Ay: Ocak 2022

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

We often enjoy our dinners with the Salingers.

We eat out together every month, or so at a restaurant in town. We don’t have a special haunt. We enjoy Thai sometimes, other times, its Italian. Honestly though, it’s each other’s company that we most like to savour.

Mrs. Salinger, although a most dependable neighbour, remains somewhat of an enigma to me. We rarely see her for an extended period, Robert and me, until we all come together for an evening out. She does not strike me as a particularly sociable woman. The extent of her pleasantries is the customary “Morning, Jane!” she graces me with when she comes out to collect the post, as I see my children off to school. But, it is on our excursions together that she comes to life. Suddenly, she becomes vibrant and chatty -a world away from the dull, restrained housewife who so dutifully checks the mailbox at 8:30 every morning.

Her husband, Tom, however, is a hearty fellow. His loud bellows of laughter permeate the walls of our home often, as do the deep grunts and groans of his lovemaking in the quiet, wee hours of the morning. He is such an enthusiastic lover, so much so, that Robert and I can’t help but make love ourselves to the tune of it. And what a time we’ve had! Whenever Tom Salinger’s guttural moans travel, albeit muffled across our yards and then through the walls, they ignite a small spark in our bed. Once we overcame the novelty of being so naughty an audience, we not only were drawn in, but also unexpectedly drawn together by it. I remember the first night that Robert’s hot fingers closed around mine under the sheets, before he pulled them to his stiffening cock. I had fondled him for a bit through the fabric of his cotton boxers, my ears keen to every groan and then, eventually, through the open slit in the front, as my own excitement grew, to match his. Before we knew it, we were up and at it like our neighbours next door. Strangely enough, though, we never once heard a peep from Mrs. Salinger.

On the mornings after we’d listened in on them, I would always look closely at Mrs. Salinger for any tell tales signs of euphoria from the night before, as she collected her letters. It seemed that I wanted conformation, of sorts, that she had actually had sex. To me, she certainly didn’t look the type, if ever there was such a thing. Yes, she was the mother of two wonderful sons who were away at University, but still, I just couldn’t picture her, in well… so compromising a position. She was always dressed in a no nonsense fashion and on the few occasions when she did speak, outside of the restaurant setting, it was always in a very matter of fact sort of way. I did remark to Robert, though, that I never once noticed panties on the clothesline… I arrived at the grand conclusion that she didn’t wear any, as every Saturday morning, without fail, there would be six brilliant white, broad strapped heavy-duty brassieres side by side on the line, but not a single pair of panties. Ever. I found it exceedingly odd. Mrs. Salinger was a buxom woman, who from my keen observations kept her breasts under great restraint. Robert, of course dismissed my comments as a little obsessive, but I insisted to him, that we women just know these things. And of course, I fully believe I am right. Robert in a desperate effort to change the subject suggested that maybe she hangs her panties indoors. He said that he really doesn’t like to think about Mrs. Salinger’s panties any at all…

As much as Mrs. Salinger and I aren’t particularly sociable, save for the odd pleasantries now and then over a borrowed cup of sugar, her husband, Tom and my Robert get along famously. Many Saturday mornings have been spent by the two, chattering over the fence about the sorts of things that men like to talk about when out in the yard- the sorts of things, I suppose, that would do little to harness female interest for the most part… Inevitably, it came to be that Tom invited us all out one day. He took us down to the harbour one Sunday to look at his brand new boat. Turns out that Tom was quite the seaman in his younger years and he was exceptionally proud of his new purchase that he had saved for years to make. So off we all went, children in tow for what turned out to be a marvellous day. It was from that point onwards that we started to socialize outside of our yards, but in increasing frequency without the children. I myself, was grateful for the restful respite from home, something that was becoming increasingly rare (and exceeding annoying…) and Robert, well, he was just plain happy to have me get out of the house, too.

So, our first restaurant visit came a couple of months there after. I made much more of it than was necessary, having been unable to get out much, if any at all, up until that point. I went into town and bought a nice dark dress, that I decided would look elegant but not overly dressy. I was quite curious to see what it was that Mrs. Salinger would be wearing, having never seen her in anything but dull, cotton housedresses. That evening, I walked into the restaurant to see a woman elazığ escort I hardly recognized. Her slightly greying blonde hair was curled; she wore blush and bright red lipstick. Her eyes were lined with kohl in a very 1960s Marilyn Monroe-esque way, with lashes so seductively long, it seemed there was a faint breeze coming off them whenever she blinked. Up until that point, I hadn’t really noticed how very pretty she was. Her décolletage was magnificently displayed in an emerald green silk dress that merely served to showcase her flawless, creamy white complexion. Well that and her splendidly enormous breasts. She looked absolutely stunning and I told her that much. She was gracious as always of course, and politely repaid the complement, though I had trouble believing it in the diminishing spotlight of her beauty.

The evening was a wonderful one and surprisingly lively, too. Mrs. Salinger spoke more than I had ever heard her do in the two years we have been neighbours, regaling us with tales of her days as a young navy wife. When she giggled, her breasts did, too, and in such a way that all the eyes at the table were helplessly drawn to them- mine in disbelief, Tom and Robert’s in deep admiration. A swift kick under the table soon retrained Robert’s eyes above Mrs. Salinger’s neckline, and he offered me that silly apologetic grin of his. When we got back home that I night, I gushed some more about how incredibly lovely Mrs. Salinger looked and Robert couldn’t help but agree- although I suspected for entirely different reasons. He confirmed my suspicions when he said that he finally knew what it was Tom was making all that ruckus about in the early morning hours. I had to agree…

And it so happened that night we were again treated to Tom’s happy chorus. He was particularly enthusiastic, so much so, that I feared for my sleeping children’s delicate ears. Robert reassured me that they would no doubt sleep through it all, but still I couldn’t resist the urge to check in on them. I returned to find Robert stark naked masturbating a magnificent erection by the open window. Strains of Tom’s groans floated in through the window, filling our bedroom. Robert asked me if I wanted to make love downstairs, by the back door. He thought that we might better hear the happenings there. With an erection like the one he was sporting, I couldn’t help but oblige. I shucked off my nightie and made my way over to him. I’ve never worn a bra to bed… nor panties, for that matter. Stark naked, we made our way downstairs, and along the passageway to the kitchen before reaching the door that opens to the backyard. Robert propped it open with a chair and we sat on the cool tiled floor listening to the groans filling our yard. We tried desperately to discern even a glimpse of the goings on, but their curtains were tightly drawn. As always, it was an auditory performance.

I had Robert’s cock in hand, gently massaging his shaft. The night birds were out, with the occasional twitter as they fluttered from branch to branch. Their sounds soothed and relaxed me, as did the chirping of the crickets. I felt a little vulnerable sitting naked in the doorway the way we were and I leaned against Robert. I pressed my knees together trying to keep my privates just that, although I knew it was hardly likely that anyone could see us there in the dark. He put a most welcome arm around me. Together, we listened to our neighbour making love.

Tom grunts were guttural and laced with lots of heavy breathing. We agreed that we could hear furniture shifting- there was a heavy thud that came with every groan and we assumed, every stroke. We giggled together for a bit, but soon grew quiet as our desire mounted. I felt Robert plant a small kiss on the top of my head and then pull my face to his for a deep tender kiss. I kissed Robert back. My pussy was already wet from just imagining Tom & his wife in rapturous action, but now I throbbed for want of Robert and his very evident need. I pulled his hands down between my thighs, so that he could play in the copious moisture that had seeped out of me there. He slipped a finger into me, finger fucking me for a spell until desire got the better of us. I climbed onto his lap, straddled him quickly and then planted myself firmly on his rigid cock.

It was a hot, still summer night and thankfully one with a new moon that protected our dying modesty. We made love like that, two silhouettes made one in the dark doorframe, serenaded by Tom Salinger. His moans grew in intensity, as they always did and we timed our dance to his. Robert whispered in my ear that he wished to take me from behind. I got up and was about to kneel when he indicated that he wanted me standing. I braced my arms against the doorframe, leaning slightly forward so that he could enter me. The ascent of his cock into my pussy was exquisite. Robert licked the back of my neck, as he thrust into me, his hands planted firmly on my hips. Soon, I had to reach down between my legs to play with myself.

We were both keen to Tom’s groans, very much entranced escort elazığ and swimming in his ecstasy. It seemed that Tom was having the fuck of his life. The grunts that travelled across our yard now did not seem to punctuate effort; instead they implied a deep primal pleasure, so sporadic and guttural were his cries. This time, though, when Tom’s ecstatic cries approached a crescendo, a moan escaped my lips. Never one to be especially vocal when coupling, I think Robert was pleasantly taken aback. I brazenly whispered to Robert that I wanted him to fuck me. It was completely out of character for me, even though I do enjoy sex immensely. The feeling of hanging out the door, completely naked, was so liberating, and so very exhilarating that I just did not want to hold back. I wailed and cried out, too, matching Tom with my raucous caterwauling. Robert, it seemed liked that a lot, so much so that he pounded me right into a boisterous orgasm where I clamoured and begged out loud for his cock, my voice no doubt travelling well across our quiet yard.

In the stillness of the night, it seems my senses caught up to me as I came down from my orgasm. I didn’t hear a thing coming from the Salingers yard and my heart was thundering in my chest as Robert drove his cum home. I felt him shuddering behind me, gripping me so fiercely that I feared he would break me, so violent was his climax. I stood as steady as I could, accepting every stroke, waiting an eternity for him to be still. I was fixated on knowing whether we had been discovered. I voiced my concerns to Robert, when he finally was still, so very distraught over how I would ever be able to face them in the morning. Robert was unperturbed. He said that he really couldn’t see what I was fussing about, that we’d had a marvellous time. He went on to add, that if offence were to be taken, the Salingers would hardly have grounds. He disengaged himself, took my hand and told me he was going to bed. Irritatingly, I could find nothing to the contrary to add to Robert’s remarks and so I joined him there. To my surprise, I had a most restful sleep.

Over the next few days, I searched Mrs. Salinger’s face and studied her customarily detached behaviour for any signs of disapproval. The most I could discern was the smudge of a lingering grin when she told me good morning. I was desperate to know if she had heard us. For the life of me, I just couldn’t fathom why she mattered so much to me, especially considering that I already knew so much of her own personal business. It also bewildered me that I was so turned on by their nocturnal activities, and the itch to know more about them was driving me mad. Their behaviour, to me, seemed completely out of character for an older, conservative looking couple. I couldn’t help but wonder if all this started with them when their boys went off to school; they couldn’t possibly have been so rowdy with children at home. I confessed all this to Robert one night in bed. As I well expected he would, he told me I was making much of nothing and that I should really leave their business alone. Still, I was desperately curious as to why we never, not once heard so much as a groan from Mrs. Salinger. Robert concluded that Tom was a screamer and that his wife was not. He suggested that perhaps she did moan, but restrained herself like a certain someone he knows who did the exact same thing up until very recently. I glared at him. That night, we heard nothing from them. But over the next few nights, it was especially noisy. More so at our house.

Robert and I were becoming more and more adventurous thanks to the Salingers. Instead of being so confined to our bed, we were now at it all over the house. It got to the point that one night, we ventured right out into the middle of the yard and made love in the grass, right under a birch. We left a lamp on in the house that bathed us in a soft, filtered light as we lay there, blissfully oblivious to the outside world. Thankfully, the bugs were kind to us and we escaped with only a few small bites. We were not especially noisy though; by this time, I think the novelty was wearing off on us. For us, now, it was about reclaiming the sexual spontaneity we had lost with the arrival of our beautiful children. I felt like a brand new, sexually charged woman. As for Robert… well, I believe he was enjoying the brand new, sexually charged woman who was gracing his bed once more.

It was on this evening after a wonderful session of lovemaking, still basking in that tender afterglow that we heard strains of Tom’s groans again. We glanced over at their yard.

Their curtains were open. Wide open.

Robert and I could not help but wonder if they had intentionally been left that way. It was not something that we had ever seen them do before. We crept closer, forgetting that we were completely naked, until we were leaning against the fence. The sight of a bare-breasted Mrs. Salinger greeted us in her beautifully dressed dining room window. Before her, on his knees was Tom. She was fucking him with what looked elazığ escort bayan like a massive strap-on cock.

Well, my eyes were like saucers, but I just couldn’t pull them away. Aside from the shocking plundering Tom Salinger was receiving, I was amazed by Mrs. Salinger’s breasts. They were most definitely the largest I had ever seen, and they flapped softly against her belly as she worked. The strap on that was laced about the folds of her belly and between her large pale thighs riveted me. It was black and shiny in stark contrast to her complexion; shiny, I suppose from copious amounts of lube, and it measured, in my estimation a good eight inches. Robert’s animated comments floated right past my ears as I watched Mrs. Salinger plunge into her husband’s ass over and over with deep and deliberate precision. I could see that Tom was quite obviously excited by it all; his cock stood stiff in front of him and his balls were drawn up into a tight pink bulge that melded into his generous shaft. Mrs. Salinger was giving it to him good and hard- so much so, that he was rocking on his knees from her exertions. I searched Tom’s face. I was incredulous of his pleasure. To my surprise, though, I could see that he really did like it, so much so, that he met her thrusts, easing himself up and down that enormous rubber shaft. I turned to Robert, insisting that we had seen too much, that my curiousity had now been satisfied at the expense of my tender sensibilities. I demanded we go inside. Robert rubbished my protests. With a broad grin, he said that he never would have thought that Tom Salinger would’ve been the type, but good on him for letting go. I said nothing but turned to the window again, just in time to catch a wink from Tom and a big friendly wave from Mrs. Salinger.

Robert waved back, as I slunk under the hedge in a hot flush of embarrassment. I could not believe this was happening although it was now abundantly clear that they wanted us to watch. Truth be told- I so desperately wanted to see- and so I found my feet again. I slipped my hand around Robert’s stiffening cock and brought him off in our Azaleas as we watched the Salingers. The sight of Tom’s cum squirting out the end of his cock as his wife fucked him in the ass is one that I doubt I’ll ever forget. I can’t think of one single thing that could possibly make me wetter.

Well, I didn’t see Mrs. Salinger the next day, as it was Saturday, and so no post to collect. However our husbands spoke over the fence on Sunday as they did their weekly yard chores. Robert informed me that they were inviting us out for dinner next Saturday. We fully suspected that this time dinner would be a little different, courtesy of our recent unexpected encounter and so we carefully weighed our decision before telephoning them our acceptance. I finally admitted to Robert (and myself) how much the Salingers sexually excited me… and well, Robert was of the sort always open to new things…

Robert and I enjoyed frenzied lovemaking in the days leading up to the dinner. We openly exchanged noisy notes with our neighbours and even treated each other to a few live shows over the fence we shared. My face was red and hot the first time I took Robert’s cock in my mouth in a public audience but when he slid into my wet pussy, the thought of the Salingers eyes all over us made me wild with desire. By the time Saturday finally arrived, I was primed for our encounter, craving so desperately to go all the way with them.

