He had beaten her and her face was swollen. "Mister, does that woman belong to you?" I asked not being able to tolerate a man beating a woman very wel...."I am free," the woman gasped.The man turned to slap her. "Mister, if she isn't yours, I can't let you beat her."He pulled a knife and threatened, "Put your nose back where it belongs, boy." Let her go," I said. I pulled my revolver from my holster.He let go of her hair. She started crawling away. When I glanced at her, he threw his knife. It. “I want you to put one hand on the small of my back then the other between my shoulder blades and pull me gently toward you.”He did as he was instructed and could not believe how wonderful her body felt, how warm, the softness, and yet somehow he knew not to kiss her just yet but to gently pull her to him just so he could hold her close. The smell of her hair, the perfume she used, at that moment just holding her was enough. At that moment Jeanne desired Harold more than she had any man in. It was hard to be coldly analytical in a situation as emotion-fraught as this. She had to remember, though, that it wasn't good to display her marital troubles in front of Jennifer. It only hurt the family needlessly, and certainly didn't help solve the problem. She tried to smile, it came out forced and shallow. "Well..." she said, "well, we can't just sit around and cry in our soup, can we?"Jennifer remained sullen. Mothers were one thing, and she loved hers very much. But Jennifer had always. To wo piche mudi mujhe kuch bolne k liye to unne dekha ki mai unki gaand he dekhe ja rha hu. Wo boli sun. Chai patti ka packet nikal de uper se. Unka haath nai ja rha tha.Mai unke piche khada hoke uper haath krke nikalne lga to mera lund unki gaand se lga. Mujhse control nai hua to maine thoda jorr se press kiya.Unko feel hua to wo piche mud ke thode gussa se dekhne lagi. Maine bola. Sorry but. Aur mud ke apni phele wali jagah pe aa ke khada ho gya.Chai leke hall me aa gaye. Na wo kuch bol rhi.