After four men had brutalized her, the surfer called out, “Okay, Weasel, it’s your turn.” Weasel slid out from under the chaise and climbed on top of her. The surfer shook his head sadly. Vicky.” She was being shaken gently into consciousness. While she was putting out in this way, Weasel expressed his appreciation by pinching her nipples most painfully and thrusting his cock as deeply as he could into Vicky’s wounded vagina. When I come, swallow it.”
Her disgust at this degrading activity was matched by her loathing and pain of the rape that was also taking place. She winced at the pain of the thrusting member. They were not even wearing swim trunks, just casual shorts. “Look, miss – what’s your name?”
“Vicky.”
“Look, Vicky, I’m not much on conversation.