I wore no panties to the restaurant and was wet with anticipation by the time we were seated. I stroked Robert’s semi-erection discreetly under the table until the Salingers arrived. We greeted each other warmly, but made no mention of our erotic activities over the past week. Not until Tom reached over and openly cupped his wife’s breast as she passed me the salt. I gathered the prominent nipple grazing his arm as she reached across him was nothing short of irresistible. It endeared me to see that there was still so much sexual tension between them, even after all those years of marriage. It made my pussy throb a little harder when Tom’s lips tenderly brushed his wife’s ear as he reached over to tuck up a runaway curl. I reached under the table for Robert again. His cock was unzippered and standing tall out of his fly. . I watched the Salingers smile as I took the fork from Robert’s hand, rested it on his plate and then brazenly guided his fingers under the table to my crotch. The Salingers’ eyes were locked at the edge of the table, so clearly knowing what we both enjoyed underneath. After a few blissful moments, evidenced by tightly pursed lips, I took Robert’s wet fingers from my pussy and smeared them brazenly across his lips. We all watched him taste me. I knew then, we all wanted to taste each other, too.

The ride back to the Salinger’s house was hazy to me. All I can remember is sitting in the car seat with my dress up about my waist and my feet on the dashboard. I had trimmed my pussy carefully, wanting to look as presentable as I could for the company we’d be entertaining, and Robert was basking in my efforts. Trimmed low, my juices spread easily to coat my swollen lips and Robert’s fingers were squelching in and out of me by the time we pulled up in the driveway. I was so horny, I was gagging for it. I told Robert as much. He squeezed my hand.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

As I entered the men’s room, the automatic lights came on. No one has been in here in 15mins, I think to myself. I often wonder if they were motion activated or not, and if they might cut out if I was sitting for a long period in a stall.

It was just after 7pm, and I was working late. I had been wrapped up in getting the new network setup and as usual time flew by. It seems to slow down just before 4pm, when all the other employees begin to wind down their day. However this is when I’m just getting started. My schedule is adjusted to ensure I’m making changes when none of the other employees need the network. So needless to say I got to sleep in this morning. That’s always a good thing.

I make my way to the urinal. As usual I scan to see which one is cleaner, check for one overflowing and check the floor for spillage. None of which are present, the cleaning staff arrived early today, and had cleaned the bathroom very well. I unzip my trousers and move my underwear to relieve my cock of its confines and commence with urination.

Just as the flow ebbs I hear what sounds like a stall door opening, my first thought is that some one came in while I was peeing and I totally missed them, but then I thought that the door would still….

“Are you done?!!!” came the commanding voice over my shoulder as some one came closer to me.

“Did the janitor just give me crap for peeing in his clean urinal?” I think. “Well fuck him?”

“I’m just finishing up” I say angrily, yet politely and as I begin to put my cock away I think “More that two shakes is a wank (a childhood saying about masturbation)”

Now I’m aware of that all too familiar presents when someone is standing way too close to you without your permission. This invokes my adrenaline and I turn prepared for “fight or flight”. However, due to the person’s proximity, I’m not able to do either, instead it causes me to loose my balance and I stumble back onto the urinal. I’m almost sitting in it. I would be if I were 2 inches taller….

This stranger is standing right in my face, wearing a suit that seemed to fit someone a little larger than them. I look into the brownest eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m aware of brown hair. Then I have a moment of clarity and I realize much to my delight and unnerving that it’s Dominic……..

“Oh, wow I’m glad it’s you…! You scared the cra….”

“Shut the fuck up!” Dominic says, “What took you so long?”

“What do you mean?” I ask in total bewilderment.

“You should have been in here 20 minutes ago!!! Didn’t you get my message?”

“Message?” I ask.

I try to recall the messages I have received recently. Then I quickly realize my sidekick is on my desk charging.

“I’m so sorry; I was in the server room and….”

“I didn’t come here for excuses…….” Dominic interrupts again.

I hadn’t seen Dominic in over 6 months, erzurum escort but the relationship we have is consistent. When Dominic and I get together, it’s always a sexual encounter. I was introduced to Dominic on the night of my birthday two years ago. It was lust at first sight. I had considered myself straight, never had any interest in another male. I had been told many times I’m as straight as a broken arrow. With Dominic all inhibitions go out the window.

“Are you hard?” Dominic asks although I can tell it is said not as a question but a demand….

Dominic reaches down before I can answer and grabs a hold of my rapidly hardening cock through my pants, then proceeds to stroke vigorously on my increasing expansion. Dominic’s eyes were burning a hole in mine daring me to move. But all that I dared to move was my erection…

“Mmmmm…..that’s what I wanted….”

Dominic pushes me away from the urinal and over to the wall, then kisses me with a flourish and bites my lip.

“You’re gonna like this!”

Dominic then proceeds to drop to eye level with my belt, undo it, then grab my pants and underwear and yank everything to the floor. Well, all except for my erection, that’s instantly pointing in the opposite direction.

Now, I know that Dominic gives an awesome blow job, (I’ve been on the winning end of many) so I settle back to enjoy another. With signs that I will be receiving one again, Dominic begins as always by looking, lightly touching and smelling my dick. I feel tender licks on the underside of my shaft, just below the opening. As the flicking tongue makes its way south I become aware of tugging on my balls. They are then manipulated, and fondled gently. I can feel the heat of Dominic’s mouth near my swollen head and my body urges to push forward. My hard member is now fully erect and Dominic starts to stroke my erection. The skin on in the area around my uncircumcised head begins to dry. Dominic draws back and spits saliva onto my dick, then uses this wetness to moisten my whole length. The stroking continues, as I feel a tongue again on my sack. This time the tongue explores a lot more, eventually reaching my taint. This of course, has me biting on my lip in ecstasy. Then the licking stops, as I begin to get frustrated, the stroking of my dick is replaced to the warmth and restrictions of an oral cavity. I look down and see lips encompassing my cock and watch it start as a complete member and disappear inch by inch until its all mouth and a penile nub.

I stare into Dominic’s brown eyes as they stare back at me. They are a mixture of powerful confidence and quizzical observation. This familiar look drives me nuts (no pun intended.) I let out a moan, close my eyes and lift my head.

Dominic, in response to this show of enjoyment, starts to rapidly bob up and down on my cock. I can feel escort erzurum the tip and the shaft being sucked on and released as the vacuum moves along my member.

I open my eyes again and look down. Despite all of this dick in Dominic’s mouth, I can still see a smile emanating from the lips engulfing 3/4 of my cock. Dominic stops abruptly, and then slowly tries to inch a little more in, then a little more, again a piece. Now I can’t see any of my cock.

But Dominic wants more, by reaching both hands around and grabbing my ass cheeks and pull me closer, I’m forced deeper. I strain at the depth.

Then I hear it, a slight gag. Dominic pulls off my cock with a look that combines that of excess, regurgitation, and goofiness. My reaction is different, this turns me on. After a moment passes, to let the sensation ebb, Dominic attacks my dick again. Now I’m real close to orgasm. I can feel it building. I need the consistent rhythms to finish. I reach down and grab a fist full of hair. This holds Dominic’s head in place; I begin to move my hips. This of course feels good, but can be dangerous, especially when the person to whom you do this is in control of the encounter.

I get my gut scratched. This brings me back to a calm state. I look down and Dominic pulls free of my grip and gets up off the floor. We are staring each other eye to eye, and I know from that look that I have fucked up.

“So you like it rough do you?”

“Yes?” I respond apprehensively……….

“Give me your hand”

I present my hand palm up. All I could think of is receiving a slap of leather across it as a kid, when I had to receive punishment in my catholic middle school.

Dominic takes my hand and lowers it to a fully erect hard-on straining to escape their slacks.

“You like that don’t you?”

“Oh Fuck! Yes!”

“Only if you do a good job”

Dominic grabs my shirt and spins us both around to trade places. I am then guided by a hand holding a fist full of hair, down onto my knees.

“Stroke it!!”

I do as instructed. I feel the length, sitting sideways in its confines.

I begin to trace my lips over the outline. I can feel the ridges on the side. I am sure I can feel it throbbing in my hands. I look you to see Dominic’s facial expression and the look is a mixture of enjoyment and eagerness.

I begin to open the zipper and reach into the under wear. I free this gorgeous member. I can do nothing but stare at it. Now I know why Dominic looks at mine. I lean in to smell it, and then realize the hand on my hair is gripping tight again. Dominic likes this….

“Wet it!” Dominic growls,

So I do the first thing that comes to my mind, I spit on it. I next reach up and begin to stroke its length. I again look up and see Dominic’s brown eyes, half closed, watching everything detail of my actions. erzurum escort bayan I being to do things that I know I like being done to me.

I reach inside the zipper and start playing with the balls. I tug them a little and stroke them. Then I lean forward and tentatively take the cock head into my mouth, just barely at first. I flick the crown and swirl my tongue around the sides. I then begin to bob up and down on the first 2 inches. This sensation gets a moan and some hip movement from Dominic. I the reach up and run a hand along Dominic’s stomach and chest. I reach over and find a nipple. I give it a light pinch. I then begin to play softly with it.

This produces a response in Dominic’s hips, they begin to surge forward to try and get more dick in my mouth. Dominic pulls tight on my hair again and pulls me off and turns my head up to look.

“Now you will see what its like!” Dominic says, regaining complete control.

“Oh shit!” is all I can try to say.

Dominic begins thrusting my head onto the first half of what seemed to be ever growing cock. The more I am “encouraged” to take in, the longer it seems to grow. I am now aware of the dick in the back of my throat. I know in the next surge or two I will gag. I was wrong, I lasted three. My body tensed and my throat convulsed. I no longer felt in control. I pulled away. Dominic realized my discomfort and let go of my head. I calmed down and realized that I wasn’t going to do that again to others.

That was rough.

“Lesson learned?” Dominic asked, but I could see that it was a statement rather than a question.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Come here” Dominic said. I stood up, bumping into the erect cock sticking straight out. Dominic flinched a little at the contact. So as I completed the process of standing I played with the tip.

Dominic reached down and grabbed both of my ass cheeks.

“So you want to fuck?”

“Yes!!” I reply

“Good” then I get slammed face first into the wall. Dominic’s face is now down level with my ass. My cheeks are spread open and I feel a warm tongue exploring me. My body reacts by puckering. This elicits a slap on the ass.

“Open them up wide!” is the command barked at me.

But the follow up statement is what actually worked.

“…..or I’ll stop!”

I force myself to relax. I feel a hand reach under my legs and begin to play with my balls. This is heaven. I let out a moan.

“I know you like it” Dominic says, “how about this?”

I then feel a finger right on the rim of my ass.

“This is going to hur……….!”

I never find out. Dominic’s phone rings and everything stops! Dominic takes a look at the caller ID and quickly says

“Hello, this is Jane……….oh..ok..poor sweetie….ok, yes I got him………no problem……yes……we will be home in 20 minutes.”

Jane looks at me. The Strap-on Dildo she is wearing, looking out of place now that the mood is broken.

“Sorry Honey, The baby sitter is not feeling well. She is running a temperature, so your birthday present will have to wait until the kids are asleep.”

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Divya Prasad was a feared woman in the office. Strict, dominant, and not at all afraid to call you out if you screwed up. Her harsh nature was matched only by her beauty. Jet black hair with a light streak or two of gray, dark brown eyes, and a tall, womanly figure that she would often use for intimidation. Firm B-cup breasts, and a surprisingly ample butt for her 44 years of age, accentuated by her tight blouses and skirts. A lot of the more crass men in the office would remark in hushed tones how she’d be ‘more fuckable if she wasn’t such a ball-buster’.

Of all her assets, however, what I was drawn most to were her feet. She wore the same pair of black heels everyday, and I’d often fantasize about how they must smell trapped in those prisons. Whenever the chance presented itself, I would steal glances, and would usually be rewarded with a brief view of her stocking-clad feet before she whirled around and barked at me to get back to work, with me just barely avoiding getting caught eye-molesting her feet.

My fetish ended up getting me in trouble, however. When she yelled at me to come into her office one day, my blood turned to ice. I walked to her office on shaky legs, ignoring the snickers and sneers of my coworkers.

“Yes, Ms. Prasad?” came my voice in a squeaky tone as I entered her office.

She slammed down the sheaf of papers she’d been shuffling, making me jump. “Close the door and sit down.” she ordered in a clipped tone.

I shut the door and took the armchair in front of her. She folded her hands on her desk and looked at me coldly. I tried to avoid her hawkish gaze by focusing on her bindi, but my attention was snapped back to her when she cleared her throat.

“Do you know why I called you in here?” she asked in that sexy accent of hers, but it came out as more of a statement.

I didn’t, but I didn’t want to say that and anger her further. “Did I make some kind of typo or error on the last report?”

She frowned. Clearly that wasn’t the right answer. “Uh…did one of the coworkers say something? Was it about me being late to the meeting last week? Did I-“

“Stop talking.” I stopped talking. “I have another question for you, Mr. Brown. Do I look stupid to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

She clucked her tongue. “Is that so? Then why is it you think that I don’t notice you staring at my feet?”

My throat immediately went dry as my cheeks flared. “I-I-I…”

“Have you lost the ability to speak as well as use common sense?” she snapped. Divya stood and slammed her hands on her desk. “Do you realize, young man, that I can have you fired for sexual misconduct? That I can ruin your reputation, your very life, with a single phone call to HR?”

I clasped my hands together and started pleading. “Please, Ms. Prasad, I really, really need this job. I’ll do anything.”

A cruel smile made its way to her ruby red lips. “Anything? Is that so?”

I nodded. “Yes, anything. Just don’t fire me. I’ll erzincan escort stay late, I’ll take a dock in pay, I’ll-“

“Be quiet!” I shut my mouth, wringing my hands nervously.

Divya clicked the intercom on her desk. “Sheila?” she spoke, addressing her personal assistant. “Hold all my calls. I’m not to be disturbed for the remainder of the day.”

“Yes, Ms. Prasad.” came the assistant’s voice.

Divya turned her attention to me again. “From the moment you started working for me, I thought there was something strange about you. Something I couldn’t quite place. But then I figured it out when I caught you staring at my feet. You have a foot fetish, don’t you?”

I stayed silent, hanging my head in shame.

“Answer me!”

“Y-Yes, I do.”

She laughed, and even though I knew I was in deep trouble, it was still an incredibly arousing sound to hear. “I had a husband like you, once. A foot boy who would cater to my every whim. Even if it meant humiliating himself at the lowest part of my body.” She frowned. “Then that wretched man had the gall to leave me, saying I was too dominating, that my feet were too strong, that he couldn’t take the smell and submission anymore.”

My heart was hammering in my chest now. A bead of sweat broke on my forehead and slowly rolled down.

“I always wondered when I’d find my next foot boy. And fate has delivered one right into my lap.” With the wicked smile back on her face, she swung her legs and placed them on the desk. “Take off my shoes.”

I didn’t know if she was planning on making good on her threat of firing me, but I didn’t want to find out. That, and I was incredibly turned on, and was getting the chance to get to the feet I’ve fantasized about for years.

