Raging fury

Translated by Midas

Edited by Midas

Chelsea swallowed again and seemed to waver. But the thought of having so much blood for those three days, continuously flowing out of her body, made him scared again.

Shaking his head, he refused, “No, I’ll hurt you. I can’t control the force once I’m in there. No, absolutely not. That kind of mistake I won’t make again.”

When he was still blaming himself, she couldn’t take it, so she said, “It’s not your fault. I’m like that a few days a month. You didn’t hurt me.”

Chelsea froze for half a second and forcefully removed her hands. Grabbing her wrists, he turned around and glared at her, “What do you mean by that? Explain to me clearly.”

Moussa cowered in fear, finally realizing what she had said on impulse. It was too late to regret, so she had to explain. “I am different from your females here. I bleed from the inside a few days every month. It’s normal and won’t kill me.”

Moussa said while carefully watching his face. But Chelsea’s face became even darker, and his eyes were glaring at her with anger. He suddenly flung her arm away, and Moussa was unprepared for it. This made her crawl on the bed, with her weight unstable.

Chelsea grabbed her and held her in place, and with the force of his hands, her clothes were torn into pieces.

Before she could react to what was happening, he pulled her legs apart and pushed in hard. Without mercy, he thrust into her cervix without pause.

“Ah!” Moussa was not yet well-wet. He started to thrust intensely, and that dry, violent friction, making Moussa have the illusion of being torn apart forcibly.

Moussa couldn’t stand it and cried, “Chelsea.. ah! Gently. Please. Oooh. It hurts too much. Ah!”

“You lied to me. You lied to me. You think I’ll still believe you! Liar, liar!” Without any skill, he kept a fierce force on her. He stretched her legs as far as they would go, rampaging in and out, pounding into her womb every time, making Moussa’s pussy tremble with pain. She tightened and sloshed water over and over again.

“No! Chelsea. I am not. Deliberately. Ah ah! To lie to you. You listen to me. Ah ah ah!” Moussa was in pain, holding the animal skin beneath her with a death grip. She wanted to explain to him, but Chelsea stimulated her with a deep pounding and moaned loudly.

Chelsea waited for her moaning to end. When she was lying helplessly on the bed panting, he sneered and said, “Is it good? It’s great, isn’t it, with all that water coming out.”

Moussa no longer had the strength to speak, only lying there whimpering.

“I’ll make you feel better,” Chelsea said as he grabbed Moussa’s waist, making her kneel on the bed, with her ass lifted up to provide him with easy access. As he did so, he pushed his middle finger into Moussa’s *sshole and began to thrust.

Realizing that he was furious, Moussa relaxed ingratiatingly and let him enter deeper, hoping that satisfying his lust would slightly offset some of his anger.