of her self-deprecating remarks.

SMACK. His hand came down hard on her rear.

"Ow! That hurt!" she protested. Her right hand reflexively flew to cover her stinging buttock. The sharp pain quickly faded to a hot throbbing.

He pushed her hand away and she set it back on the carpet.

"Good. Glad it hurts," he said, and a hint of playfulness in his voice was unmistakable now. "I've told you a million times to stop talking like that. Maybe this will make more of an impression."

SMACK. The second spank was lighter and less painful than the first and Nadja couldn't help a half-smile. He'd heard her protest, and was using less force.

"How many am I going to get?" she whined, and the question made her feel even more like a petulant child. For a twenty-year-old to submit to a spanking in this way was humbling.

"Dunno. Maybe fifty? A hundred?"

"A hundred!"

He chuckled and her own smile broadened in response.

"Well, maybe not that many. We'd be here all afternoon." he conceded.

SMACK. The third one was gentler still.

The stinging and heat from her bum felt unexpectedly pleasant. Coupled with the embarrassment and self-consciousness of being over his knee, the sensation was intense and impossible to ignore. A demonstration of Mac's strength and his gentleness. She wondered what shade of pink he was seeing when he looked at her lightly punished ass, and imagined his arousal spiking at the sight of his hand prints on her skin. She was happy to wear his marks.

"What if I promise never to do it again?" she asked, trying to sound remorseful.

"I might be willing to give you another chance."

SMACK.

"Ow! I promise! I won't say bad things like that anymore."

"And what will happen if you break your promise?"

SMACK.

"Anything. Just name it," she said in an exaggerated, pleading voice.

"Hmm. Nothing comes to mind," he said lightly. She could practically hear the smile on his face.

SMACK.

She squealed in false pain and he laughed in response. His hand stopped spanking and gently rubbed her upturned ass cheeks. She sighed in appreciation. His touch, as always, was welcome.

"Listen," he said, "I'm serious. No more of that bullshit about being ruined or whatever. We can't change the past, we just have to be who we are today. I like you, and that's not going to change because of some goddamn blood test. So whatever happens, we deal with it and move on. Together. Got it?"

She was silent as his words sunk in, not trusting herself to reply. She wanted to believe him, to trust his conviction that the past was something she could simply discard like a used tissue. But how much of that was just denial on his part? If the tests revealed something truly awful, how would his opinion of her change?

SMACK. The spank was half-strength.

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Yes! Yes, I understand. We'll deal with...whatever happens," she said, "Am I forgiven now?"

"I'm not sure. I kind of like this. I never realized how spankable your ass is."

"Anything, any time. It's yours if you want it."

She wiggled her ass on his lap in invitation. Strangely, a part of her hoped he'd take advantage. The feelings of being over his knee were new and exhilarating. Could she be enjoying this? How could it be fun to get a spanking?

He chuckled again. "You may end up regretting that offer."

"Try it and find out."

He bent and pressed a hot kiss to each buttock. "We've got an appointment."

She groaned, slid off his lap and felt for her clothing.

Time to discover how much her past would linger into her future.

**

Whatever sense of normalcy had been building in her life over the last two weeks was quickly destroyed at the health clinic.

She'd hoped to spare Mac the embarrassment of sitting with her in the waiting room of an STI clinic, suggesting on the bus ride over that he could just drop her off and grab a coffee somewhere.

He insisted on walking her to the registration desk, but then had to stay and help her wade through a two-page medical questionnaire -- he read her the questions quietly and then marked down her hushed responses.

"Uh, it asks how many partners you've had since your last exam," he said.

She just shook her head slowly.

"I'll leave it blank," he decided.

Several questions were like that, seeking information that she couldn't even guess at. It brought into sharp focus how hopeless her circumstances had been during the four years with Aden.

After that, Mac decided he'd better wait in the clinic, in case she needed more help. She voiced her concern that people might look at him strangely. No big deal, he assured her, and his voice sounded unconcerned.