“Don’t keep me waiting!” I nodded, gripped a shoe, and started pulling it off. “Hurry up! You’re so slow!”

The shoe finally came off, and I was hit with a sucker punch of foot odor. I coughed and sputtered, gagging at the sudden, sour smell. Divya laughed mockingly. “You men are all the same. Can’t handle a little smelly feet. Get the other one, too!”

The other one took as much effort to get off as the first, and smelled just as powerful. In no time at all, the room became filled with the smell of my boss’s feet. They looked sexy as hell in her tan nylons, and I could just make out the dark purple of her toenails.

“Alright, get to rubbing them. Now.” There was a dangerous, impatient edge to the last word. I reached to grab a foot and began massaging.

Her feet were nice and soft, but my god, were they sweaty. My hands slipped a few times, and after she threatened to call and report my little staring episodes again, I made more of an effort to hold on. I pressed my thumbs into her sole and gently rubbed the balls of her feet, growing harder and harder. “That’s nice…” she purred, closing her eyes and lying back in her chair. “I was planning on firing you in a month, escort erzincan but I’m glad I kept you around. You’ll make a far better foot boy than employee.”

I blushed and began working on the next one. Divya moaned as I massaged, her smile growing wider. “It feels so wonderful to have someone massage my feet after such a long day. In fact, this will be one of your new duties. Every day, you are to give me three foot massages; one first thing in the morning, one at lunch, and one when the work day is over.” She grinned. “But don’t think that’s all.”

She kicked my hands away and pulled her legs towards herself. She slipped off her nylons and tossed them on her desk, presenting her now bare feet to me. The smell was stronger now that her feet were bare, and the bottoms were peppered with sweat, bits of dirt, and grime.

“Are you erect right now? Honestly?” Divya laughed as I tried to awkwardly cover the tent in my pants. “This must be heaven for you, pervert. Get down on your knees.”

I was starting to like this feeling of surrendering control, of obeying a powerful, dominant woman. Getting out of the chair and falling to my knees, I crawled over to the desk, awaiting further orders.

“Smell my feet.”

I took both of her size 11s and pressed my face into them. My erection throbbed painfully as the cheesy vinegar scent of her feet filled my nose. My face became greasy with her foot sweat as she rubbed them all over.

“That’s it, foot boy.” she teased. “Smell my stinky feet. Get used to it, too, because you’re going to do this a lot for a long, long time.” I had no complaints about that. “And from now on, when we’re alone, you are to address me as ‘Mistress Prasad’ or ‘Lady Divya’. Is that understood, slave?”

“Yes…” I whispered dreamily as I sniffed her feet.

“Yes, what?” she spat icily.

“Yes, Mistress Prasad.”

She was all smiles again. “Good boy. Now lick my stinky feet.”

My dick was on the verge of exploding. Sticking out my tongue, I started from the heel, and did a long, slow lick up her foot. The taste was overwhelming, and really salty. I continued to lick, up and down, up and down, until she slapped me with her other foot.

“Don’t forget in between the toes.” she scolded.

“Yes, Mistress Prasad.”

I nearly gagged when I stuck my tongue between her toes, the dirtiest, sweatiest, smelliest part. Every nook and cranny of her toes was filled with toe cheese, but I was too horny to be as disgusted by it as I should have. Divya laughed as I gulped down the bits of dead skin and toe gunk, telling me to give the same treatment to her other foot. I did, and no matter how much I licked or how much of her toe cheese I swallowed, the smell wouldn’t go away.

“I cannot tell you how happy I am to have a foot boy again.” Divya giggled, nearly making me stop. I’d never heard the boss giggle before. It was sweet, cute, in a way. “Keep going.” she hissed. “I erzincan escort bayan certainly didn’t tell you to stop.” I went back to licking her feet and sucking her toes.

“There are going to be some new rules.” she stated, crossing her feet. I kept licking, alternating feet. “As I said before, you will give me a minimum of thrice daily massages, and when we are alone, I will be referred to as either Mistress Prasad or Lady Divya. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress Prasad.” I mumbled through a mouthful of toes.

“But there are a few other rules, as well. Whenever we’re alone, you’re to kneel at my feet, say ‘I live to serve’, and kiss my shoes until I say stop. You are also to follow any order I give, without question. The only thing I want to hear out of that slave mouth is ‘Yes, mistress’ or ‘Thank you, mistress’. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Mistress Prasad. Thank you, Mistress, Prasad.”

Divya smiled. “Good boy. You know your place, and your inferiority. Failure to follow any of my commands will be met with…severe punishment. I might tie a heel to your face and leave you bound and gagged under my desk.”

My heart pounded at that thought. That sounded less like a punishment and more like a reward, but I didn’t say anything.

“Get up.” she commanded. “Get one of my heels and take off your pants and underwear.”

Nervous, but excited, I picked up one of her smelly heels while pulling down my jeans and boxers. I briefly saw her eyes widen as my rock-hard cock sprung out. “Goodness.” she growled lustily. “I suppose it is true what they say about black men. I wouldn’t mind feeling that cock between my feet one day…”

“Thank you, Mistress Prasad.” I replied, feeling strangely flattered.

“Now, I want you to smell that heel while you masturbate.”

If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up. “Yes, Mistress Prasad.” I buried my face in the heel and started pumping. The smell of her sweaty feet mixed with the worn leather of her heels filled me up, and my erection grew ever larger.

“That’s it, stroke it, slave.” Her voice was silken and steel, dominant and encouraging, feet mesmerizing as she scrunched her soles and wiggled her toes. “Smell the odor of my stinky feet and jerk that cock. Do it. Harder.” She slapped her hand on the desk and smiled cruelly. “I said, harder! Smell my stinky heel!”

I’d only been at it for a minute or two but I felt like I was going to cum any second. The sight of her feet teasing me and the acrid, sour smell of her shoe was driving me mad, as was the dominant, sexy glare she was giving me. I groaned as I came, spurting my seed on her desk.

“Disgusting…” Divya spat. She reached into her drawer and pulled out a box of tissues. “Wipe down my desk and clean yourself up before you leave. I want you back in here just before closing.”

“Yes, Mistress Prasad.” I replied as I began cleaning her desk, cock and balls still bobbing freely. “Thank you so much, Mistress Prasad.”

“And Mr. Brown?” I looked up at her to see her smiling. Not a cruel or mocking or dominant smile. Just a normal, actually normal, sweet smile. Again, she scrunched her soles and wiggled her toes, and I could feel myself getting hard all over again.

“Welcome to slavery.”

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By noon the next day Rachael had finished reading the rules and had moved on to a list and description of various reward and punishment methods. The latter was on a laptop that had been provided in her living space. It was a long and thorough document. It had over 300 ideas each for rewards and punishments. Every method was described in detail and many had pictures or even videos accompanying them. In four hours Rachael had only gotten through a few dozen of the punishments. She kept getting distracted; just reading about the means of discipline made her very horny and she’d had to stop twice to finger herself off to an orgasm just to try and be able to focus. She’d just gotten back into reading after lunch when there was a knock at her door dissimilar to the style of Mrs. Heyward the day before.

Rachael opened the door wearing just her white bathrobe. The robe was nothing special or intentionally sexy but Rachael looked very good in it, nonetheless, with damp hair. Outside her door was Carl. When Rachael saw the slightly portly groundskeeper she more than half expected him to display signs of awkwardness considering her current appearance. When Carl seemed to show no signs of being off-put Rachael realized that he must have seen some pretty crazy things in his time at Dramatus.

“Miss.” he began after Rachael welcomed him. “Mrs. Heyward wanted me ta tell ye that she’d like to meet with ye at 5:00 sharp this eave’in. She wanted me to inform ye that yer not’n to eat no dinner before commin’. She’lla be waitin’ for ye in her office.” Carl then described where Mrs. Heyward’s office was. He gave a bow and left.

Rachael figured Mrs. Heyward wanted to have dinner with her and discuss how she was to proceed. Rachael set to the computer documents with a renewed determination to get through it all before her dinner with the assistant principal. Through sheer will and determination Rachael managed to keep her hands off herself and by the time 4:00 rolled around she had gotten through all of the punishments and had just gotten into the rewards. She relegated herself to having to finish it after dinner and got herself cleaned up a bit. Quite worked up from all the reading, she again had to restrain from letting her hand stray south when she stood in front of a long mirror wearing only a pair of light green panties. She admired her slender and toned body for a few minutes before forcing herself to put on a slim black dress and black heals. She donned her makeup and headed out to meet with Mrs. Heyward.

Mrs. Heyward’s office was in the converted mansion with all the classrooms. At this time of the evening there were only a few students in the halls, probably for play practice or something of the like Rachael figured. They all seemed friendly, smiling and saying hello as they passed. As Rachael reached her destination she knocked lightly on the door.

“You may enter” she heard Mrs. Heyward’s distinctive voice call out from the other side of the door. Upon entering the office Rachael saw that it wasn’t anything too unexpected or unusual for a school administrator’s office with the exception of the expensive looking furniture, decor, and lighting; left over from the building’s years as a decadent mansion. Mrs. Heyward stood and smiled at Rachael, greeting her as she walked in. Rachael returned the greeting and sat in a chair across from Mrs. Heyward.

“Have you made your decision Rachael?” she asked with the hint of a knowing smile featured on her expression.

“I have” Rachael replied, now with a few butterflies in her stomach. The moment was here when she would officially agree to place herself into a situation she had never even dreamed could actually exist.

“And?” probed the silver haired woman.

“I am very excited to spend the next several months, and maybe even more, her at Dramatus University for Young Adults.” Rachael tried to keep her tone in control but she was smiling uncontrollably and her voice was clearly showing her excitement.

“I’m so glad to hear that Rachael. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have such a promising, and beautiful, young teacher here at Dramatus.”

The two expressed gratitude towards each other and made small talk about what was to come for a few minutes.

“Well,” Mrs. Heyward said. “Have you had a chance to read the rules or the rewards and punishments?”

“I read all the rules and am more than half way through the rewards and punishments but there’s just so many I wasn’t able to get through them all.”

Mrs. Heyward smiled sympathetically. “I know dear, there’s a lot to read. Don’t worry about it, you’ll have plenty of time to get through it all. I was mostly just concerned that you read the rules. As you have now read them, you may beware that we have a slight issue which we must address.” Mrs. Heyward’s smile faded and so did Rachael’s along with her.

“What issue is that?” Rachael asked, concerned because she didn’t know to what Mrs. Heyward was referring.

“This dear” she said as she reached into a drawer in her large desk and pulled out a bottle of rum that was still mostly full. “Carl gaziantep escort found this in your room when he cooked your dinner last night. As you are now aware, there is no alcohol allowed on campus without prior approval from a member of the school administration. This rule applies to both students and professors.”

Mrs. Heyward let this information sink in as Rachael quickly played out scenarios in her head trying to anticipate where this was going. She had completely forgotten about the bottle of rum and hadn’t even thought about it when she read that rule.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Mrs. Heyward. I hadn’t read through the rules when I’d brought that into my cottage. I can dispose of it immediately.”

The old teacher took on a tone of dissatisfaction that had put ice water into the veins of countless pupils and peers in the past. Rachael was no exception. “At my school ignorance of the rules has never, and will never be an excuse for disobedience.” She looked at Rachael with cold blue eyes and the young woman felt a chill run down her spine and extend to her fingers. Then Mrs. Heyward spoke the words Rachael was hoping not to hear.

“I’m afraid you will need to be punished Miss. Rachael.” Mrs. Heyward sat motionless and let what she’d said sink in.

For a few moments Rachael looked with wide eyes at the woman across from her. She’d just gotten done learning about all the possible punishments and while many of them and gotten her very turned on the prospect of actually being the recipient of some of them was now not something for which Rachael was too sure she was ready. Rachael’s shock at the realization of what was going to happen to her lasted only a fleeting moment. She quickly composed herself and acknowledged what had been said.

“I understand Mrs. Heyward. I broke the rules and I deserve punishment for that.” She found the act of speaking those words physically difficult but knew it was what she should say.

“I knew you would understand Rachael. Now I realize that this is your first punishment, that you were in your first day here, and that your infraction for having alcohol is less severe than if a student would have had it. Despite these things I have decided to give you a standard punishment that a student would receive for such an infraction. Your punishment will involve light to moderate pain and moderate sexual humiliation. Follow me and we will proceed to the punishment room.”

With that Mrs. Heyward stood and walked out of the room. Rachael followed to her destination with trepidation. Along with being nervous about being punished she also found that she was very excited. She wasn’t sure what the punishment was going to be, but she was determined to be ready for it and to take it well.

The punishment room looked much like the reward room only instead of comfortable furniture there were many intricate looking bondage machines and devices. In the back of the room there was a young male student, nude, with his hands bound and attached to the ceiling above his head. The boy’s legs were being spread by anklets chained to the floor. Between his legs was a machine of some sort with an arm reaching up to his erect penis. At the end of this arm was a feather that was being repeatedly moved back and forth along the underside of his engorged cock. There was another man attending to the youth. Rachael saw this second man pump his hand along the bound student’s cock presumably keeping it hard as the feather tormented the young man, keeping him on the edge for longer than could possibly be enjoyable. Rachael wondered how long he’d been there and how long he’d have to endure his punishment. His body was covered in glistening sweat and his face clearly showed the signs of his discomfort and frustration.

Rachael’s attention was soon refocused on Mrs. Heyward as she had the desk assistant, another attractive, slightly older man, come over to her. Mrs. Heyward held the bottle of rum out to the man. “This was found in Miss Rachael’s room. She is to be disciplined for this breakage of rules by punishment number 132.”

“Understood” said the man. He looked at Rachael as he took the bottle of rum. “Remove your clothing, quickly” he said with confidence.

Rachael timidly began to undress in front of this man and her boss and the few other people in the room who may happen to watch.

“I said quickly!” the man said more forcefully.

Rachael briskly pulled her tight black dress over her head. She stepped out of her shoes as she reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. As soon as these two things were done she pushed her panties down and stepped out of them. She was now completely nude and she fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. She had the vague thought that she hadn’t felt nearly this self conscious when she was in the reward room with Bethany but was too preoccupied to dwell on the reasons for this.

Mrs. Heyward spoke “Pick them up and place them neatly in a cubby.” Along the wall were a series of shelves where Rachael placed her clothing and walked back over to Mrs. Heyward. The man had escort gaziantep gone into what appeared to be one of a few bathrooms the doors to which were along the right wall of the large room. “James has gone to prepare your enema, come with me.”

Mrs. Heyward led Rachael to what looked like a medical chair with stirrups. “Lay down and place your ankles in the stirrups please.” instructed Mrs. Heyward. Rachael laid down on her back and had to raise and spread her legs to place her ankles in position. She was now very aware of her vulnerable pussy completely on display and her face flushed bright red. Mrs. Heyward secured Rachael’s legs with Velcro straps. She then moved to Rachael’s sides and secured the young blonde’s arms to the side of the chair with the same kind of Velcro straps. Rachael was now pinned down and she started to get very nervous. If she were an asthmatic she’d probably be hyperventilating. As it was her bare chest and taught stomach heaved quickly and deeply as she awaited what was to come.

