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Hey guys, I have just one question! Why is Cristiano Ronaldo much better than Lionel Messi? Someone knows that?


I also have questions like you? Let me follow your post to get an answer. club penguin


Who says so? I guess youre wrong cuz now Messi still the best soccer player! BUt i dont really like him nor Ronaldo.. I just follow MU team and thats it! When they have a game I always try to make a bet if have some extra money cuz I know I can double it up, why not ?


Well, I would not say that he is much better, and that is a matter of taste, but if I were to choose between Cristiano Ronaldo and Messi, then I would rather choose the second option, I have been interested in football for a very long time and make money on it, sports betting help me very much on this site, you can be sure that it will bring you a very good income.


My name is Laura. I'm 5'3", light skinned and blonde, lean with muscle definition. I am married to a white man named James but also have a secret latin lover named Ramoñ.

Ramoñ loves when I behave like a whore. He eggs it on and wants to hear about all the sexual adventures I have, far from my husband's eyes. Every time I mess around with other men, I send him pictures, video, or audio while I'm doing it, to drive his imagination wild. And then I write the story for him so he knows every detail of my whoring. These are those stories.

I texted Ramoñ, asking when he would get out of work. "2", he texted back. "Perfect," I replied, "See you then." I get dressed and drive to his apartment, parking and going upstairs with plenty of time to be there to surprise him when he gets home.

2:07pm, Ramoñ walks into his apartment and sees me, silhouetted by the late afternoon light coming through the window. Tight little jean skirt, tall black strappy stripper heels, silver hoop earrings, snug black shirt. "Oh nice," he remarks, dropping his keys on the kitchen counter. He likes it when I dress slutty.

I start walking towards him and that's when he sees it—written on my shirt right across my breasts: "I belong to James Grady." My husband had made me that shirt as a Valentine's day gift when we were dating, years ago. Ramoñ pauses, his hand frozen in the air at the sight of my husband's name. "Oh no, no, no," he whispers nastily. "This bitch belongs to ME."

He grabs me around the waist and neck and pulls me into him, crushing his mouth on mine, as if to stake his claim. I feel his fingers tighten around the back of my neck and his strength feels delicious. He pushes me towards the bedroom door, then stops me hard right in front of a living room mirror, causing me to stumble a bit.

He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me hard into him, my back to his front, so I can feel his hard on growing in his shorts. He pulls up the sides of my skirt and he sees my red panties in the mirror. I was wearing those panties the night before, when I sent him a picture of the lingerie I was wearing to seduce my husband that night.

He says under his breath, 'Your husband fucked you in those panties. His come is on those panties.' He isn't asking for confirmation. He knows those panties have my husband's come on them. And he knows my pussy juice is flowing as I remember wearing those panties just the night before when I fucked another man while thinking about him. He uses one hand to pull my shirt up so he can grab a breast, teasing the nipple right underneath the word 'belong.'

"You belong to ME," he says, as he pinches my nipple hard, making me gasp. The fingers on his other hand reach between my legs and roughly stroke my pussy outside my panties. He can't wait to fuck me. To OWN those holes. To tell me who I belong to.

He lets go of me and shoves me towards the bedroom, listening to my stripper heels stumble on the wooden floor. The second I walk into the bedroom, he stops me in front of the full-length mirror. He takes a good look, his eyes gazing at my husband's name. Then he pulls my shirt up again. He sees my breasts peek out of the bottom of the shirt, sees my tight abs tense as he touches me. He likes seeing his hands fondle my breasts right underneath the blue letters of my husband's name.

He grabs my hand, puts it on his balls. Calls me his little bitch as I caress his balls through his shorts. Then he suddenly whips me around, shoves me down to my knees. He pulls his shorts down just far enough to pull his penis out, then grabs my hair and shoves his dick into my mouth. Hard. Gagging me as he pushes in all the way down my throat. I hear him groan. He's really enjoying this. I'm really enjoying it. I wore that shirt just for this. To whip him into a frenzy. And I got what I wanted.

He pushes his shorts further down, stepping out of them. Grabs my head again, pushes me down on him hard. Just as soon as he lets me up for air, he pushes me down again. And again. He loves the sound of me gagging. 'James's wife is gagging on my dick,' he says aloud to himself. 'What a good little whore you are.' He watches me in the mirror, on my knees, his dick in my mouth. I'm being such a good little bitch for him.

But there's one problem— He can't see the shirt anymore. That won't do. He pulls me off his dick, shoves me around and down to all fours. Pushes me forward towards the mirror. He kicks my legs apart, stripper heels still on, like a good little whore. Pushes my jean skirt over my hips, my red thong panties the only thing keeping my ass from being on full display.