A young-sounding female nurse introduced herself as Brenda and led her to an interview room. From there, the questions started, and with each question Nadja became more uncomfortable, more embarrassed.

How many partners? No idea.

What kind of sexual activities had she engaged in? Anything. Everything.

Had she engaged in unprotected intercourse? Yes, daily. Vaginal, oral and anal.

Did she or her partners inject drugs? God only knew.

The questions kept coming, and bit by bit they shredded her 'normal woman' facade, exposing Nadja the whore.

Finally there was no point in hiding it anymore.

"I...was a prostitute. Not by choice. I was...forced. So..." she trailed off.

Brenda's reaction was the opposite of what Nadja expected.

"Okay, I understand. In that case, given that this is your first exam, I'd recommend a complete workup, including hepatitis, HPV and HIV. I'll do a physical assessment and we'll need to take some blood and urine, and do a pap test. The whole process should take half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes."

And that was it. No revulsion, no pity, no scorn.

"I hadn't expected it to be this easy," Nadja confessed.

"We get a fair number of clients who are in your situation. It's not uncommon."

"Really?"

"Really," Brenda lowered her voice and leaned closer, "Also, there are resources available for women who are being exploited or who are trying to leave the sex industry. Legal and support services, I mean. I'd be happy to give you some contact numbers, or put you in touch with someone who can answer your questions?"

Resources? Support? Even for someone like her?

"That would be great. Thank you."

"Are you in a safe situation right now?" Brenda asked in the same quiet tone.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I mean the man you came in with..."

"Oh! Yes, he's totally safe. Completely." Nadja replied.

She heard Brenda stand.

"Well then, let's get you up on the exam table and get started."

Nadja didn't know what to expect -- she hadn't had a medical exam since she was a very young child -- but Brenda was careful to explain what would happen at each step. The nurse also reviewed the symptoms and treatments of each of the infections she was testing for.

The exam itself turned out to be easy -- it was simple to just 'switch off' and allow her body to be handled, positioned, poked and sampled. It was a skill she'd perfected over the years, and a necessary one in her former line of work.

The testing completed, she returned to the waiting room to await the results of the rapid HIV test -- Brenda said it usually took twenty minutes or less.

Mac was waiting for her, and they sat together quietly for several minutes. It didn't feel uncomfortable, and she was relieved that he never felt the need to fill the silence with small talk, instead allowing her the time to gather her thoughts and process them. It helped that the two of them were alone in the small room.

"Some of the pills to treat this stuff can be awfully expensive," she said quietly, breaking the silence at last.

"Yeah?"

"Brenda said sometimes hundreds of dollars. Sometimes thousands."

Why was she going down this road? She didn't even know. To irritate him? To drive him away? To prepare him for the worst? The unfortunate streak of truthfulness that had revealed itself early in her relationship with Mac showed no signs of disappearing.

"Jesus. A thousand dollars, just for some goddamn pills?"

There was another lengthy silence.

"Just so you know, I wouldn't expect you to..."

"Okay, enough," he said, and took her hand in his. His voice was soft but the note of warning in it was unmistakable.

She let the matter drop.

A few minutes later, Brenda reappeared to discuss the test results.

"I want Mac to hear them as well," Nadja said, gripping his hand more tightly. Her heart was beating faster and her stomach felt unsettled.

"I prefer to deliver test results privately," Brenda said.

"It's important to me that he knows...everything."

Brenda relented and led them both to the interview room. Nadja sat on a chair facing the nurse while Mac stood behind her.

The news was good. Better than good.

No visible signs of infection. The rapid HIV test was negative. The other test results would take a week or two to come back.

Brenda cautioned them both to remain vigilant about condom use -- even giving her a dozen condoms and a small tube of lubricant. She also reminded Nadja to return in three months for another HIV test.

Just before they left the clinic, Brenda gave them a number for a sex worker support group that met twice per month, and suggested that Nadja give them a call.