Mrs. Heyward stepped on a pedal that lowered the upper part of the chair and placed Rachael in a completely laying down position save for her elevated and spread legs. Mrs. Heyward ran a delicate hand from Rachael’s neck down through her cleavage, slowly along her belly, towards her pelvis and lightly brushed Rachael’s spread pussy lips. Rachael gasped at the pleasurable sensations and it caused her breathing to slow a bit.

“From now on I want you to keep this beautiful sex of yours clean shaven at all times. Do you understand?”

Rachael nodded her head and through her heavy breaths whispered “yes.”

Now James returned with a large water bag and hooked it to a pole on the side of the medical chair. “This will be a little cold” he said, and with a rubber gloved hand he spread a generous amount of lubrication on Rachael’s anus. He slipped a greased finger into her rectum and Rachael chirped at the unexpected sensation. “She’s very tight. I don’t think she’s ever had much up here if anything at all.”

“Are you an anal virgin Rachael?” Mrs. Heyward asked matter-of-factly.

Rachael paused as James inserted a nozzle into Rachael’s well lubricated but tight opening. The nozzle was attached to a hose that extruded from the water bag. “I am” she said in an airy voice. She’d wondered in the past if she’d enjoy anal sex but was a bit too afraid to try it out of the blue with anyone she’d been with. She might have mentioned that she’d tried inserting a couple of her smaller dildos and vibrators up her ass and had enjoyed it if she hadn’t currently been existing entirely in the moment and unable to think of anything but what she was feeling.

James twisted something on the nozzle and Rachael began to feel a warmth start to poor into her. “Oh my god!” she gasped at the unfamiliar feeling. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed even louder and a smile began to curl her lips. “Oh wow it’s warm. Oh my……Oh my!”

“This enema is special Rachael, do you know why?” asked Mrs. Heyward. Rachael had read about this punishment but she was experiencing far too much stimulus to be able to recollect it’s details. She simply shook her head no in answer.

“This enema is part water, but mostly the rum we found in your room.” Rachael heard the words but they didn’t mean much to her. “Did you know that the fastest means for alcohol to enter into the blood stream is through the walls of the anal passage?”

“What?” asked Rachael trying to understand what was being said as her anus and bowels began to feel warm and full in a way that was actually pleasurable as well as feeling very strange.

“You’re going to get very drunk very quickly Rachael.” She placed her hand on the strapped down woman’s abdomen. “This is just a 1.25 liter enema so it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to hold. Once you start to become full you will feel cramping in your stomach. This will be similar to very intense menstrual cramping pains but somewhat different. You will feel that you need to use the toilet immediately but I trust you will be able to restrain yourself. When you are full you will be released from these bonds and will have a task to perform. While still holding your enema you must fellate James. The standard time for an enema to be held is five minutes. But you will hold yours until you bring James to orgasm. The better your skill the quicker you will be able to release and the less pain you will endure. Are you starting to feel the cramps yet?”

As Mrs. Heyward said this Rachael was feeling very full. Too full in fact, to the point of being quite uncomfortable. Then as more and more liquid steamed into her she began to feel the cramps. “Oh god.” She said. A few moments later the pain became more intense. “Oh god, oh god!” She said now more loudly.

“By the time you have earned your release I suspect you will be fairly intoxicated. It is then that you will receive the final part of your punishment. Once you have released your enema you will be required to release an orgasm. You will impale yourself upon a stationary dildo and ride it until you gaziantep escort bayan cum. Now because you will be drunk it may be more difficult than you expect to bring yourself to orgasm. I suggest you try to cum quickly before your natural lubricant dries which is another side effect of intoxication as you will not be allowed artificial lubricant and you will not be allowed to cease trying to cum until you do, in fact, cum.”

Rachael heard what Mrs. Heyward was saying but she was now in a substantial amount of pain. She had no idea an enema would cause such severe cramps in her stomach.

“There” James said. “That’s all of it. Clench down now, I’m going to remove the nozzle and we don’t want any leaking.” Rachael squeezed her rectum around the nozzle and James slowly pulled it out. A small squirt of liquid accompanied the removal of the nozzle but Rachael managed to keep the bulk of her burden inside her. James unstrapped Rachael’s feet and arms and helped her to stand from the table. “On your knees now Miss Rachael” he said.

Gingerly Rachael descended to her knees, a pillow was there for her to kneel on. Instead of just going to her knees Rachael bent over onto her left hand and with her right she clutched her stomach.

“Please Mrs. Heyward. It hurts, I don’t think I can hold it long. It really hurts.” Rachael’s teeth clenched as she tried to hold in the liquid and even as she knelt there pleading for early release she began to feel the effects of the rum.

Mrs. Heyward adopted a harsh tone. “Do not beg to me bitch! Your punishment will not be modified! Your release will be attained only when you have cum on your face, slut, so you’d do well to start sucking!”

Rachael moaned but despite everything she found herself getting incredibly turned on by the way Mrs. Heyward was talking to her. She composed herself, still bent at the waist, and unfastened James’ pants. She pulled down his jeans and lavender boxer-briefs unceremoniously now attempting to end her agony and gain the release she wanted badly.

James’ penis was clean shaven, dark in complexion, large, and half erect already. Rachael had seen few prettier cocks but she was in too much of a hurry to enjoy it’s sight. She dove her face into James’ crotch, immediately taking his warm piece into her mouth. She sucked hard and flicked her tongue around the head. It wasn’t long before James was completely erect and in rhythm with her head bobbing Rachael began to stroke the thick shaft with her right hand. She cupped his balls lightly with her left hand and worked diligently on his member. She removed James’ dick from her mouth to let out whimpers or screams at the pain in her stomach.

Rachael began to enjoy her task and was getting hornier and hornier. She was also getting more drunk with each passing minute. As she gave the most tiring blow job she’d ever given she fought against the unrelenting pressure in her anus and kept the water inside body. She also struggled against the cramps that were also not diminishing. In fact it was more the pain than the sensation of needing to expel that drove her to furiously try to bring James to orgasm. It was then that she remembered a trick that had been so effective on one of her boyfriends that once she applied it he would cum in about ten seconds every time.

Rachael removed her left hand from James’ sack and reached it around to her ass. With her index finger she scooped up as much lube from her back opening as she could. Never stopping her sucking, bobbing, and pumping she reached her left hand between James’ legs and pressed her finger to the opening of his anus. She slowly started to press her finger into James and the handsome man made new sounds of pleasure Rachael had not previously elicited from him. Rachael wiggled her finger inside the warm cavity pressing down and pushing it in and out. Sure enough, this seemed to do the trick for James.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. Oh god yes!”

Even though Rachael heard the words they didn’t quite register to her. First she felt James’ ass clench onto her finger. Then she gagged a bit as he pumped his hips into her mouth. This caused her to cough just as James began to cum. She never stopped her hand though and the large cock exploded onto Rachael’s face. Despite her agony Rachael continued to pump penis and finger ass hole until the orgasm was finished and she had a large load of semen on her face. Some had even dripped down onto her tits and a bit had gotten in her mouth.

Desperately Rachael looked up to Mrs. Heyward who was now rubbing herself through her clothes as she watched the display. “MAY I PELASE RELEASE!?” she pleaded loudly.

“Do not wipe any of that cum off of yourself. And yes, you may now go release.”

Mrs. Heyward had not even finished her sentence before Rachael was standing, hunched over, and rushing towards one of the bathrooms. Rachael began to expel her enema the instant she sat down and she screamed as the flow of liquid from her body seemed to be endless. She sat for a good 20 minutes making sure everything was out and recovering from the pain of the cramps which still had not subsided completely. It was only after a few minutes of sitting that she realized the room was spinning around her. She wasn’t completely drunk, but she was heavily buzzed. She didn’t know how long it took her to bring James to orgasm but she figured it must have been at least ten minutes.

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My name is Ellie, and I was an alcoholic. Not a great way for someone who’s barely 21 to introduce herself, but at least now I can say was rather than am… at least most of the time. Cut me a little slack though, growing up dirt poor in the big city isn’t easy, and I made it through mostly unscathed. Didn’t flunk out, didn’t get pregnant, didn’t get shot, and didn’t terminally damage my kidneys, though I came close to a few of those (okay, maybe most of them). However, those are stories for a different time.

At 21, I had mostly turned my life around. I was doing decent in college; had mostly stopped drinking, most of the time; and had met Dan, my first boyfriend who wasn’t a gang-banger. But my previous lifestyle had left some marks: after getting my act cleaned up, my doctor (the first I’d seen since early childhood) diagnosed me with overactive bladder syndrome – probably a result of excess alcohol consumption he said, and probably something I’d be dealing with for the rest of my life.

One night while reading online I saw an ad for a new line of “sexy” incontinence underwear. Sometimes it scares me that Google knows I want something before I even know it exists. They actually looked like underwear a normal 20-something year old would wear, although with their decent looks came some trade-offs: they weren’t designed to hold much more than very light leaks. That was fine by me. Most of the time I made it to the bathroom fine. When I didn’t, I usually didn’t leak too much, but when you’re out in public, returning from a bathroom break with even a small wet spot is still pretty embarrassing. Needless to say, I ordered a pair to try out.

The next Saturday, Dan invited me out to dinner and to a play that I had really been wanting to go see. It seemed like a very appropriate opportunity to try out my new purchase, especially because I sometimes have trouble staying completely dry for an entire movie or show. Over the new panties I wore some fairly tight faded blue jeans, which I knew from past experienced turned fairly dark when wet. It was great to be able to wear them for once without concern about leaks showing up.

At dinner I started with just water, and I had intended to stick to just water. However, after ordering my pepper-encrusted steak with sautéed onions, the waiter recommended we pair our meal with one of their in-house vintage wines. I was going to decline (really), but Dan said it sounded great to him. Sometimes it’s hard to say no… so I got a glass as well. Normally I would never drink before any situation where I wouldn’t have immediate access to a bathroom because alcohol tends to aggravate my OAB, but confidence in my new panties made me feel that I had a little extra wiggle room this evening.

Dinner was delicious, but the service was a bit slow. By the time we finished eating we were way behind schedule. As we waited for the check, Dan looked up walking directions on his phone and found that if we left immediately we could get there with about 5 minutes to spare. This was the type of show where if you were late, you didn’t get in – it said so in bold text right on the ticket.

I was starting to feel the need to pee at this point and under normal circumstances would have started looking for a bathroom, but I was caught up worrying about whether we could get to the theatre in time. For the next couple minutes we sat in tense silence, anxiously looking around for our waiter.

Finally, Dan told me he was going to get up and go look for the waiter. This was pretty unusual behavior for Dan, but we both realized how little time we had to waste. I opened my mouth to tell Dan I was going to run to the restroom while he tracked down the bill, but before I could speak the waiter appeared next to our table, set down the bill, and wished us a good evening. giresun escort In less than 30 seconds, Dan had paid in cash (also pretty unusual), and we were out the door and rushing down the street.

The sidewalks were crowded with people going out to enjoy their Saturday evening, but we set a rapid pace despite the congestion. Google Maps told us we would be late, but of course it assumed we would be walking at a normal pace. I nervously checked the time on my phone every two minutes, wondering first whether we would make it on time at all, and second whether there was any chance of us making it with enough time for me to use the bathroom before the show. Fortunately, we made good time and stepped through the front door and into the lobby with a couple minutes to spare.

The play we were going to see that night was at one of the few theatres in the city I hadn’t been to before. The theatre building was an unusual and somewhat awkward shape, although I have to give props to the architects for managing to squeeze a building of any sort into the V-shaped lot at the corner of two streets that met at a 45 degree angle. The pie-slice-shaped building had its entrance and lobby at the tip of the V.

Immediately upon entering, I looked around for the bathroom, as I had reached the point where I would normally have stopped whatever I was doing and gone to pee. I had no trouble spotting it, but there was also already a woman standing next to the door waiting to use it. I only would have had time to use the bathroom had it been vacant, but even a one-person line meant someone was already inside. Cycling three of us through the bathroom before the show started wasn’t going to happen, so I didn’t even bother mentioning it to Dan.

The lobby had doors leading deeper into the V on either side of the back wall. I expected to find myself at the back of the auditorium when we went through the door, but instead we found ourselves walking down a straight dark hallway lit by tiny aisle lights near the floor. Moments later we emerged into the auditorium at its front, right next to the stage.

As we started climbing the stairs towards our seats, I looked back and saw a flood of light pouring into the dim auditorium through the two doors to the lobby. I understood now why the theatre didn’t allow late admittance. I almost panicked when I realized that leaving in the middle of the show wouldn’t be possible without causing a major disruption, but I managed to hold it together. To make matters worse, our seats were near the center of the row, and we had to climb over everyone who had arrived on time to get to them.

When we reached our seats I looked around for other exits. There were two at the back, but they were labeled as emergency-only exits. The dark hallways flanking the stage were the auditorium’s only link to the lobby. It would have been nice of the architects to have blocked the light from the lobby by putting a zig-zag or curve in the hallways, or even a second set of doors on the auditorium side, but I guess between the need to have two forward-facing exits for the fire code and the desire to maximum the space available for the stage they hadn’t been able to manage it.

As someone with OAB, I’m pretty familiar with the signals my bladder sends. So within about 10 minutes I knew with almost complete certainty that I wasn’t going to be able to hold it for the remaining 80 minutes of the show. I was pretty pissed at myself for having that glass of wine at dinner and for not somehow managing to find a way to the bathroom before the show… although mostly for the glass of wine since that was actually under my control. At least I had chosen tonight to wear these incontinence underwear, although they were also the reason why I told myself it would be OK to order giresun escort bayan the wine, sooooo…

I wasn’t paying any attention to the show at this point. My eyes were everywhere except the stage, looking for some way to get to the bathroom without causing a major disruption. We had probably already annoyed most of the people in our row by arriving at the last minute and having to climb over them as the show began, but they would forgive us for that. I wasn’t willing to face the embarrassment of having to ask them to move again less than 10 minutes after the show started. I’m sure in their mind they would be thinking that anyone who had to pee so badly they disrupted the show after only a few minutes should have gone before the show started. Right.

I told myself I would wait at least another 20 minutes before getting up. Having to leave after only 30 minutes still didn’t really seem acceptable, but it was sure a lot more reasonable than having to leave after 10. 20 more minutes without a small leak or a few dribbles was asking a lot of my poor bladder, but if my underwear worked as advertised it would be no problem.

Of course, I had turned my phone off for the show, so I didn’t actually have any way of seeing what time it was or how much time had passed, but after what I thought must have been about 20 minutes I still hadn’t leaked, or at least hadn’t had any leaks significant enough for me to feel them. I did have to pee really badly though, like really badly.

