The moment we reached the bedroom, he threw me on the bed. And due to the movement, the yellow thread we south Indian women wear our mangalstura in go... snapped. He took it and wrapped it around his cock and mounted me.In one violent thrust, he was deep inside me with the mangalsutra dangling between our genitals, a symbol of my marriage being fucked by a passionate lover. It lolled back and forth like the limp impotent cock of my stupid husband, and I loved it! It drove me wild.I pumped up with. He would either ask me to come to his house to watch cartoons or invite me over for ice cream and that’s how I ended up sucking cock six more times. I didn’t hate myself for sucking his cock I would just always tell myself that was the last time. Fast forward a year and a half. I hadn’t had any faggot urges but I also avoided going to the neighborhood where my faggot tendencies were awakened. My family owned a house there that they would rent out. My father brought me back over there to help. More

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