She felt buoyed and relieved by the news and Mac was delighted, so much so that Nadja had to keep reminding him that all the test results weren't known and to restrain any unwarranted optimism until the whole story came out.

**

They stopped at the drugstore on the way home; there were things Nadja needed for the evening to come.

Once back at the apartment, she set about making the supper. She'd assumed jurisdiction over the apartment, taking on all the cooking, cleaning and laundry since Mac was working full time at the restaurant. Those tasks were more diversions than chores -- with Mac away for nine hours each day she way happy to have ways to keep herself busy. And since he usually went to bed early, she wanted him to be able to relax and enjoy his scarce rest time after work. His time with her.

After dinner she washed the dishes as Mac opened the newspaper. When he found an article that he thought she'd be interested in he read it out loud to her and she made attentive noises in all the right places. In truth, she didn't much care for anything that happened outside the apartment. Maybe she would, in time, but for now all her focus was on Mac and how things were between them.

After the dishes she left Mac to his paper and shut herself in the bathroom with her drugstore purchases from that afternoon and began her prep. She wanted everything to be perfect for their first time.

She stripped off her clothes, folded them and set them next to the sink, then unwrapped the disposable enema kit. After washing her hands, she filled the soft plastic bottle with lukewarm water, put one foot up on the side of the bathtub and reached behind her with the bottle. Exhaling slowly, she relaxed and slid the lubricated nozzle of the enema bottle past the yielding ring of muscle and into her ass.

An automatic sense of dread welled up inside her as she performed the familiar but hated ritual. Anal prep had always preceded an agonizing and often bloody battering of her rear hole. She'd learned the hard way that meticulous preparation kept the damage and mess to a minimum, but no amount of prep could make anal sex anything other than a painful ordeal.

At least Mac wouldn't make her suck him clean afterward.

She squeezed the bottle and felt the water filling her, then clenched and slowly withdrew the nozzle. The enema did its work inside her as she patiently refilled the bottle. After releasing and flushing, she repeated the process.

When the second enema had been flushed, she washed her hands again, lubed up her index and middle fingers, put her foot up on the side of the tub again and spread the slippery gel over the inner folds of her pussy. She pushed two fingers inside her tight channel, making sure that her slit would be wet and inviting for Mac's cock.

She applied more lube and gently pushed her middle finger into her ass, working it very slowly in and out. When her muscle had become accepting of the intrusion she added her index finger, lubricating and stretching her sphincter.

She exited the bathroom naked -- lube and condom in hand -- and walked with deliberate slowness to the foot of the bed. Mac's gaze followed her movements; she didn't need to see him to know he was watching her hungrily. His attention on her was something she'd come to expect and enjoy.
She gracefully lowered herself to her knees next to the bed.

"I want your cock," she said softly but loud enough to be heard in the kitchenette.

She didn't have to force the words, didn't need to dress them in exaggerated, lusty moans. She'd grown past the need for artifice. Her words now were the simple truth.

She did want his cock.

Wanted to feel it in her mouth, hot against her tongue. Wanted his taste and his scent. Wanted to use her lips and tongue and throat to pull eager, desperate moans and gasps from deep inside him. To feel his fingers in her hair. To become, even for a brief time, his entire universe. Just as he had become hers.

She heard him toss the newspaper aside, push the chair back from the table and approach her. The rustle of clothing being removed. His heat and closeness, and the creak of the mattress as he sat facing her.

She reached out and found his bare leg with her fingers, then followed it up to his knee, then along his inner thigh. Her hand closed gently over his hot shaft; he was already erect. She loved that even the sight of her body could bring him to full arousal, that he found her sexy and enticing.

She started low, at his scrotum, licking and kissing. Hot breath on his thighs, on his balls. She moved higher, her wet tongue making long, unhurried strokes from the base to the tip of his cock. Lingering at the top, swirling her tongue over the sensitive nerves there before beginning again at the bottom of his shaft. She was rewarded with his appreciative groan.