In my mind I pictured how it would go: I would get up and disrupt each person in my row as they stood to allow me to pass by, and in turn the people standing would block the view of those behind them. Then I would draw everyone’s attention, audience and actors alike, as I walked down the stairs to the lobby door, and finally I would blind everyone in the audience by opening the door and letting light from the lobby flood the room. Then I would do it again on the way back.

In that moment I decided I couldn’t do it, even after I had promised myself that if I just waited 20 more minutes I would let myself get up and go. The embarrassment of having to leave the auditorium was simply too great and too immediate. Would it be more embarrassing than peeing my pants? Maybe or maybe not, but I hadn’t lost control yet, so having to get up to go to the bathroom felt like more of an immediate threat than having wet pants.

I prayed that by some miracle the show would have an intermission and save me, although I didn’t think one was scheduled. At least I had the new panties, although I really wished I had bothered to test them beforehand to see how much could actually hold. They were only advertised as being able to protect against mild leaks – a few teaspoons at most, but at that moment I was really hoping they were over-engineered. I knew they were going to get a little wet, even if the show did have an intermission, but hopefully not wet enough to show.

I felt torn between trying to stay dry for at least another 15 or 20 minutes to see if there would be an intermission, or testing the underwear right away while I still had reasonable control over my bladder. After waiting what felt like 5 more minutes I couldn’t take it anymore. Here I was, a 21-year-old college student deciding to test a new incontinence product in the middle of a crowded theatre – great planning Ellie.

Given that I had little choice in the matter, my plan to test the panties was basically the same one I would have used in private: I would pee a little tiny bit, wait for a few minutes, and then check for any leaks. I expected the panties to leak at some point, so I would repeat the process a few times until they did. There was enough of the show left that a small leak would dry by the end; I had enough escort giresun experience with minor leaks to know that. Hopefully the panties would absorb enough for me to hold the rest until an intermission or the end of the show. If they didn’t, I would suck it up and go to the bathroom, because in my head I knew peeing myself would be a much more embarrassing and much longer-lasting ordeal than having to leave the auditorium during the show.

So then I tried to do something I had never tried to do on purpose before: I tried to pee myself a little while surrounded by other people. It was surprisingly difficult to do, despite how badly I had to pee at that point. Butterflies filled my stomach as I tried to relax. Then I felt a huge urge to pee building and quickly aborted the attempt because it felt like way too much was about to flood out.

I tried again and managed to let out a few agonizing dribbles. Less than I had hoped, but at least it was something. As I sat waiting for it to soak in I felt hot everywhere. My face was flushed and probably bright red, and my urethra felt warm and pleasant from the liquid that had just passed through it.

After a minute I stared down at my jeans to look for leaks. I didn’t notice any, but it also wasn’t really bright enough to see them very well. I discreetly rested a hand in my lap and probed with my fingers – they felt dry. Finally, I lifted one butt cheek and ran a hand under my bottom – also dry.

Winner of round one: panties. Time for round two. Butterflies built in my stomach again, but it was a lot easier to let go the second time – the pump was primed so to speak. I let loose a few high-pressure spurts. A little more than I had meant to this time, and I actually thought I heard an audible hissing in between lines of dialog. No one around me seemed to have noticed though, so I probably only heard it because I was listening for it (or maybe I just imagined it).

I stared down at my crotch again, and again it looked dry. A quick check with my hand in my lap also came back dry. When I ran my hand under my butt it felt like the tips of my fingers came back slightly damp. I checked again; they still felt damp. The panties had held quite a bit less than I had hoped they would (although to be fair, I was probably already pushing them beyond what they were rated for).

I wasn’t really sure what to do at that point, although I knew I should probably just get up and go to the bathroom like a big girl. I didn’t have to wait much longer though, a minute later I got a funny feeling in my stomach and felt a strong urge to pee coming on very quickly. I couldn’t clamp down quickly enough to stop it and felt warmth in my lap as I filled my panties with a severe leak.

I immediately ran my hand under my bottom again. This time my entire hand, both butt-side and seat-side, came back obviously wet. I had only leaked for a second or two at most, but with the underwear’s absorbent lining already saturated the pee had gone basically straight into my pants.

Now that my pants were obviously wet the entire embarrassment-equation had changed drastically. I would no longer really save myself any face by leaving to go to the bathroom, so that wasn’t going to happen anymore. I didn’t intentionally pee myself right then, but a few minutes later when I started leaking again I also didn’t try too hard to stop it. I just tried to limit the flow to keep the noise at a minimum. However, I did stop when I heard drips beginning to fall off the seat and smack into the floor. At that point though I had gone enough to hold it for the rest of the show.

The show didn’t have an intermission, and I ended up being pretty stiff by the end of it, because for the rest of the show I couldn’t really shift my weight on the seat with compressing the cushion and sending audible drips of pee down to the floor. So I ended up sitting extremely still in my wet jeans for another 45 minutes or so.

I can’t remember almost anything from the first half of the show, but the second half was good. Also the underwear do work, but only if used responsibly.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

On the rare occasion that she was able to stop and take stock of the events that had taken place in her life over the past two years, it seemed odd to Gwen that there were still things that managed to take her by surprise and cause her to wonder if it would all turn out in the end to have been a crazy dream. She almost laughed out loud when she realised that it had once been as likely for a girl from her estate back home to see the inside of a limousine without a gaggle of other women on a raucous hen night as it would have been for her to step foot on the surface of the moon.

And yet here she was, familiar not only with the surroundings of a limousine, but now being treated to the interior of a private jet. The more of the world she saw, the more it proved to be a wonderful mixture of delight and madness to her eyes.

Gwen sat in her seat, nursing a drink and trying to watch the tiny crew of stewardesses as they went about their duties in the confines of the cabin. Their movements fascinated her as they anticipated the next demand that would be made of them with almost psychic precision born from years spent in the job. As a child she had always wanted to be in their shoes, convinced of the glamour and romance that must have been a part of jetting away on a new adventure every day.

As an adult she had been cured of the idea that romance and childish notions of reality made up the lot of a person’s life. Even before her own life had been changed beyond recognition, she had learned to see the weariness in the eyes of women like these stewardesses. She was well versed in the trick of hiding all that fatigue behind smiling expressions, of being strong and pushing on for the sake of making ends meet.

She had lived a hard and more often than not unfair life for two decades before taking a chance had given her an escape the likes of which she could never have imagined.

For as long as she could recall, Gwen had always been singing. The sound of her voice when she spoke was a jarring contrast to her singing voice, heavily accented and often hard to follow when nerves took her and she began to babble. But in contrast her singing voice was clear as cut glass and naturally able to scale heights that most people could only have dreamed of.

It had taken months of urging from her closest family in which Gwen had swung from one extreme of emotion to the other before she was finally persuaded to audition for a televised talent show. Her nerves lasted until the very moment she was stood in front of the cameras, but in that moment she had found that all of the trepidation had vanished and she was able to sing with a passion that took everyone by surprise.

The run of fortune had continued as she advanced in the competition, surviving each week as other contestants were eliminated by telephone voting. There was nothing that the public loved more than an underdog and in the girl from a humble background they had found one they seemed to adore. Gwen had been one of the final contestants left on the weekly show when she lost out to another act at the last vote. But that was not the end of her story and her departure from the show was marked by a scramble as the media fought to interview and profile a girl who had been plucked from obscurity and yet still retained her down to earth character and charm.

She had done so much in so short a time that it often seemed to have happened to someone else entirely.

There had been the album, the tour, the photo shoots and the interviews as well as the biography that was still sitting on her bedside table in the cellophane wrapper. In truth the thought of the book scared Gwen more than a little as it was far thicker than anything she had managed to read in her life and the picture on the glossy dust jacket had been so touched up that it might have shown the face of a stranger. In her most paranoid moments she imagined reading inside stories of a life that had not been her own, so small had been her own involvement in its writing.

In truth it had been a relief to her when the commotion surrounding her had begun to die down to a dull roar. Gwen had been able to stop for the first time and actually get back to the things that had been important before fame had taken her away from her family.

The only problem was that her management, whom she seemed to have acquired as a result of a process the specifics of which quite eluded her, was not as happy with the downturn in demand as she was herself. In order to keep the face of their charge in the public eye, Gwen was thrust into a series of walk on parts in soap operas, sat smiling on a shopping channel and finally was forced to endure weeks in a remote jungle as part of a demeaning reality TV show that had left the taste of grubs and beetles in her mouth for months afterwards.

Coming after all that, the quiet offer to be the public face of a small charity had seemed like a dream come true to Gwen, who had acted quite out of character in putting her foot down and insisting that she would take the job regardless of the benefit to her media profile.
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The leaflet that she had been sent was still in her jacket pocket and she pulled it out once more to have a brief scan of the contents. Some of the words were very large and Gwen was determined not to make a fool of herself in front of the people she was about to meet with by forgetting just what they were all about.

As far as she could tell, the charity had been formed out of concern for the rare species of orchids that were apparently in imminent danger of extinction in far flung corners of the world. Gwen, who was always honest with herself, had been totally ignorant of the plight of the flowers and digested every word inside the leaflet in order to better understand the issue at hand. She was amazed that a simple flower, which looked little different to something that could be found on the forecourt of a petrol station back home, could be so important and inflame the passions of so many obviously intelligent people.

“A little light reading?”

Gwen looked up and saw that the seat facing her had gained an occupant while she was intent upon the leaflet.

“I just wanted to read over the plight of those orchids one more time.”

She smiled at the man sitting across from her, showing the slightly large teeth that had inspired less than kind scribes in the media to describe her as horsey and awkward.

“Orchids?”

“Orchids,” Gwen nodded.

She had to admit to being a little puzzled by the look on the man’s face, as though he was vaguely amused by what she was saying and yet thought himself above showing it.

“Orchids, really,” the man shook his head, “I mean, whatever will he come up with next?”

“Eh?”

“Don’t use that term,” the man sounded as though her last utterance had jarred his ears. “Hay is something that you feed to animals; say ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘Beg Pardon’.”

“Oh,” Gwen glanced down as she absorbed his disapproval, “sorry.”

“And another thing,” she looked up once more as he spoke, “don’t be so deferential all the time. You’re not a whipped donkey and you shouldn’t act like one. He won’t like that at all, I can tell you.”

“Who won’t,” Gwen was starting to become lost, “the head of the charity?”

“The head of the charity?” the man shook his head.

“Oh, my dear, you really haven’t been picking up on the undertones to this conversation have you? Not if you still think that there’s a charity involved in all of this.”

Now Gwen really was confused.

“But if there’s no charity,” she left the thought hanging in the air.

“Do you know,” the man let out a humourless laugh, “I swear I actually saw a light go on behind your eyes just then.”

“So who are you?”

“I’m no one that you need to worry about, believe me. In fact I’m someone that you’ll forget about before you know it.”

Gwen had to admit that the man had point right there. He was so average that he would have blended into a crowd and been lost the second you took your eyes off his face. There was not one detail of his size, build or clothes that really stuck out or lodged in the memory and his voice had an accent that was always just a little too elusive to pin down. If it had not been for his haughty manner of speaking and prim ways, she was sure he could have faded away right before her eyes and into the blurry nothingness that was gathering in the corners of her sight.

The glass dropped from her hand and bounced on the thick carpet that covered the floor before rolling into to a stop at the feet of one of the stewardesses. The woman showed no reaction to the sight of Gwen’s head slowly falling forwards and onto her chest as she sank into unconsciousness. Instead she simply scooped up the fallen glass and glanced nervously at the nondescript man who sat across from her.

He looked up for a moment, pausing in the act of smoothing the lapels of his jacket.

As unremarkable as he may have been, the message in his eyes was clear and the stewardess retreated without a sound to the rear of the plane where she shut herself and her colleague into the tiny galley and made no move to return to the main cabin again for the duration of the flight.

Left alone, the man reached across and plucked the leaflet from Gwen’s lap.

He flicked through the pages, managing a cynical smile as he did so.

“Orchids and doped drinks,” he shook his head.

“What is this, a bloody Bond film?”

The airstrip was a small affair of tarmac and paint with only a single, lonely windsock to denote its purpose. It stood alone on the small plateau as the one man made feature amongst the pine forest that had been cut back to accommodate it. The trees at the edges stood like a resentful crowd, as if glaring jealously at the ground they had been forced to surrender when it was laid down.

Two figures stood silently at the end of the runway, occasionally glancing upwards in the hope of catching a glimpse of an approaching düzce escort bayan aircraft. They had been waiting for almost an hour in the chill morning air and though they were covered from head to foot in anonymous white hazmat gear, the cold was beginning to seep into their bones all the same.

All of a sudden, the first pointed into the distance and turned his head to the second.

The tinted visor of the second man’s mask followed his colleague’s gesture and with some effort he was able to see a small dot, approaching and growing larger with every passing second.

Finally they were done with waiting and the work of the day could begin.

Within mere minutes, the dot had resolved itself into the unmistakable shape of a small, private jet making its descent towards the isolated runway. Soon the landing gear emerged from the underside of the plane and the sound of the engines violated the silence of the plateau. This sound was followed by the screech of the tyres as the jet touched down and applied brakes to slow and eventually come to a final stop no more than twenty feet from the spot where the men were waiting.

One of the men hurried to the far side of the airstrip to fetch a set of metal stairs mounted on wheels that would reach the fuselage of the jet and allow access to the nearest exit. The other made a shorter trip to near side of the tarmac apron and retrieved a wheelchair made of heavy duty plastic and boasting wheels that would not have looked out of place on an off road vehicle.

Once the stairs were in place, the exit to the rear of the jet swung open and the nondescript man stepped out onto the top step. He nodded to the men as he descended, more due to force of habit than a genuine attempt to be friendly. They watched him as he stepped onto the tarmac in the same silence, only moving when he made a motion towards the jet, as if handing responsibility for the entire thing over to them before walking off down the path that led away from the airstrip and into the pines.

The men in the hazmat suits turned to watch until he was lost from view then looked at one another for a moment. The first shrugged his shoulders and then the second shook his head and jerked a thumb in the direction of the jet. Though no words had passed between them, it seemed that something had been decided as the first climbed the stairs followed closely by the second.

Inside the cabin of the jet they were alone save for Gwen’s unconscious form, still slumped in her seat. There was no sign of either the stewardesses or the flight crew who must have been behind the controls for the duration of the flight. For reasons that would go unexplained, they chose to leave the men to their task and left Gwen to her fate.

The first man checked her over, taking her pulse and the dilation of her eyes. He seemed happy with what he observed, unclipping the belt that had kept Gwen in the seat when she passed out and catching her body with ease as she now fell forwards. Rather than fight to keep her upright, he instead guided her to the floor of the cabin and gestured for his colleague to join him. While he slipped his arms under Gwen’s own, the second man took hold of her under the knees and together they lifted her gently off the carpet.

Intending to present a professional image, Gwen had dressed in a fawn skirt suit and tan tights, pinning her long brown hair up at the same time. Without intending to, she had made life easier for the first man and harder for the second in doing so.

