Surprisingly, the earliest memory I have of my mother is not of the beatings, the screaming and the abuse, but of her sitting on a chair with her legs...crossed and her hands in her lap in the backyard.I remember her red hair falling over her shoulders, her deep blue eyes looking at me and her nose ring and gold anklets shining in the sun."Do you miss Russia?" I asked her sitting opposite her."Yes, a lot," she said adjusting her gray, knee-length pleated skirt."Any relatives still there?" There. That fat guys hand in that poor little sluts ass, her skirt wet and dirty and lifted up to her hip. And then those perky tits under the top, wet of all that gag and cum and her totally destrosed face with black mascara lines and cum all over her so beautifully prepared face. And in her mouth pieces of toilet paper. A picture you'll never forget. And she moaned like a whore that never gets enough. She pissed as the fat guy fucks her hole like a jackhammer. He ploped his hand in and out. Her ass. More

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