With Mac, blow jobs were so different. Not a duty, but a pleasure. She didn't want to rush him; didn't want it to be over too soon. She focused on every stroke, on making it good for him.

After a slow build-up she wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock and slowly slid down, her lips tight around his shaft, taking him deep into her hot mouth in one long, leisurely stroke. He gasped; she knew he loved the feel of being fully embedded in her mouth and throat. She slowly pulled back, lifting her eyes, hoping he was staring down into them.

Very soon she could tell he was getting closer to orgasm; his hips would roll forward on her down-stroke, his breathing became harsh and a soft grunt would issue each time she took his full length. One of the joys of serving just one man was the chance to learn him well, to read the signals from his body and to understand what they meant. And in just two weeks she had mastered the subtleties of Mac's responses to her.

"I want you to do my ass," she whispered, flushing at the lewd words, hardly believing that she'd spoken them aloud.

"I'd rather do your pussy," he said. She heard the urgency in his voice and took it as a compliment.

She came off his cock and resumed a slow licking up the shaft while gently cupping his scrotum in her fingers and caressing that sensitive skin.

"Mmm. I love your cock in my pussy. But tonight, I need you in my ass, Mac."

"Why?"

"Well...you remember you said we can't change the past, only move forward?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I want to let go of my past. To turn the page," she continued to run her tongue up and down his erection, looking up into his face all the while, "But there's a...mark. A stain that I can't ignore. A piece of me that Aden still owns. And I hate that -- I hate the idea that he should have a claim to any part of me."

"Nadja, he doesn't..."

"He does, Mac. I feel it inside me. Deep down I know there are pieces that belong to him. I won't have that. I want all those pieces to belong to you. I want you to take those parts of me back from Aden."

He continued to gasp and pant as she teased his rigid cock with her tongue, but didn't say anything. His silence lasted a minute.

"I know it sounds silly..." she started.

"No, not silly," he said quietly, "I get what you're saying. It's just...won't it hurt?"

"It will hurt," she conceded, "but that's okay. If that's the price, I'll gladly pay it."

"You know that's not what I want, right? To hurt you, I mean."

"I know. And knowing it makes me want this even more. Please?"

There was silence for a few moments.

"Okay, let's do it. What's the best way?" he said. She could tell by his voice that he wasn't sold on the idea of causing her pain with his cock and she felt a perverse swell of gratitude that he was willing to hurt her...for her sake.

"I'd like to lie on my back," she said.

Nadja expertly opened and slid a condom onto his cock, then applied a generous coating of lube. She repositioned herself on her back on the bed, legs spread and raised, exposing her rear hole to him. It was a terrible, vulnerable feeling, and one that brought back wave after wave of awful memories.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She'd endured this dozens of times in the past for lesser men. She could handle it once more, for Mac.

"Hold on to my cock. I'll let you control the action," he said as he positioned herself above her, between her wide-spread thighs.

She reached between her legs, gently gripped the base of his latex-covered shaft and guided the tip of his cock to her asshole.

"I'm ready," she said. Her voice sounded nervous and unconvincing, even to her.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Just...go slow, okay?"

"Keep your hand on me. You decide the speed."

She nodded, then pulled him forward. She felt the head of his cock pressing, pushing. She took another deep breath, tried to release, to unclench. This wasn't Aden, or some brutal, faceless john. This was Mac.

He slowly pushed past the ring of muscle, stretching her, opening her. And just like that, he was inside. She held him motionless, waiting for the excruciating ripping, the searing pain.

It didn't come.

She felt full and not entirely comfortable, but her discomfort didn't rise to the level of pain. She froze, not trusting the absence of hurt. Mac was still, letting her pick the pace.

"How is it?" he asked, and she was warmed by the concern in his voice.

"It's...fine," she replied, still not totally convinced.

Finally she gave a gentle pull and Mac pushed forward with the greatest restraint. She stopped him twice more, convinced the pain would come flooding back, but it never did. Soon she moved her hand and felt his pelvis press against her buttocks. He was in, all the way.

