Aro jore jore amar doodh aar gud teper kaj chalate laaglam.hatat mamoni dekhlam paas fire sulo….wah! Ki pacha…aami wor pachar khaj bujhar janyo po...er cherai dan haat jpre jore ghaste dilam…wofff..bhaba jai na ei ginish amar nijer badite ? Amaar pagoler mato laagchilo…hatat mamoni jege uthe bollo ki korchis..pagol hoye geli naki ? Aami takhon sekhan theke chale gelam …tarpar anekdin pare aami oke niye digha giye chilam…rate plan korlam ja hobe hok aaj woke chudboi…majh rate aami wor nightier. She was a beauty to say the least. Eighteen years old. Blonde. Blue eyes. The typical, idealized American girl with a slight Southern accent to her voice. She was exactly what Roland wanted: a slave to take to go to the grave with. Roland was mistaken when he assumed the young girl would be too frightened to fight him off. She was a fighter, a rebellious little cunt that fought and kicked and used every ounce of her spirit to fight him off. It was only with his paid body guards in the room,. More

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