With her hair gathered and pinned, the man tackling her upper half could see what he was doing with no real problems. But in contrast his colleague was presented with the issue of Gwen’s skirt, which despite being what she would have classed as conservative, was cut above the knee and rather tightly clung to her thighs. She was a tall girl, and as he fought to get a grip of her legs, the skirt was pushed upwards until it bunched around her buttocks. The result was that as the men carried her out of the cabin and down the steps, Gwen was exposed from the waist down and her dignity protected only by her tights and underwear.

The fact that she had been so exposed did not seem to cause any concern in the men and they simply completed the task of carrying her down the stairs and towards the waiting wheelchair. Once she was lowered into the seat, the second man pulled her skirt back into place without a seconds pause and then proceeded to strap her down at the wrists, ankles and across the chest.

As the first man began to push the chair away from the jet, the need for its sturdy construction became apparent. While the surface of the airstrip was necessarily as flat and even as possible, at its edge the tarmac gave way to a wide path of hard packed earth. This was by contrast made harder going by the contours of the forest floor from which it was made and the points where the roots of trees passed beneath its surface.

Though he was silent, the effort on the part of the man pushing the wheelchair was very much apparent and at escort düzce times his partner was forced to lend his strength to manoeuvre the thing over particularly difficult ground. This became more and more common as the path began to crawl steadily down the side of an incline, which was soon revealed as one side of a deep valley where the pine forest continued on both sides. Now the second man was using his weight to slow the chair and prevent it from running away down the track and his effort was as visible as that of the first.

Eventually the strange little party arrived at a point where the path levelled out made for a small, almost invisible delve in the valley side. Up ahead the first signs of habitation were becoming visible as a wall made of slate and a collection of low outbuildings of the same material could be seen through the trees. Soon the path reached a stout double door of dark wood set into the wall, the left side standing open and more than wide enough to allow them to enter.

Beyond the wall, the packed earth of the path was replaced by aged slabs of York stone which wound efficiently through terraced gardens of alpine foliage until reaching a house of moderate size, which dominated the grounds around it. The house was built of the same slate as the walls and possessed architecture that placed its origin at the end of the nineteenth or early year of the twentieth century. Its three stories ran over two wings and it was flanked on the eastern side by a large antique greenhouse, positioned to catch the rising sun.

Rather than make for the house itself, the men wheeled Gwen around to the rear of the property and made for the largest of the outbuildings that stood across a small courtyard. The look and shape of the building meant that it could have been nothing but a barn in its original incarnation, but modern features and subtle refinements gave away the fact that it had been converted to serve another purpose entirely.

The men arrived before the large doors, made of solid wood and painted black they looked strong enough to withstand the attentions of a battering ram. The second man pressed an intercom button set into the wall to one side and waited until he heard a click and a low buzz indicating that a lock had been opened to allow them to enter. Without hesitation he pulled open a smaller door set inside the larger and held it while his colleague negotiated the wheelchair over the threshold.

While it might have looked like a simple barn from the outside, the interior of the building had been stripped of all period features and any trace of its original function. Instead the men were greeted with a small anteroom, its white walls made of starkly modern materials and the only other exit being a doorway hung with a sheet of heavy industrial plastic in the place of a door. The only other feature of the room was a basin of chemicals on the floor in which the men washed their boots before once more lifting Gwen from the wheelchair and carrying her through the waiting doorway.

The room behind the flap of plastic accounted for the rest of the space within the shell of the barn and was every bit as modern and sterile as the anteroom had been. The rafters of the barn were hidden behind panels of white as was the stonework of the walls; the floor was covered also with smooth white tiles. Harsh and unforgiving strip lights illuminated the space and picked out the trappings of an operating theatre so that they cast no perceivable shadows in the centre of the chamber. The same light fell upon Gwen’s body as she was laid upon the operating table with great care by the men in the hazmat suits.

With their charge laid upon the table, the men drifted to different corners of the room and began to prepare themselves for their next task.

The first returned to the table with a bin mounted on castors, which he parked behind himself as he lifted Gwen’s left leg. He pulled off her shoe; a sensible piece of footwear with a low heel that she had hoped would complement the outfit, and tossed it into the bin. The right shoe followed a few seconds later before he deftly opened the buttons that held her skirt up and pulled it off in one smooth motion.

Next he slipped Gwen’s arms out of her jacket and pulled the garment from beneath her, leaving her wearing nothing but her underwear and a silky blouse. He dropped the skirt and jacket into the bin and began to unbutton the blouse, removing it once he was done in the same manner as the jacket.

Now for the first time, Gwen was properly exposed and stripped of her dignity before them. Clad in nothing apart from her cream bra and pants and with nothing covering her legs save for the tan tights, almost every inch of her body was laid bare to be seen.

Gwen Livingstone had never been known for having the body of a supermodel, instead she was taller than the average woman and her figure was slightly elongated as a result. Her breasts and buttocks were full as opposed to buxom and her limbs benefitted from her height as it lent them an odd elegance that belied her slightly horsey appearance. Though she was embarrassed by the attention that publicity shots of her bikini-clad form had graced the pages of more than a few magazines, few women would have failed to admire the proportions of her body and few honest straight men would have feigned disinterest.

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She read the letter again, of course it didn’t say anything different from the last few times she had read it, damn the old bastard! She had been so close to getting it all signed and making her future safe when he went and died, now she was keenly aware that her decadent luxurious lifestyle was under threat and she wasn’t sure what she should do about it.

She thought back to the last trip she had taken, he had flown them both to Milan for a couple of days while he attended some meetings and signed contracts. He had agreed with her suggestion to sign over shares and other holdings, well actually as she ground her cunt into his face he would have signed away his soul! But then he died before her plan could come to fruition. So three years of twisting the old bastard round her finger, of flirting and seducing him then making him her slave, all wasted. The penthouse and her Mercedes were still in his name as were her credit cards, she had money, clothes and jewelry but she felt cold fear as she could see everything disappearing. She had spent almost every day of the last three years treated and feted like a goddess and she couldn’t bear to think of that disappearing.

She re-read the letter again, company bought out, review of operational costs and procedures, new management, streamlined organisation. She just couldn’t see how she was going to be able to continue to bleed the company dry in this new set up. In her official position as PA to the old boss they had allowed her time to grieve, so she had been in the office even less often than she had been in the past, but she had taken the opportunity to try and work out what was going on and again, it didn’t look promising. She had a meeting scheduled for the morning with the new owner, she’d seen him and he gave the impression of being a hard businessman, younger than she had expected but scarily focussed on the business to the exclusion of all else, she hadn’t heard a good thing about him from any of the old staff. So of course she was going to seduce him, if she could worm her way into his life she might be able to keep some, if not all, of her old lifestyle, but she had her back to the wall and wasn’t used to being in this sort of situation, however she took comfort from the fact that she’d never failed with a man yet so had high hopes of salvaging something from this disaster.

She took a great deal of care getting ready the next morning, she needed to look as drop dead seductive as she could manage while not edirne escort being so obvious she didn’t have an escape if it all went wrong. Heels, silk stockings but no seams, her Rigby and Peller lingerie, severely tight pencil skirt, tailored satin blouse that showed of her breasts, sharp jacket, a little more makeup and jewellery than would normally be acceptable for the office, subtle yet alluring perfume. The company chauffeur collected her from the apartment block, another perk she could feel slipping away, and she entered the building and headed up to the new boss’s office.

It was worse than she had ever imagined imagined, to start with she was left alone waiting in the office, no man had ever dared to made her wait for anything as long as she could remember! She stood at the huge panoramic window, shivering with excitement as she recalled standing in the exact same place, hands flat against the window, legs apart and groaning with pleasure as her slave had licked and rimmed her on command. all that was over now she realised. The new owner came in and the meeting quickly went downhill; he had been through the company staffing costs and other expenditures in forensic detail and had found the huge amount of money that the old boss had spent on her. Her privileged role in the company was under threat and she knew that her wonderful lifestyle was about to come crashing down around her. What was worse was the utter failure to seduce him, she had flirted, teased and tried every trick in her book, nothing worked, he was oblivious to her charms and all her weapons had been tried and had failed, her unexpected and shocking inability to get him to submit left her stunned, she had never failed before!

As the meeting had progressed and she had realised how bad her situation was she had stepped up her efforts at seduction, initially flooded with confidence in her power over men she had been haughty and sophisticated, using her subtlest techniques, assuming that he would respond at the same level. When they had failed she had simply assumed that she was operating too far above him, so had resorted to slightly more obvious methods and as each of these failed to elicit the desired response she become more and more desperate, working her way down through her armoury of weapons, getting more and more obvious, a far cry from the heady heights she was used to working at and as she became more frantic she finally descended to the obvious, like some tart trying edirne escort bayan to pick up a man in a club!

Smouldering, lustful glances at him had achieved nothing; subtle changes in position as she sat to enhance her curves hadn’t done any good either. Crossing her long silk clad legs with their towering heels had produced no effect, despite doing it several times and making sure the silk rustled in it’s sexy way, he had simply failed to look. She had moved close to him, so he could breathe her perfume and see her nipples straining against the satin blouse, again no response. She had ‘accidentally’ put her hand with it’s long painted nails on his when he was showing her some figures and had run her tongue over her thickly painted lips, still no effect. It was getting to the stage where if she was going to do anything she’d have to kneel down and give him a blow job! She was too proud and arrogant for that but what else could she do? An hour of trying to get a reaction out of this bastard and just nothing! She’d never failed to get a man to do her bidding before, but this guy was just like a robot, a machine, she hadn’t been able to get any sort of erection from him, no response at all!

Finally she couldn’t take any more, her wonderful lifestyle, cars, flats, holidays, money, everything was gone, she was back to where she had started all those years ago. “Dammnit yes, you’re right” She snapped, getting up from the chair and walking back towards the panoramic window. “I was fucking the old man and he treated me right, that’s where the money went”

“Well I can’t say I’m surprised” the new boss replied, “I was pretty sure that was the situation, of course it won’t continue and I will be talking to our lawyers to see what we can do to reclaim some of the money back from you”.

She shrugged, nothing mattered now, she was ruined and there was nothing she could do about the situation, she had worked hard to achieve this lifestyle and the riches from nothing and she could do it again, although she quailed at the thought of having to start from the bottom again, with nothing. The fact that she hadn’t been able to get anything from this man after all her efforts made her cold with fear though for her future.

“You do whatever you feel you have to” she replied, and reached into her handbag to light up a cigarette, she needed one and what did she care anymore? “I gave him the best years of his life, he was the happiest man alive escort edirne when he was serving me” she continued, “and that’s something you’ll never experience”.

She dragged on the long white cigarette, then turned and looked straight at the bastard and stopped in shock, he had stood up to show her the door but now he was standing transfixed, a huge bulge in the front of his trousers. His eyes followed the glowing end of her cigarette and she leapt at the opening in his defences. A long slow drag, a deep inhale and puckering her glossy lips to blow out a long plume of smoke, he was still motionless, she licked her thick glossy lips in anticipation and grabbed at her golden opportunity to get everything back; she strutted to the desk and perched herself on the corner, thrusting her breasts out and hiking up her skirt to reveal her stocking tops.

“You’ve never served a proper Mistress have you?” She sneered, “All this power and money and you’ve never done that, never known your real place in your world. Crawl to me and serve me now and I might let you learn what you’ve been missing in your life. If you can pleasure me I might just let you worship me”.

She gestured to her high heels with her cigarette, “Start by licking them, sucking the heel deep into your mouth”.

Dear goddess the bastard was on his knees and crawling towards her, she could feel herself getting damp and exhilaration rushed through her body, she was seducing him finally, she had just needed to find a way past his armour. As he sucked her heel into his mouth she smiled cruelly down at him, everything would be alright now, she was saved! And he was going to suffer such pain and torture for putting her through this experience, she was already starting to make plans.

“I’ll be staying in a luxury hotel in Rome later this month I think, you take care of it my pet and I might even allow you to light my cigarette next time you crawl across the floor at my command, but right now all you need to do is lick me to an orgasm, then put me right back onto the payroll with a very large pay rise!”.

He stretched his head forward between her silk clad thighs and reverently pushed the slip of satin to one side as his tongue flicked across her sensitive clitoris, she moaned with pleasure as he started to lick up and down her hot wet pussy, she grabbed his hair and viciously dragged him into a better position to pleasure her. As she ground herself hard against his mouth she put her head back and groaned and moaned in ecstasy as her new slave licked and sucked her; everything was back as it should be, her position and power restored, and her new slave was much younger than the old one had been, she was going to enjoy breaking him to her will and using him to satisfy her needs!

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

(It was late autumn of 1960 and I, David Shaw, was 20 years old and was following my absorbing hobby of bird watching. I had unfortunately been detained by Amelia Wiff-Naseford, headmistress, for being an alleged ‘Peeping Tom’ in the grounds of ‘Dentwood Finishing School for Tall Girls aged 18 to 20 years old’. There were 120 girls registered at the school. Clearly I was not a so called ‘pervert’ but I could not prove it.

I had decided not to get the police involved by agreeing to submit myself to the traditional ‘Punishment Rules of the School’ as applied to Peeping Toms. This involved being stripped naked and spread-eagled on the headmistress’ study carpet, and fettered with ropes and leather straps to metal rings set in floorboards. I was then required to orally pleasure the ‘whole’ school. This is part eight of my tale)

*

Lying on my back on the cold tiled shower floor staring at the nozzles above me and smelling quite heavily of urine, I clearly must have made a pathetic forlorn sight. Someone near me, probably Miss Hopkins, the games mistress, turned the shower control lever on and I was immediately blasted by freezing cold water from all ten shower heads.

“Aghhh, ooh, bloody, farting bloody farting farty fart farts,” I blurted out above the noise.

Girlish giggling greeted my outburst from beyond the ‘rain storm’ as I stared across to the changing room where the twenty naked foreign eighteen-year olds were removing their tennis shoes and socks. The temperature of the water gradually increased until it was comfortable and tolerable. The urine on me and around me was rinsed away in the steamy dripping atmosphere of the communal shower.

I heard Miss Hamilton, the French teacher, order the girls into the shower. Above the loud persistent noise of water I heard her yell,”Les filles, entrez dans la douche, vite maintenant.”

Around me twenty pairs of sturdy shapely female legs gradually appeared in the hot mist. Excited girlish screams, giggling and loud echoing conversations surrounded me as I stared upward at all the many firm, rounded, pear-shaped buttocks swinging, strutting and swivelling above me. Needless to say my stiffening penis became rock hard once again.

My mind had never ever imagined being in this situation before.

Here I was, flat on my back, partly immersed in soapy water, in a large hot shower with twenty naked eighteen year old French girls standing above me, stepping over me while washing and wiping their wet tits, dripping vaginas and dribbling derrieres.

Everywhere I looked were buttocks, anuses, pubic hair and vaginas; this was truly heaven. I became aware that I was causing an obstruction because feet began tripping against me, kicking me or treading on my face and genitals.

