It's Andrius.
I had a couple of long strands of hair on my face as my legs were bound. He brushed them away, allowing me to view more of his face. I'm feeling better; there's only some space within my stomach, and I'm not sure if I'm hungry or if I was carrying booze previously.
“How much did you consume? Do you have any recollection of what happened?” Now he's tickling my face by dragging his finger along the side of my face as if he's trying to figure out what shape it is.
“It's okay,” I said, unable to recognize my voice due to exhaustion. After all, the roughness was traveling down my throat earlier owing to the alcohol's great endurance. I also didn't drink any water after vomiting, so this may be how my voice is today. I want to sit despite knowing I can't, but I can't because of this rope.
“I didn't know you changed every time you drank,” he says, his hand now resting on my body. Maybe I'm simply grateful that he hasn't taken off my dress yet, and I'm still wearing it now. Even though something was still impeding my movement, I could feel his index fingernail dripping on the cloth I was wearing and its warm grips.
“Why am I here?” I've now drawn my hand, which is still tied even now. We both looked as the bed creaked as I yanked. I stared at his face, which was so enormous on his cock that it still hadn't calmed down, and it appeared that there was no plan to calm down.
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