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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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Even though Emily had still not managed to satisfy her desire to be fucked, she was still feeling better about escaping from the United States. There, like all girls, she had come of age sexually in a public ritual called the Festival where an older man had penetrated her up for the first time, beginning a period where she was eligible for training by all men with daughters her age or older. In Canada, where she had fled to, this was not the case.

She also no longer worried so much about being discovered and thought a freak or a victim because of her experiences. She was even thinking about reaching back out to David, the young man she’d taken home and confused with her blowjob skills and lack of knowledge of condoms, opening up to him, and asking him for another date. (‘Really, it would be a first date’, she reminded herself. ‘Picking someone up isn’t a proper date.’)

But that next morning when she went to get the newspaper, there was a letter waiting for her that broke her composure. It had been forwarded by the Catholic relief agency which had helped her get settled in and written a letter to her father to tell him that she had made it to Canada and was alright. They hadn’t given out her address for her own safety, but had told her that they would send along any mail that came for her, and she briefly thought it was from him.

But when she saw the return address, she realized that it was from her mentor. He was the man who had helped her get over her self-consciousness and showed her how to open up and embrace what her body was built for, and then given her all the pleasure she could handle. Even now, she remained grateful for his attention and care. She read it.

“Ms. Emily,

Your father is still too shocked and disappointed by your illegal departure from his house and from your training to write to you. I know you initially struggled with being trained, as many girls of your intellect seem to, but I thought we were past all of that and I am most aggrieved that you have thrown away everything I put the time in to train you for. I thought you were a good girl, Ms. Emily, but you have been a very bad girl indeed. You have brought shame onto your family and your town and I am telling you now that you are to come back. While I only train good girls, I will work with your father — who understands now that he should have been much firmer and more hands-on from you from the start – and with the local authorities to come up with an appropriate punishment for you. After that, if you work your hardest, you can be a good girl for me again. “

Emily read his name at the bottom, signed with his characteristic flourish. Her hands were shaking and tears were streaming down her face. Some part of her thought that he would understand why she had to leave, that he might even be cautiously supportive, and now she saw that was foolish. She had been so certain that leaving had been the right thing to do. If you were sure that something was the right thing, then how could following through be anything but good?

She’d always been told that being a good girl was not just about obedience for the sake of obedience, but obedience to your father and the other fathers because they knew better than you did about what you needed. But in this case, as her father came closer to wanting to train her himself – something that most fathers did not do, but that he was entitled to if he wished – she had known what she needed, and that was to get away. But in her confusion, she still could not stand the idea of her mentor calling her a bad girl. She thought to herself that she had been wrong, and that she would have to go back.

While she couldn’t have explained why, the idea of going back and being punished and then absolved filled her with relief. She thought of her mentor and his muscular body. She thought of the pleasure he had shown to her, the way he had introduced her to weightlifting and been patient and supportive and charmed as her body filled out. The incredible way they had celebrated her 19th birthday together, when he had shown her that her purpose and her pleasure both could lie in serving two men at once, and then held her in bed until she fell asleep. She could not bear the thought of disappointing this man, but at the same time, she knew that he could not be correct.

She peeled off her short navy pajamas and stared at her body in the mirror. The girl in the mirror looked back, her face tear-stained but defiant, her body petite but strong. She admired the fullness of her breasts and the slope of her waist into her hips, and the legs and butt she’d spent so much of the last few years building with her mentor’s assistance.

She spread her legs and, using her fingers, spread open her labia and exposed the wetness inside her hidden parts, doing the special greeting he had worked on her with to get past her initially painful shyness about displaying her genitals. She next tried to see herself as her mentor and father would- a bad girl, in need of punishment. She stuck her tongue out and watched kütahya escort it. She circled her clitoris with her fingers. She lay back on her bed, her legs spread, and pushed her fingers in and out of her pussy, crying out.

She muttered to herself that she was a bad girl, trying to enjoy the idea of it as her body further responded to her own touch. The buildup of emotions coursed through her body and she felt herself shudder over and over at a distance, responding to her fingers, tensing and relaxing, hearing herself say “thank you” and not knowing who she was saying it to. And, for the first time, that pleasure seemed like something her body was taking, something she could have independent of deserving it, independent of being a good girl or a bad girl or any other kind of girl except the kind who was going to find pleasure where it could be found and have it.

A crazy idea occurred to her. Instead of looking for affirmation from a man that she was a good girl, she would go out, find what she wanted, and take it. But that thought was immediately followed by the memory of her failed first attempt to meet her sexual needs in Canada, where she had asked an older gentleman in a grocery store if he wanted to have her, and his kind rebuke of Emily had caused her to want to hide under her sheets forever. But then she remembered something that Benjamin, the professor she had done a mock training session with the day prior, had mentioned: in Canada, there were apps where you could find a man to go out with or take home.

