Chapter 8

There was, by the way, another reason Balkhi agreed to part with a full five hundred. He wanted Ann anally. In fact, he only wanted women anally. Others might have suspected the effeminate immigrant of latent homosexuality because of this, but we won’t stoop to such suspicions.

Balkhi was wearing pants and a t-shirt. He quickly took them off and threw them on the dirty floor. He wasn’t wearing underwear; he never did. His cock was already hard. Not as big as Omar’s unique cock ... but still bigger than her husband’s. Sorry, Yuri.

Balkhi climbed onto the bed. Ann’s breathing quickened, anticipating male attention. Omar stood behind his friend, who was moistening his cock with saliva. He leaned over, looking past his shoulder. He said:

“Stick out that pretty ass of yours, daughter.”

“Of course, daddy!” answered the woman, for whom Omar would hardly qualify as a father figure, more like a child. Balkhi nearly moaned when that perfect ass moved toward him, ready to be fucked.

My first time with someone who isn’t a whore, he thought. Omar, who had gotten money for Annette, might have argued about whether she could be considered a whore.

Balkhi pressed his wet tip to the beauty’s sphincter. She flinched.

“Omar, not there!!!”

“Daughter, I can’t just look at your ass calmly, you keep wiggling it, driving me crazy, I need to fuck it!”

Balkhi stayed silent; Omar spoke for him.