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There was a hot discussion regarding whether or not the tribe should prepare for war or just move again when the government forced them to.I put in my ideas that a highly trained, mobile strike force could cause enough trouble that the country would be willing to give in to our demands, and maybe even grant statehood for the tribe. In any case, we needed to make sure our people are not slaughtered by the army as has happened in the past.I saw many heads nodding when I mentioned that.The council decided to prepare, and train to fight a using a defensive strategy with small, mobile, highly trained units.They asked me to go and represent the tribe. I was to head a delegation to the Comanche and Apache to explain our position and ask for them to send a person or people to help train our guard units. This required me to become a chief of the tribe. I realized that I was a minor person in the hierarchy, and that this was only a diplomatic promotion.That didn't stop my wives from strutting. She threw her head back and her eyes opened wide as I rocked her on top of me. The grip of her legs grew tighter around me as we fucked int he water. She put her hands on my shoulders and began to ride me up and down. I put my head into her chest, resting on one of her massive breasts, gently biting her nipple. "Oh fuck! Fuck me Steve! Fuck me! Fuck me!" she exclaimed over and over, as I thrusted all 7 inches of my cock back into her. I walked her over to one side of the pool and used it to prop her up. I brought one free hand out of the water and squeezed her breast, hard. She let out a little cry of pain, but that was quickly silenced out by another moan as I continued to pound her under the water. Then I brought my hand up to her throat and closed my hand around it. I had heard of autoerotic asphyxiation before, but never had the temptation to try it, until tonight. As she rocked up and down on my dick, I tightened my grip. I could hear her start to gasp for air. I was about to.
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That was the rule, that was how it had always been… Eight. Now he was starting to feel that insistent pressure. He knew that he had to climax on the tenth stroke, not before and certainly not after. He had to make sure that he got none of his come on Evelyn, that would just lead to punishment. This was a special reward so he had to get it right. Nine. The moment was close. The shoe moved slightly to the left. It allowed him to see that heel. It made the patterns on the silk of her ankles dance and shimmer. His hand trembled with the tension and the control. Hers and his, his self-control and her simple power over him. Ten. A slight rush from in his belly, like the opening of a tap. The semen gushed from him in a single rush that pooled the carpet between her shoes. Bernard sighed and groaned with the release of tension. Timing was so important for Evelyn, he had to come at command, and the word of command was always the last number counted. The tip of the cane nearly dipped into the.

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