He had mentioned one in particular, and Emily quickly searched for it and installed it on her phone. She was not a big smartphone user — in the United States, while it was standard for adults to have them (and for girls to get them as they came of age so that they could install the app by which trainers could find them), it was not normal to be constantly using your phone the way that she had noticed seemed to be the case in Canada. She had known how to use the basic functionality, but she would read a book if she wanted to read, and if she would make friends from school or church, or with the girls who were the daughters of her father’s colleagues from the university — girls, she thought to herself, who she would never get to see again. (It occurred to her now, thinking about it, that the other professors much more often had daughters than sons, and she wondered why she had never noticed this before and puzzled briefly for an explanation.)

But after installing the app, she was able to follow the instructions. She kept in mind the caution Benjamin had given her about not putting up naked photos, and she uploaded a few stills from videos she had taken of herself in the gym to review her form: in them, she was in a sports bra and a brief pair of shorts with a barbell on her back or in her hands. There was a section for text about yourself and what you were looking for, and she filled it out with the following:

“For the longest time I wanted to be a good girl, but now I’m not so sure that’s something I want to be, or even that it means what I thought it did. I want to ask for what I want and maybe even take it.”

She wasn’t sure if that was too short, but almost soon as she saved her profile, she started getting messages from men. Anything that called her a bad girl she deleted: she still hated that idea. And some of the messages were crude in a way that surprised her and she was not prepared for. While Emily adored sex and very much wanted to finally fulfill her body’s still unmet craving for it, she didn’t like anything that seemed like the man thought sex was dirty or humiliating. This was one area, she thought to herself, where she appreciated her upbringing and training. She had always been taught that wanting sex was natural and good, and while in retrospect she thought that some of the sex she’d been made to have was perhaps neither, she still generally believed this.

But there was one message from a man in his early twenties which surprised and intrigued Emily. It read, “Having to be a good girl all the time seems like a lot of pressure. Maybe I could try to be good for you, and you could see if you like that instead?”

Emily didn’t know what to make of that. The idea of a man, even a young one, trying to be good didn’t make sense to her. The men who had trained her had always seemed so confident, so assured that they knew what her body needed and how to give it to her. She worked so hard to impress them with her fitness routine and her compliance. She had always been devastated when she failed to please them and had to be punished and elated when the punishment was over and she could return to being a good girl. What did it even mean for a man to want to be good for her? She briefly forgot about the letter she had gotten from her mentor, and decided to, in the open-minded and good-natured spirit of research, respond to this and find out more.

She wrote back that she would like to explore that and malatya escort to see what he could do to be good for her, and he made some suggestions which, while unexpected, excited her. The man – his name was Ariel, and he was a graduate student at the university that Emily would begin to attend in a week – was tall and thin with olive skin and dark brown curls and had a picture of himself biking, and another one where he was in a kitchen stirring a pot using a wooden spoon. Emily liked the idea of a man cooking for her — since it had just been her and her father for so long, she had done most of the cooking, while he would sit in the kitchen with her and grade papers or write. She wondered briefly how he was doing with her gone and then put the unhappy thought away and got back to Ariel.

They messaged back and forth revealing new small tastes of themselves for the other to enjoy. Ariel offered her a foot rub and a glass of wine and to show off his body to her. Emily was fascinated by the idea of getting to lean back and be the one judging, to get to appraise the body of a man who wanted to please her with some of the ardor with which she had wanted to please so many trainers, but especially her mentor. She offered him pieces of her story — that she had been used to trying to please men but wanted to try something else. That she was entirely new to whatever this something else might be. And she sent him pictures of herself that she would set to disappear quickly on the app, enjoying the feeling of teasing him.

They agreed to meet at the cafe down the street for breakfast. He assured that there was no pressure to go home together afterward, and he wanted her to feel safe. Feeling impish, Emily responded that she was going to be the one in charge and as such that she also wanted to make sure that he felt safe. She changed out of her pajamas and, pausing to think of what made her feel powerful, what she could imagine wearing to enjoy a man trying to be good for her, she put on gym clothes — a sports bra, a brief pair of shorts that showed off her well-built ass and quads, and a tank top, along with her sneakers. She liked how they displayed the body she’d worked so hard to develop, a body that could do things that she hadn’t known were possible, both in the gym and in bed. She left her face bare of makeup and her hair pulled back into a ponytail.

