Priya Anjali Rai Squirts All Over The Bar

It had been years since ‘the incident’ but the old nightmares rear their ugly heads from time to time and this one had been a monster: trying to stay awake so that you’ll hear if he comes down the hall only works for so long and then you fall asleep. In the sleep of dreams, you hear all the things that should tell you that he’s coming down the hall but none of them actually awaken you, you just become more and more afraid. The doorknob starts to turn, the bedroom door opens with a slow, loud screech which should wake the entire county but doesn’t even wake you, the low, even breathing as he stands in the doorway, and finally, the soft footfalls as he walks toward you. Nothing wakes you until he’s touching your bare shoulder and then, you are silently swinging at his head, moving towards him, past him, and running through the maze that was home before you went to bed. The real incident was much, much less than the anger and grief it caused, the dreams being a key part of the latter.. One of the buttons popped off the top of as he pulled it apart and opened the front of my dress wide enough so he could see my breasts. I think he was disappointed that my breasts were not bigger, most thirteen year old girls don’t have a lot of breast and I was no exception, a couple of fried eggs would have been a fair description. But it wasn’t my breasts he was interested in. He pulled my dress up, pushing it up till it was above my waist so I was naked from the waist down apart from my white ankle socks. The horrible old Arab looked at me, glaring at my nakedness; no man had ever looked at my private parts or seen me without my clothes on before. He grabbed hold of my ankles again; I tried desperately to keep my knees together, but he was strong and easily pulled my legs further apart. He knelt between my opened knees. Horrified I watched him undo the front of his caftan. He was very black. I'm not a racist, really I'm not, I have nothing against coloured people, but I didn't.
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