"All good?" he asked.

"Better than I'd hoped," she replied, "keep going."

"Okay. If it hurts, say so."

Mac began a very slow withdrawal until only the head of his cock was inside her, then pushed forward gradually. She relaxed and felt him fill her again, painlessly. It wasn't a good sensation -- it felt intrusive and threatening -- but it didn't hurt. For the first time ever, the cock in her ass didn't feel like it was ripping her apart.

She smiled then, relieved and restored. What Aden had claimed through violence and pain, Mac had captured with care and gentleness. That seemed so...right. So perfectly fitting. She loved knowing that another piece of her had been taken away from Aden and now belonged to Mac.

"Can you come in me?" she asked.

"Not at this speed," Mac said. He was moving so slowly that each stroke took him five or six seconds. "Feels tight though."

"You can go a little faster," she offered.

"You sure this is how you want it tonight?"

She nodded her head. Her smile wouldn't leave her.

Mac picked up speed, each thrust controlled and measured. She closed her eyes and felt him. Her fear was fading; it was easy to stay relaxed and to accommodate his cock inside her.

As her nervousness disappeared, the sensations began to change. She listened to his rapid breathing, his gasps. Felt his muscles as they flexed and moved, powerful yet restrained. Scented him -- his unique soap-and-maleness smell that had somehow become both familiar and trusted in so short a time. Felt his command of her body and his enjoyment of it.

It seemed she enjoyed anal sex as much as she did any other kind. In a flash of understanding she realized it didn't matter where he penetrated her because his cock wasn't the source of her pleasure. It was the joining itself, the act of feeling him, of losing herself in the experience and in the essence of who he was. Becoming part of the man she wanted and trusted. Releasing herself into his care, certain that no harm would come to her.

"Still okay?" he asked. She heard him fighting for control of his voice and his lust.

She opened her eyes and nodded. "It feels good. Better than I could have dreamed."

"Jesus, you're tight."

"You can go faster, Mac. Come inside me. Please," she whispered.

Suddenly he gave four long, rough thrusts into her welcoming rear passage and came, his cock pressed deeply inside her, his muscles locked, his breath caught in his chest.

Her smile broadened as she savoured his orgasm, sharing his pleasure. She gave a few tentative squeezes with her ass, trying to make it tighter around his shaft.

As his climax subsided, he lowered himself to his elbows above her, his partial weight pressing her into the mattress. She welcomed that, too. His weight, his warmth. His bare chest, damp with exertion. His muscular arms on either side of her head. She felt enclosed, protected. Safe.

Her stretched rear hole ached a little but she didn't want him to move. Not yet, anyway. She wanted to feel him inside her a while longer.

"Thank you, Mac," she whispered, her lips close to his ear.

"That was..." he gasped, his words trailing off as he tried to recover his breath.

"It was wonderful. I want to try this again soon. It felt really good."

"Really?"

"I'm as surprised as you are," she said, then laughed. She felt free, unbound.

They lay quietly for a few minutes, then rose together and decided to share a shower.

It was there, surrounded by steam and spray and soapy scents, with Mac rubbing her back with a rough washcloth, that the question first struck her.

Was she falling in love with Mac?

Or maybe...had it progressed beyond that point? Was she already in love with him? Was that possible, as damaged as she was, and in just a couple of weeks?

Surely not -- there were other possibilities to explain the trust and affection she felt for him. Like...gratitude toward her rescuer, for having saved her and for treating her well. Also, she was in a position of dependence; she relied on him for her survival -- that might be easy to mistake for love. Or maybe after four years of Aden's abuse she was confusing the simple absence of hatred for a symptom of love.

Somehow, though, none of those reasons allowed her to fully dismiss the possibility that she loved Mac. The more she considered it the more the idea appealed to her -- the thought that maybe she was a person who was still capable of loving someone.

And that maybe, against all odds, Mac was that person.

**

again   beginning  

Apr 15, 2018 in romance

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