It was a sunny day, and Emily enjoyed soaking it in on all the parts of her exposed skin as she walked down the street to the cafe. She arrived first and saw that both of the people she’d noticed working at the cafe previously were there — the young woman with the shaved head and the nose ring and the young and very thin man with the long hair. They were behind the counter, and she saw that they were standing so close to each other that they were almost touching. Emily wondered if they were having sex and, if so, how that had started and what it was like. She ordered a latte and a croissant and waited for Ariel in what was fast becoming her favorite armchair.

As she waited, Emily started to feel nervous and a bit silly. What did she know about having a man display himself for her, about deciding what she wanted and evaluating him the way so many trainers had evaluated her? With Benjamin the previous day, she had struggled to even articulate what she wanted him to do with her. Did Ariel expect that she would tell him what to do right away? What if, having failed to be a good girl and having let down her father and mentor and her whole town, having committed this act of rebellion, she also failed at whatever other task she was attempting here?

But when Ariel walked in, his obvious and overwhelming nervousness freed Emily from her own. He was wearing a gray tee-shirt and jeans and sandals, and he fidgeted with his empty belt loops as he looked around the cafe and met her glance. He came over to her and introduced himself with an attempt at a hug that he quickly decided should be handshake instead and sat down briefly at the chair next to hers before remembering he hadn’t ordered, and then walked over to the counter to order a tea and wait for it, and then finally came back and sat down. She thought he looked very cute with his tight jeans and thick dark curls, and when he spoke, she detected a faint accent that she found herself enjoying but could not place.

They initially just chatted about school, with Ariel telling Emily about how he was beginning his second year as a philosophy Ph.D. student, and her telling him about her math and science studies and how she’d tried to get a jump on some of the readings and problem sets in preparation for her first semester as a transfer student. Emily summoned up what she’d learned about what men liked from her training, and she was pleased that her confidence and big smile and genuine interest in him seemed to calm him down, and soon they were talking like friends, and she decided to broach the topic that had brought them there.

To summon the batman escort confidence necessary, Emily reminded herself of what she’d been taught about her body and her desires being natural and good — even though she was pretty sure this was not what her trainers had in mind. “I’ve never had a man try to be good for me. It’s always me trying. But I’d like to.”

Ariel blushed and smiled at her “You’re very pretty, Ms. Emily. Can I call you that?”, and she nodded, struck by the different way he was saying her name than she was used to hearing it. “Maybe after all that work you have put in trying to be good, maybe you deserve to have someone doing that for you?”

He paused and she contemplated that idea and liked it. She thought about what she would do if she were a trainer — if she were entitled to enjoy a man’s body, if it were her job to teach him what he needed to know so that he could not just bring her pleasure, but also bring all the future women who had his body pleasure as well. She liked the sense of power, but also of feeling responsible for improving him.

Unsure of the details of how this would actually work but trying to continue to act like she knew — and wondering if the trainers who had worked with her had ever felt this way — Emily put her hand on Ariel’s knee and squeezed a little. “You should be good for me. How about we plan on starting with you taking your clothes off. You can show me your body and how you understand that I deserve to see all of it.” She realized as the words came out of her mouth that they might not even make sense to him, since they were coming out of her extremely specific experiences as a girl in the United States, but as she saw his eyes widen, she could tell that something he said had resonated with him.

“Please, Ms. Emily. A pretty girl like you, she deserves anything she wants from a man.” And now Emily found herself surprised. She’d heard a lot growing up and in training about girls’ prettiness, about how this was pleasing to men and proof that their bodies were meant to be used, how they were jewels meant to be accessed only by highest-status and most-deserving of men, those who had succeeded in marrying and having daughters, and raising them to Festival age and releasing them to be trained. She had never thought about the idea that she herself might be entitled to anything, except perhaps for men to take an interest in training her, but even that had to be constantly earned with good behavior and attention to detail in her appearance.

Trying to act boldly even if she wasn’t entirely feeling it, Emily determined that she would explore this situation and learn everything she could, even if it seemed like it might not lead to the penetration that her body had been craving for so long and that she had yet to satisfy. (Except, she reminded herself, with the glass toy that had been used with her to great effect.) She asked him some questions about what he was going to do for her, and he made some hopeful suggestions involving kneeling for her on the floor and rubbing her feet and showing her how he could open up and put a toy inside of himself. (She tried to swallow her shock at the idea of a man being penetrated. This was another idea she had never been taught to contemplate.) She decided she was ready to try this out, and she asked him if he wanted to go to his place or hers. He leaned toward her and reminded her of what they’ve talked about over the app, that he had a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator and every intent of pouring her a glass so she could drink it while he took off his clothes for her.