I hauled myself up noticing that there were two girls to each shower nozzle and that they were taking turns to soap each other up then rinse one another down with sponges and face flannels. Lined up against the wall were small plastic bottles of shampoo and liquid soap. The shower smelled strongly of perfumed soap and lemon shampoo.

I stood self-consciously in the middle of a group of glistening slippery bodies and asked Yvette Duchesne if I could please borrow her soap. She replied by grabbing my head in both hands and French kissing me firmly, her tongue manipulating mine expertly and forcefully. She continued this way for several minutes and I could hardly breathe as her long brown wet hair fell over our faces and across my nostrils. She pushed me off frenetically as I gasped wildly for air.

She told me that she would prefer to wash me herself. I couldn’t hear her above the noise of water and loud girlish conversations. She repeated her offer of ‘washing me herself’ this time in French.

“Je veux vous laver, oui?” she screamed as the shower conversations suddenly died away.

All around us gleaming well scrubbed faces turned to watch her wash me.

My face was roughly at the same height as many of these tall girls’ breasts and as they crowded around me I was continuously poked and prodded by erect nipples in my eyes, mouth, ears, nose and hair. All within groping and fondling distance were warm wet wobbling shining tits.

I looked up into the French girls’ glistening perfumed smiling faces, their hair soaking and dripping under the constant spray. They gave me a predatory, almost primeval, look in return.

Angelique Brongniart stuck her dripping tongue firmly into my wet ear and gave it a vigorous probing wash. Marianne Martineau did something similar with my other ear, this time taking it completely into her mouth, sucking it.

I shivered with excruciating pleasure as I felt many other hands on my body. Small cool hands grasped my buttocks and genitals and squeezed them firmly. Other fingers rubbed my stomach and chest hair. Further hands touch my neck while others investigated my dripping anus.

I, in turn, slid my fingers into hairy vaginal openings, which opened up easily and completely in the hot soapy diyarbakır escort water. More tongues were forced into my mouth; sometimes two at a time, and my fingers were pulled out from between engorged labia and inserted into others.

This happened many times over. Charlotte Sanci-Savard pulled my fingers out of Lysette Pelletier’s wet vagina and shoved my long middle finger up her anus as far as it would go. She swivelled around, sexily licking her tongue all over my face. Danielle Lalonde attempted to stick my other thumb up her derriere but she was not sufficiently relaxed or lubricated. Veronique Abati tried to masturbate me but was nudged off by Nicole Barbier, and Martine Cloutier who snarled at her like young leopards.

I was clearly the focus of their sexual attentions and could not really understand why they should be fighting over me because I was no smouldering Latin ‘movie star’. I got the impression that they had been starved of male company at this finishing school and I had the only penis currently available. Clearly I was not about to object.

Yvette Duchesne eventually fought her way back to me with some shampoo. She elbowed Martine Cloutier, Eloise Larocque, Isabelle Lenoir and Paulette Auclair off me as she filled her cupped hand so that it overflowed with cold shampoo.

I had a fair idea where she was going to put it and I was correct.

My balls suddenly sat in their own little cool bath of shampoo as she massaged the cool thick fluid under and over my testicles and pubic hair. I stared at Yvette with languorous half-closed eyes enjoying the sliminess and coolness under my bollocks. She massaged it well in.

She poured another pool into her cupped hand and gently bathed my heavy hairy balls a second time. She poured another cool stream of slippery shampoo into the palm of her hand and again immersed my genitals in it, smearing the runny dribbling contents around the base of my scrotum, penis and perineum.

Another cold handful was slapped onto my erect penis and massaged in. Yvette used a fourth to apply to her own pubic area.

I was so short and puny, and Yvette was so tall, at least six foot one inch at a guess, My erect penis was nowhere near her vaginal opening, in fact my penis head only extended to half way up her long thighs. There was no way I could even attempt to engage in sexual intercourse with any of these tall slim beauties in the standing position unless there happened to be a step ladder or ‘mounting block’ in the changing room which seemed very unlikely.

I was more than happy however to have Yvette massage shampoo into my ‘privates’ and French-kiss me at the same time.

Feeling brave, I suggested to her to ‘wank me off’ as I seriously wanted to come. I hoped that she understood what the word ‘wank’ meant and would not be offended at my request. Yvette nodded and smiled; her teeth appeared perfectly white.

Her fingers slid up and down my painfully stiff shaft. She built up the rhythm and pressure on my foreskin, firmly sliding it rhythmically over my exposed glans.

Up and down she pulled and pushed, twisting my erection on the down stroke and squeezing my knob-end on the upstroke. Up and down she continued, up and down, up and down, twisting-pushing, pulling-squeezing. Up and down she continued sneering at me, licking warm water off my face and ears. Up and down she continued relentlessly.

In the hot mist of the shower my tongue probed her pouting mouth and her darting tongue. The sounds of her sexy groans and moans stimulated me intensely. Her hand moved rapidly as she pushed herself against me trapping me firmly against the cool shower wall. Up and down she continued increasing the tempo. ‘Twisting-pushing’ and ‘pulling-squeezing’ she spat in my face between kisses. Up and down she continued, gripping my foreskin.

“Dirty pervert” she called me in her husky sensuous French accent kissing me with increased fervour. I could not hold back. Her hand was now moving up and down in rapid tiny short strokes concentrating her finger pressure on the bulbous head and foreskin. She was stimulating me beyond endurance. The little short strokes increased in speed and intensity. She gripped me, wanking me furiously. I couldn’t hold back any longer. I felt seminal fluid begin to rise inside me ready for ejaculation. She licked my panting shaking face as I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, primed for the inevitable release.

She could clearly read my mind as she groaned loudly into my mouth as I came forcefully, squirting several thick creamy spurts all over her hand and thighs. I continued thrusting wildly until my testicles were completely drained and every last scrap of sexual energy was spent. My knees gave way and I ended up leaning against her.

She stared into my eyes like an eagle and licked her lips. She brought her hand up to her face and licked off the thick sticky globules of semen which hadn’t been washed off by the force of the shower. She ran the slimy fluid around diyarbakır escort bayan in her mouth then kissed me again, forcing her slippery tongue down my throat. It tasted salty and slimy and my semen formed little globs in the water around her mouth which eventually were washed away in the spray.

At last she stopped kissing me and pushed me back against the cold tiles, staring at me beneath her nose, her eyes almost closed, and spat at me calling me a ‘dirty boy’. She turned and looked for some soap.

I felt zonked.

I could have remained in the shower all afternoon as part of my ‘punishment’. Clearly things were looking up.

Someone shouted that there were only three minutes left and that the girls and I should curtail our bathing. I swiftly shampooed my hair and rinsed it off and allowed Yvette to finish soaping me up and rinsing me down.

As we exited the shower Lesley Hopkins, the games mistress, handed us white bath towels and I followed the ‘long-legged beauties’ back to the dressing room where their uniforms were waiting for them.

I noticed that their tennis skirts, soiled knickers, socks and tops had already been sorted by Miss Hoskins into separate piles for laundering.

I sat on another low bench against the wall and dried myself off as best I could. I had no idea where Miss Wiff-Naseford had put my clothes and was apprehensive about ever seeing them again. I wrapped my towel around my shoulders and watched the girls get dressed.

I had not seen Class 1B in their uniforms so I was quite intrigued to see what French girls wore underneath them. I had this vague idea that they all wore frilly cancan petticoats and lacy bloomers. I wasn’t far wrong.

I sat between Danielle Lalonde and Denise Bisson. Denise was still very much aware of her heavy period and she wiped herself thoroughly between her legs before strapping on her sanitary towel. She appeared very self conscious as I stared at her under-trappings from close quarters. She adjusted the fastenings and loops so that the absorbent towel was pulled firmly up between her legs. She than stepped into a pair of very ordinary plain white cotton knickers and continued towel drying her hair.

Her breasts were very nicely proportioned and her nipples protruded towards me. I reached up and touched one of them. She did not pull away. She smiled and offered me the other one as well. She said that it was her ‘present’ to me for ‘putting up with her hysterical weeping earlier on’. I told her that it didn’t matter. She leant forward and rubbed them both over my upturned face. Natural my penis sprang into life beneath my towel as I stuck out my tongue and ran it around each of her areola enjoying the texture and taste.

Danielle, not to be outdone, shook her breasts deliberately in my direction as she also towel-dried her hair.

I stared at her pubic patch remembering her horrendously stained tennis knickers earlier on and wondering what sort of underwear she normally wore. All around me girls were retrieving their underwear from lockers and cloakroom hooks.

Danielle strapped a cream coloured lacy suspender belt around her waist and hooked it tightly above her hips. The individual suspenders hung down her very long thighs. She swivelled it around so that the metal fastenings were symmetrical.

She sat next to me and told me to ‘shove up’ or “poussez-vous pour moi si’l vous plait” in her husky French accent.

I allowed her enough space for her to squeeze her wide hips next to me as she rolled up a pair of black stockings. She pushed her feet into the reinforced toes of each stocking and unrolled them slowly using the inside of both her thumbs, making sure she did not snag them or ladder them. She made several attempts at rolling them up and smoothing them down so that there were no wrinkles or overlaps. The black welts at the tops of her stockings contrasted with the pale flesh of her thighs and her pubic hair.

Her legs were simply begging to be touched so I slid my hand over her nearer thigh as she looked at me, and my penis, under very dark lashes and smirked. She was beautiful and was quietly driving me wild with lust.

Danielle then stood up in front of me and placed one foot on my knee for support. She attached the front suspender carefully and tensioned it methodically. She repeated her actions with the other suspender again using my knee for support. She stood up with her back to me and asked me to help with the rear suspenders to ensure the seams were straight. “Sont mes stocking nylon sur correctement?” she reiterated girlishly in her native tongue, jerking her bottom from side to side.

I told Danielle I needed to feel them to make sure they were straight so took advantage of my position below her to run my hands over her derriere and smooth nylon encased legs. I sniffed her stockings and they had a newish smell to them. Clearly she had not worn them before. Her seams were fine. Both were central and vertical.

She swivelled escort diyarbakır around and thanked me as she stepped into cream coloured lacy panties which she pulled up with care over her suspenders. Her vaginal cleft could clearly be seen through her gusset. She put on a cream coloured bra which had a similar lacy trim to match the rest of her lingerie. She fastened up the rear hook and eye and ensured her shoulder straps were in place.

Throughout her dressing she stared at my face and penis and smiled seductively sticking out her tongue and running it around her lips. She was clearly flirting with me in an outrageous manner.

Danielle was certainly an extremely attractive long legged young lady who, to me at least, epitomised French feminity and moved in a deliciously graceful and civilised way.

Her grace was noticeable as she stepped into her wide nylon petticoat and pulled it up while shaking it down. Again as with her other lingerie her petticoat was cream coloured with a deep decorated lace hem which consisted of a delicate design of leaves and flowers.

I could not help myself and fondled her pert derriere through her flounced underskirt. I felt the seductive smooth texture of nylon sliding over nylon sliding over firm flesh. I was completely blown away.

She took her navy blue tartan school skirt off its hanger and unzipped it and shook out the heavy concertina pleats. Stepping into it she pushed her petticoat carefully down and around her hips, bottom and thighs and pulled her skirt up and zipped it ensuring that she did not trap any part of her cream nylon underskirt.

She stood in front of me and reached under her skirt and pulled her petticoat down evenly so it hung neatly underneath her flared knee-length pleated skirt. She put on her white blouse and grey v-neck sweater, tucking the former into the waistband of her skirt. She stepped into her brilliantly polished high-heeled patent-leather court shoes and she was instantly three inches taller.

She said to me “Mon jupon montre-t-elle au-dessous de ma jupe?” which I understood meant “Can you see my petticoat peeping out from beneath the hem of my skirt?”

I sat slouched on my bench as she twirled around in front of me. Naturally her pleats swung out and I could see her underskirt but as they dropped back into place there was no sign of her cream flowery lacy hems.

I told her that I needed to check her stocking seams again. I got off the bench and knelt lecherously on the floor, my towel covering my waist and prominent genitals, and asked her to stand with her back to me and bend her knees. With her in position I lifted up her skirt and petticoat and pushed my head underneath.

In the darkness her seams were obviously fine. I breathed in her scent and nuzzled her panties and she pushed back against me rubbing her knicker clad derriere firmly into my face. My erection ached for attention. She stood up and her hems dropped down again. Danielle put on her wristwatch and brushed out her hair staring down, pouting kisses at me and smiling. The other girls had finished dressing and stood about ready to leave.

There was no sign of Miss Wiff-Naseford, Miss Hamilton or Miss Hoskins. Clearly they had all left for afternoon tea in the staffroom or whatever.

It was four o’clock and school had officially finished for the day. I was not sure whether I should return to the headmistress’s office for a further strapping down session or stay with Class 1B. The girls were clearly still intrigued with having a semi-naked 20-year old man with them.

Martine Cloutier gathered the girls around her and said in a manner she thought I could not hear or understand. “Nous reviendrons a notre dortoir et aurons le sexe avec ‘Monsieur Tom’,” They huddled around her giggling and glancing in my direction. Their skirt pleats shook against their black nyloned knees as they laughed out loud.

Fortunately for me I understood that basically they wanted to get me back to their dormitory where they would have sex with me. I was obviously quite pleased with the prospect but hoped I wasn’t required to have multiple intercourse with all of them as clearly I would have to be carried out on a stretcher or, worse still, in a hearse.

They walked over to me where I was sitting on the floor of the changing room looking pathetic wearing my deliberately cultivated ‘little boy lost’ look which most women warmed to.

Jacqueline Lemieux placed a high-heeled shoe on the bench next to me and leant forward and told me that they were going to smuggle me up to their dormitory in the attic on the third floor of the south wing. She explained that it was a very long room and all twenty of them slept there and if I wanted to escape from Miss Wiff-Naseford and her ‘insane punishments’ I should go with them. She did not mention having sex; she didn’t need to as I could already smell it in the atmosphere.

I moved my head slowly under Jacqueline’s skirt and pure white nylon underskirt trimmed with scalloped inserts of white Calais lace. I pushed my head so that my lips touched her stocking top and breathed in the odours from between her legs. Clearly she was already worked up. I licked my way up and down her inner thigh then stopped as I felt a shoe kick me in my ribs. I pulled my head out from under her skirt and looked up.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

My parents did a damn fine job brainwashing me. Seriously. A lot of people say that but I actually mean it. With every fiber of my being. My name is Amanda Joseph Saint-Cyr. I was born and raised in the City of Calgary, Province of Alberta. My father Luc Saint-Cyr is French Canadian and my mother Bella Joseph is of Haitian descent, having moved to the Province of Alberta from her hometown of Cap-Haitien, North Haiti, during the late 1980s. The first day of January 1986 I came into the world. And I’ve been wreaking havoc ever since. I grew up to be a six-foot-tall, fine-looking young woman with light brown skin, curly Black hair and pale green eyes. I often get mistaken for a Hispanic woman but I always tell people that I am Black. I’m a Black Canadian female. Deal with it.

