Mene kha glti meri bhi hai. Usne kha koi baat nhe itna to chl jaata hai kher choro mera naam jeet hai woh mere pasd aaya or hath milaate hue bola. Men... kha haa pta hai mujhe tu. Hare dost karan ne btaya mujhe. Achaa wese ek baat puchu tum mere lund ko itne gour se kyu dekh rhe they usne mujhe pucha. Mene kha nhe me bs khuch nhe. Arrey btaao na mene dekha tha tum mere lund ko dekh rhe they wo mere pass aakr bola me smjh gya ab ki ye saala loundeybaaz hai or ab meri gaand jrur lega to ab shrmane. ...” I sobbed, tears were rolling down my face. My guts were full of water and my nipples felt they were being pulled from my chest. He carried on pulling and twisting them, and pushing down with his body weight, squeezing my tummy against the edge of the bath. Then it stopped. He pulled me around, pushed me onto the toilet and said “pull the hose out yourself. A crying little wimp doesn't deserve my help”.I reached between my legs and slowly tried to pull the hose from my butt hole. It came. And then I remembered I wouldn't be wearing panties.The light pink top was relatively new to my wardrobe, so I knew it would fit. But it was made to wear over a camisole. I had never dreamt of wearing it with nothing underneath.I turned to my tormentors to plead for mercy, but when I saw their faces knew it would do no good. It would make it worse. They would enjoy my begging and humiliate me further. I put on the blouse and saw the shape of my breasts and dark nipples through the sheer. I hoped that I could fold up her panties, leave her place, and never see her again. I was that embarrassed. Gingerly, I bent down and picked up the panties, folded them in half and was about to place them back on the bench when Tricia spoke again. “You see, Sandra, these pig-men don’t even know how to fold a pair of panties. All they know is how to sniff them and jerk off in them. If you want a real man, you’ll have to make him do your laundry and teach him how to fold your clothes properly..
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