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He pulls off his shirt and drops to his knees behind me, holding his dick. My eyes search for his in the mirror but don't find them. He's not looking at me, he's looking at my shirt. The large blue letters loudly declaring that I belong to James.

I see his eyes blaze as he bares his teeth, tenses his shoulders. I feel him angle his dick right at the entrance to my pussy and I watch in the mirror as all of a sudden his hands grab my hips and he shoves deep into me in one quick move, making me cry out. He quickly pulls out and shoves in again, making me cry aloud once more.

My head drops, panting, and he grabs my hair and yanks my face up in front the mirror. He wants to see me panting. He want to see my face as I cry out. He wants to see the front of my shirt, where it is clearly written, "I belong to James Grady." "You belong to ME, bitch," he says. "MINE." He spanks me, hard. Again. And again. Hearing me yelp each time.

I look at him in the mirror, his eyes on fire, and every muscle in his arms and chest is tensed up. His mouth is pursed shut. He looks like he's right on the edge of a crest and all I can think about is pushing him over. I smile deviously. "You know why I belong to James?" I ask, my eyes twinkling. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. "...Because he spanks harder," I finish.

Ramoñ pauses in his thrusting for a second, his eyes going from blazing fire to a flat black, and then I see it— his arm leaves my hip and makes a high arc in the air, and I involuntarily brace myself in the split second before he swiftly brings that hand down on my ass with a loud "SMACK." I gasp, as if he knocked my breath right out of me. He does it again. And again. My breath comes racing back and I squeal loudly.

He switches to the other side, and I can see the muscles in his arms ripple as he brings his arm up high and swings it down hard with another SMACK that almost seems to echo through the bedroom as I let out a gasping cry, my breath knocked out of me. He gives one last hard shove into my pussy and then he suddenly pulls his dick out and positions himself at the entrance to my ass.

He pushes in slowly at first but as soon as the tip of his dick breaks my tight asshole, he grabs my hips again and rams himself into my ass, almost as if he is desperate to get deeper than ever before. He wants me to feel him. Not just now, but hours from now when he's not in me anymore. He wants me to feel him there when I walk down the steps, wincing. He wants me to know that he owns my ass. That it's HIS ass to do with as he pleases.

He starts thrusting, harder and harder. "Play with yourself," he demands, as he grabs my hips again and keeps thrusting. "Play with yourself, you little bitch." As I reach back to touch myself, my head drops to my chest and he immediately grabs my hair and yanks straight up, whipping my head back. He wants to watch my face as I come. He wants to look right at the writing on my shirt when he comes. The big blue letters that say, "I belong to James Grady."

He can feel me tensing up as my fingers go faster. "That's a good little whore," he says. "You're a good little bitch." My ass tightens around his dick. My body rocks under his hands. My back arches. He watches my face as I pant harder and harder, my teeth bared at the oncoming orgasm. Then it hits. The orgasm rushes through my body and my hand drops to the floor as I nearly lose my balance. I put my hand back on my clit and rub again, right through the orgasm, feeling another wave of pleasure roar through my body. I lose my balance again, my hand dropping to the floor to steady myself a second time.

I hear Ramoñ saying, "That's right, baby, that's right," as he keeps pushing hard into my ass again and again as he rides my orgasm. My eyes watch him in the mirror as he loses himself in the moment, looking at my milky white skin against my pitch black shirt, the shirt that says, "I belong to James Grady" in bright blue letters.

His teeth bare again, and I watch his shoulders and chest muscles tense hard, and then he lets out a loud sound as he comes in my ass. More than a moan, more than a groan. More like a growl, if I were forced to describe it. He's panting hard as he pauses for a moment, as if he is trying to freeze time long enough to take a mental picture in the mirror. Then he pulls out of my ass slowly, not saying a word.

He stands up and heads into the bathroom, leaving me there on all fours in front of the mirror, stripper heels on, jean skirt up around my waist, his come making a slow slide out of my ass only to be quickly soaked up by my husband's favorite panties... a lazy tumble from the climax of an intense fuck show.

At least until he comes out of the bathroom. Before I can stand up, I see the flash in the mirror: a pocketknife. He kneels down behind me, slides his fingers between my ass cheeks to grab my thong, pulling it outwards. With one quick slice of the knife, the lace tears in two. He makes quick work of the sides of the thong, pulling it off of me entirely. "James is going to miss those panties," I think to myself. "They were his favorite." Ramoñ is going to keep those panties, covered in both his and James's come. A trophy from a whore.

As I stand up, I turn around and see my ass in the mirror. Bright red. Clear visible handprints. I earned my trophy, too.