In the summer of 2009 I graduated from the University of Calgary with my MBA. I tried to find decent work but 2010 ended without my finding anything in my field. I decided to explore life outside the Confederation of Canada for a while. I moved to the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and applied for a work permit. I began working for the Boston Museum of Science as a translator. Growing up in racially diverse Calgary, I was exposed to various languages ranging from French to Spanish and Portuguese. The one language my mother didn’t want me to learn was Haitian Creole. I think that’s part of the reason why I immersed myself in the Haitian community of Boston, Massachusetts. How I loved that fine, vibrant town. There are so many Black people in Boston, Massachusetts it’s not even funny. The City of Calgary in Alberta is racially diverse but it’s mostly Hispanics, Arabs and East Indians, with a few African immigrants and Afro-Caribbean people here and there. In Boston, I felt right at home.

It’s in Boston that I met the young man destined become my significant other. Harrison Etienne. Second generation Haitian-American. The proud son of Haitian immigrants Cheryl and Michel Etienne. He was born and raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, and was attending Northeastern University’s MBA program at the time we met. Something about this six-foot-one, lean and sexy Black man caught my attention as I spoke to some Portuguese tourists one fine summer day inside the Boston Museum of Science. Harrison Etienne walked into the Museum clad in a bright red silk shirt, Black silk pants and Black Timberland boots. He looked good enough to eat. I’ve always had a thing for tall, dark-skinned and ruggedly handsome guys. We don’t have nearly enough of them in the City of Calgary and most of them are into fat White women. Seriously, there must be something in the water that Black men drink.

Anyhow, I was smitten with Harrison Etienne the moment he walked up to me. Of course, I tried to play it cool. Can’t let him see that I want his fine ass. He’s around six-foot-two, built like an NBA player but the Northeastern University student card hanging next to his car keys says otherwise. I’ve visited many schools in the Boston area, from Harvard University to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Bay State College, Emerson College, Boston College, Boston University, Gibbs College and Suffolk University. It’s a University town, that’s for sure. At all those schools I saw quite a few good-looking Black men. And çorum escort I must say that Harrison Etienne seemed like the cream of the crop. What the hell was a fine brother like him doing unattached? I went over and introduced myself because I’m a really helpful sister. I was determined to help a brother out, as my Yankee ( that’s Canadian talk for American ) friends might say.

Harrison Etienne looked me up and down, and gently shook my hand after I welcomed him to the Boston Museum of Science. Apparently, he was a civil engineering major at the prestigious Northeastern University in downtown Boston and he was working on a project. I was really helpful, even though I didn’t know jack about civil engineering. I made sure I gave him my cell phone, Harrison blinked in surprise when he saw the four hundred and three area code on my cell phone. I explained to him that I had an international plan with a cell phone company in my hometown of Calgary, in the Canadian region of Alberta. In Calgary, we use four hundred and three and four hundred and eighty seven. In Boston, they’ve got six zero seven and seven eight one for the most part. Fascinating. That same afternoon, Harrison Etienne and I met for a few drinks. We had a lot of fun together. He was friendly, smart and totally relaxed. He had a lot of questions about Canada. To my surprise, his questions were very pertinent. He asked about the life of Black Canadian celebrities like the former Governor General, and of course the Black female Lieutenant Governor of the Province of Nova Scotia. I didn’t think Americans knew anything about us Canadians. Americans live like the world is theirs and nobody else matters. Canadians seem to know more about United States history and politics than some Americans. Just to show you a thing or two about our different cultures.

Harrison Etienne further surprised me by telling me he had relatives in the City of Montreal, crown jewel of the Province of Quebec. Apparently, his maternal uncle Theodore Mathieu emigrated to the Quebec region of Canada in the 1980s. As for Harrison’s parents, Cheryl and Michel Etienne, they moved to the State of Massachusetts instead. Wow. Small world. I’ve been to Quebec quite a few times because my father is French Canadian. It’s where I learned to speak French. Unfortunately, my father never let me venture to Montreal-Nord, the Haitian sector of Montreal. Harrison asked me about my parents and I hesitated. Shall I tell him the truth?

My parents are racist as hell. My mother is one of those not so rare Black women who hate Black men with a passion and she thinks of White males as demigods and knights in shining armour. My father who is White feels deeply threatened by Black males, especially since he got passed over for a promotion which went to an African guy at the Canadian Revenue Agency in Calgary, Alberta. Dad often says negative things about Black men, and mom echoes them. My parents are racists, even though they’re an interracial couple. My mother tried to raise me to see Whiteness as perfection and to loathe other Black people, especially Black males. Luckily, I had a mind of my own. I made friends with African and Afro-Caribbean students at the University of Calgary. And through them, I began getting in touch with my African çorum escort bayan roots.

I told Harrison Etienne all that, even though we just met. When I finished, he sat and listened to me in silence. Gently, he squeezed my hand and promised me everything would be alright. I looked into his beautiful brown eyes and I knew then that I was in the presence of my future hubby. Harrison and I began hanging out all over Boston. He showed me the beauty of his hometown, and the friendliness of its people. Canadians aren’t as friendly as Americans. One good thing about you Yanks, you’re more honest. If you like someone, you tell them. If you hate them, you tell them too. In Canada, we’re cruel and bigoted but we’re awfully polite about it. I experienced a lot of racism in Calgary, birthplace of the Redneck Canadian Movement. Of course, my parents tried to steer me toward White folks but I silently vowed to only love other people of color. I dated Black guys throughout high school and university, much to the dismay of my parents. Speaking of Black guys, I really wanted Harrison. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem interested in me. What the fuck?

Harrison and I were really cool, but I knew there was something strange about him. One night, he told me. And I was shocked. My dream guy told me he was bisexual. As in, attracted to both women and men. As in, NOT straight. What the fuck? I was crushed. Of course, I hid my disappointment and despair behind a placid smile. Harrison told me that he’d been aware of his bisexuality for a while, but never explored it. At the age of twenty three, he’d only been with five women and no men. I winced at that. Wow. I thought a hot guy like him would be banging a different woman every weekend. Harrison told me he cared for me, that’s why he told me his secret. Looking into his puppy-like eyes, I felt for him so I gave him a hug. Inside, I seethed. Every Black man I fall for is always queer, married, or into White women. What the fuck?

Harrison and I grew closer together, and I struggled to accept him for who and what he was. A tall, gorgeous and educated Black man who considered himself bisexual. Damn. When we walked together through malls, restaurants and clubs in Boston, women looked at us. I knew they were envious. I was walking around with a seriously hot Black guy. However, inside, I was crushed. The man I was falling for could never be mine. Or could he? One night, I put the moves on Harrison. After getting him properly liquored up, of course. We both had a bit to drink, and ended up making out on my couch.

Harrison’s lips were gentle but firm against mine. I had kissed him before but never like this. I wanted him so badly. Harrison gasped when I went for his dick. I shushed him and told him to relax. Then I knelt before him and took his dick in my mouth. His long and thick, uncircumcised dick. Harrison groaned as I sucked him off. Gay, bisexual or straight, a dick is a dick. And I’m the kind of woman who gives a mean head. I stroked Harrison’s balls while sucking him. A sharp groan escaped his lips and he warned me that he was about to cum. And cum he did. All over my mouth. I didn’t mind. His manly essence tasted magically delicious to this hungry sister.

I put a condom on Harrison’s dick and escort çorum climbed on top of him. And just like that, I began riding him. Harrison wrapped his arms around me and buried his handsome face between my big, firm breasts. He thrust into me with all his might. So this is the man who thinks he’s gay or bisexual? From where I’m standing, he’s all man. Harrison’s big cock filled my pussy and I squealed in delight as he fucked me passionately. I wanted more and begged him for it. He put me on all fours, spanked my ass and fucked me. I told him to pull my hair and he did. This was Harrison at his most aggressive and I loved it. My man is so hot! We fucked and sucked the night away, ladies and gentlemen. I don’t know what Harrison is. Maybe he’s a confused straight guy with some sexual curiosity about the other side. Or maybe he’s truly bisexual. Whatever the case might be, he tore my pussy up and I loved it. And I definitely need an encore!

After that night, things changed between Harrison and I forever. Initially, he felt guilty about sleeping with me but I told him I cared for him and wanted a relationship. He was stunned to discover that I wanted to be with him even though he was bisexual. I shrugged. Isn’t it up to me as a Black woman to decide whether or not I want to be with a bisexual brother? Harrison smiled and kissed me. The following night, I decided to surprise my new boyfriend. When Harrison returned to his dorm after a late class, he found me naked on his bed with a strap-on dildo about my waist. I stroked it gently, and told him to come join me. Harrison hesitated, but I sternly told him to get his ass on the bed. Obediently he did as he was told. I smiled wickedly. This was going to be fun.

Face down and ass up, that’s I took Harrison. Initially he was nervous because he’d never had anything up his ass before. Well, this was my first time fucking a man with a strap-on dildo. I was nervous too but I’m a confident woman so it doesn’t show. I lubricated Harrison’s asshole, and pressed the dildo against his backdoor. I asked him if he was ready for me and he said yes. Grinning, I playfully smacked his ass before sliding the dildo into his well-lubricated ass. Harrison groaned as I penetrated him. I asked him if he was okay and he nodded. I continued fucking him, happily sliding the strap-on dildo into the depths of his asshole. I really enjoyed fucking him. The feeling of power was downright intoxicating. My pussy was wet the entire time. Judging by Harrison’s pleasurable moans, he was enjoying himself too. I flipped him on his back so I could look at his face while fucking him. And it was pure perfection. Looking into his eyes and drinking the look of surrender in them while slamming his ass with my strap-on dildo. Hot!

Afterwards, Harrison had tears in his eyes as he hugged me tightly, kissed me and proclaimed his love for me. Am I good or what? Yep, that was the firs t time I ‘strapped’ my man. It was definitely not the last. Harrison and I are doing quite well. We recently got engaged. He filed for me to become a permanent resident of the United States of America. Isn’t that awesome? I’m thinking of staying in Boston. Nothing left for me in Calgary, Alberta. My racist parents be damned. I’m the daughter of a Black mother and White father, and I consider myself one hundred percent Black. Oh, and I love my Black men. The darker the better. Just ask my fiancé Harrison here. Oh, sorry. He’s still sleeping on account of the punishment I dished out on his ass with my strap earlier. I’m a passionate woman, what can I say?

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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

In this, the cold world we live in today, many things have changed since just a decade ago. Home slaves have been made legal in the United States and parts of Europe, although the word “slave” has since been outlawed and are now referred to as “Obedients”. An Obedient can come to this alternative life on a voluntary basis, entered into the system by legal parents after the age of seventeen, or served as punishment by the legal courts. The obedience act was passed ten years ago and since crimes are down, literacy amongst students of all ages is up and the homeless numbers have dwindled down dramatically. As with every motion passed anywhere there are those who claim the obedience act to be inhuman or immoral but none have succeeded in changing the minds of America.

I recently graduated from high school with honours and a free pass to any college of my choosing, in the midst of deciding which school I would attend my father passed and in his will he stated that his entirety of his company and his financial assets were to be left to his only son. Well the only son he considered worthy of his empire and who he felt could continue to take the family name to new heights. My older brother, who I will not waste too much energy thinking about, left our lives to pursue his music career after our father threatened to enroll him into the obedience program if he did not attend college. It was regrettable to know that not much would come of my sibling, however I did not want a life full of limits.

Having been one of the four who created the obedience program, my father Mr. Andrew denizli escort Stone knew that there was a financial system to be created along with the program. So without any hesitation he created “Stone Obedience Attire” the highest quality uniform and accessory shop in the U.S., providing everything a family needs to properly train and provide for their obedient. Naturally the company boomed and made my father extremely wealthy. I could understand how he wanted his sons to be the best in school so we could be the best at our lives. Especially after going through his financial statements and seeing how much my father had stored away and even set aside for me and my brother. I guess he was hopeful he would come back and take his proper place in the world.

“Sir, were here.” My driver brought me from my thoughts. I

“Thank you benson, keep the car running this shouldn’t take too long.”

“Yes sir.”

I opened the car door and swiftly stepped out, a leather satchel in my hand. I closed the door and started up the rocky drive way that led to the door. Before I made it half up the way the door opened and he stepped out as beautiful as I remember.

“Holy shit, Coyote is that you?”

“Yeah it is. How are you?” I watched his eyes dart from my suit to my car to the satchel in my hand.

“Uhh… fine I guess, obviously not as well as you are.” He said with a nervous chuckle.

“Don’t give me too much credit, most of this is inherited and previously earned.” I smiled offering him comfort.

After we settled denizli escort bayan inside his house and he served me a glass of warm tap water I started my business.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I have shown up here today and rightfully so.” I said unbuttoning my jacket.

“Not so much that you’ve shown up but how, what’s with the car? the suit? The you I remember hated suits and dared never to touch them.” He smiled and I felt that rush I hadn’t felt since I saw it last.

“Well as it turns out my father was the founder of the Stone Obidiance Attire company.” His eyes widened at my words.

“So you mean your dad is like the owner of the whole company? Like all of it?”

“In its entirety. Well unfortunately about three months ago my father passed away and I have been running things since.”

“How old are you? Aren’t you like eighteen? Can you run a company that big at eighteen?”

“As it turns out yes, you can.”

He looked at me searching for what I could only assume was a falter, a sign that what I was saying was a colossal joke of some kind.

“So what is it that you want with me?”

I squared my eyes with his and spoke gently.

“From what I can see here your life hasn’t much improved since our childhood and I don’t mean that as an insult but I know how it sounds. I would like to offer you a chance to not only upgrade your way of life but in the process also diminishing any and all of your responsibilities as an adult.”

“How could you do that for me or why even?” He asked escort denizli looking genuinely confused.

“Well one of the conditions of my inheritance was that I was to keep an Obidiant of my own to display my support of not only my company but also for the Obidiance movement. That being said I would like to offer you this position, as my permanent Obidiant.”

His breathing slowly grew heavy and his eyes shifted to the satchel by my side.

“Oh yes and to inform you you should choose this satchel containing seventy-five thousand dollars is yours, no strings attached.”

He leaned back against the chair he was sitting in. “Can I ask you two questions?”

“You may.” I answered.

“The money is it dirty? Do I have to worry about having it?”

“No, not at all, the money is completely legit. Your second question?” He looked at my eyes and glued them in place.

“Why haven’t you called me by my name?” I smiled.

“Because I already consider you as mine to not address directly.”

I could tell my words hit something inside him, a tear fell from his left eye.

Once again I offered him comfort.

“If you have any other questions I’m happy to answer them.” I smiled and waited for him to break. After a while he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“When do I start or however it works if I say yes?”

“Immediately I would have you sign the papers that gave me ownership over you and I would take you over to my store for a meet and greet with the local customers while fitting you for your identification collar.”

“So everyone would know I’m your Obidiant?”

“Absolutely, and in many eyes held in a high position.”

“I could never get out? Like ever?”

“That’s right, and you could never be associated with anyone from your former self.”

“Then yes, my answer is yes.”

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