But for now, strain from the weight of his helmet was rapidly becoming Yargos’ most pressing problem. To ease the pressure on his neck, he rested hi... chin on his upright knee. As sweat began to drip from the nose guard of Yargos’ helmet, he noticed the drops were forming a dark spot in the dirt by his foot. He couldn’t help thinking, ‘Damn! This is worse than being in an oven,’ but at the same time, kept those thoughts to himself. Like the others, Yargos knew any verbal sound in the lines. Mister Soccer the gentleman was raping her. Or was he? It wasn't rape if she didn't report it. She didn't have to. His cock felt nice up in her, and she had wanted to fuck the next guy she came across. This one thought that he was taking her virginity. He was from a well to do family. He was sexually energetic, and she knew with her hungers would require a certain level of enthusiasm. Still, she was being forced again.“What did you say?” he asked. “Again!” she cried. No, that wasn't what she. More

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