They finished their drinks and walked home together. He explained that he lived in graduate student housing just a couple of blocks away. He asked her if she knew where she’d be living. She explained that because she was a transfer student and had enrolled late, she did not yet know what dorm she’d be living in and might find out only a few days before it was time to move from her temporary apartment. He asked her why she’d moved to town before the beginning of the semester, and she shrugged and told him that there were things happening at home that she wanted to get away from, which was true although obviously not the whole story, and he accepted this explanation and did not probe further.

Ariel’s apartment was, like Emily’s, in a large building with carpeting that had seen better days. He let them in with a key and they walked up three flights of stairs, Emily glad in that moment that she was in good enough shape not to be made out-of-breath.

He let her in and gave her a brief but upbeat tour of his place, which was about the same size as her own studio apartment. It wasn’t messy, but it overflowed with books. His living room area was a battered brown couch and a wooden coffee table half-covered in papers, and he gestured for her to sit down there as he went to the small kitchen area.

“If you decide it’s too early for wine, I have seltzer. Or if you want something harder, there is a liquor – it’s like licorice, but not sweet.” Emily decided to go for the glass of wine and was pleased when Ariel handed her a glass of white wine in a champagne glass and brought out a bowl of strawberries to go with them. Now home, he seemed more comfortable, and when he took off his sandals, she followed his cue and untied her sneakers, and he followed that with interest.

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

This new imbalance in our marital roles was locked in. There would be no going back, only forward. Primarily in the bedroom, and to a lesser extent, any other time the situation called for it, I was now the lesser half of a female-led relationship.

It’s kind of funny how life always presents us with forks in the road of our destinies. Often, we give little thought as to which way we should turn. Instead, we aimlessly make right and left turns at those forks. Any one of those earlier choices may have caused our life to turn out entirely differently. But by the time we might reflect upon, even regret the choices we’ve made, it’s too late to turn back. We must press on and make the best of what we are left with. Who knows, you just may luck out after all.

I am reminded of the song Marie requested for our first dance as husband and wife at our wedding reception: “Bless the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts. As someone who is not much of a Country Music fan, that was the first time I actually listened to the words. So moved that she had chosen this to represent ‘our song,’ my tears were running down my cheeks and dripping on her dress by the second verse.

Eleven years later, all the previous forks in my road had led me here. Only time would tell if this is where I was always meant to be. Right or wrong, I had made my choice and would live with the consequences. From now on, I would acquiesce to my wife’s wishes.

In less than an hour, a years-long relationship of equality had been transformed into one where the female takes charge.

A by-product of these new roles and rules, my wife was spending more of her free time away from the house and less time doing her share of chores. It now fell upon me to pick up the slack. Besides the lawn and general home and car maintenance, I began doing more of the dusting, vacuuming, laundry, and cooking. I simply shrugged it off as the consequences of being a subservient cuckold.

My wife’s happiness has more than made up for any inconvenience her absences might have caused. And even though my orgasms were still under her control, Marie always makes time to tend to my emotional needs. She always provides plenty of hugs, kisses, and words of love and affection whenever she is with me.

Marie has stated that splitting her free time between her husband and her lover has been challenging but also very rewarding. She proves this by warming my heart with an abundance of gratitude, saying she’s “incredibly lucky for having such a good and giving husband.” (Although, she will sometimes rephrase it as being lucky to have a cuckold for a husband.)

As before, Marie regularly dreamed up what she likes calling “games” for me to play. In reality, they’ve been more like challenging dares I’m expected to complete. These games had become increasingly demanding in the days leading up to Halloween.

Traditionally, Halloween is a time for kids to pretend to be someone or something else by getting dressed up in costumes. Not since Marie and I were kids had we put on a costume. (As long as you don’t count the kind of outfit we might wear for adult-time role-playing.) For several days leading up to that day, I worried that my wife might exercise her newfound authority over me and craft a whole new “game” to be played. Could this be the year when portraying someone we are not exits the safety of the bedroom and goes public? Might I be required to put on a costume? I could only guess what that costume might be. No doubt, the more humiliating, the better.

Aside from our daughter’s observance of the holiday by trick-or-treating in costume, Halloween came and went like any other day. Naturally, I was relieved when it was over, and no related challenge ever materialized for me.

Unfortunately, that feeling wouldn’t last.

When I returned from work the following Friday, Marie informed me that Megan was spending the weekend with her Aunt Diane, Marie’s sister, and the cousins. As for a reason, well, that she said would have to wait. “I’ll tell you all about it while you are getting me ready for Jason. I’m seeing him in less than two hours.”

And so it was. As I washed, shaved, and primped my wife for another rendezvous bayburt escort with her lover, she informed me that we were invited to a party the next night. A costume party. [OH, NO!]

“This will be so much fun,” she said enthusiastically. “I haven’t been to a costume party in ages. Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for our costumes. I’ve got some great ideas of what to get.”

As you can imagine, this was not open for discussion. Marie had made up her mind, accepted the invitation, and that was that.

I woke up the following morning the same way I had gone to bed, alone. My wife had taken full advantage of our childless weekend and spent the entire night with her stud.

When Marie did finally return, she looked exhausted and ravaged, yet radiant. I helped her undress, feasted on a massive creampie, gave her a quick but effective sponge bath, then left her to get some sleep.

As she slept, I tried not to think about what a night in costume with people I knew would be like. More importantly, what would I be going as? The harder I tried not thinking about it, the more those thoughts hounded me. It wasn’t until I admitted to myself that, just like in my youth, the decision as to what I’d be going dressed as was in the hands of someone else. Ultimately, I would wear whatever costume was provided for me. All I could do was keep telling myself that I would survive this – no matter how I was dressed.

That afternoon, we shopped. Boy, did we shop! For Marie, it was simple. She found what she would wear in an actual costume store. But they didn’t have what she had in mind for me. No, it couldn’t be that simple. We bounced from thrift stores and consignment shops to a discount mart. It didn’t take long to figure out what I would be going as. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, question nothing, and do as I was told, even if it meant taking items into a dressing room to try on and then coming out to model for her – and anyone else who happened to be nearby.

That evening, Marie decided that she would help me get into costume first. Of course, we had both showered and shaved beforehand. She started by painting my fingernails. You can already see where this is headed. My wife’s idea for my perfect costume was to turn me from a ‘he’ to a ‘she.’

Next, Marie applied eyeliner, mascara, and shadow to my eyelids. She then tweezered and colored my eyebrows. Next, she used a complexion cream to mask my larger beard-growing pores, brushed on several colored powders to give my face “contour,” and finished by applying lipstick. It was then time to get dressed.

Marie pretty much did it all for me. First, she hooked a black lacy suspender belt around my waist. That was for holding up a seasonally appropriate pair of stockings: nude with black spiderwebs decorating them. After stretching and smoothing them up the length of each leg, (which admittedly felt incredibly stimulating), the stocking tops were attached to the garter belt suspenders.

The next ordeal I was subjected to was something I could never have seen coming. Marie had me stand with my feet spread apart. Then using medical tape, she tucked one testicle at a time up into the abdominal pouch. She then applied additional tape to secure the remaining scrotum in place. Next, after sticking two extra long pieces of tape to the end of my penis, Marie secured them there by snugly wrapping more tape around the head of my dick. Taking those free-hanging strips and pulling down and back, she stretched my penis between my legs, attaching the resulting sling inside either butt cheek.

Surprisingly, it sounds more painful than it actually was. Actually, it was oddly arousing. Even after all that manipulation, stretched and strangled as it was, my dick couldn’t inflate, much less become erect. Somehow, losing that ability somehow caused a kind of erotic mental stimulation.

With all my male bits neatly tucked away, I stepped into an undersized pair of spandex panties. Once in place, it appeared that my dick and balls had been removed. Grazing my hand over my groin felt like I was cupping a woman’s pussy. With my dick stretched across and dividing my bartın escort scrotum, my panties hinted that a female vulva – AKA a camel-toe – was within. Disturbing as this should have been, undeniable thrills shot throughout my entire body instead.

The next item was a snow-white, lightly padded push-up bra. After some manipulation, the bra pushed what little breast meat I had towards the center of my chest, giving the appearance that I had grown a pair of modestly sized breasts accentuated by a surprising amount of cleavage. I kind of liked that. Marie brushed some darker powder between my boobs to create the illusion of even greater cleavage.

A white blouse with black pinstripes finished my top half. The blouse was a v-neck that buttoned to just above the bra, leaving my forced cleavage exposed. On my bottom half, I first stepped into a black skirt, then a pair of two-inch high heel shoes. (Yes, they were among the day’s purchases after being fitted by a sales clerk and modeled in front of others.) Once the skirt was hooked and zipped around my waist, Marie looked at me in awe of the finished results. I was embarrassed. Adding to my embarrassment, the hem of the skirt was so short it barely covered the top of the stockings.

For finishing touches, she attached a pair of clip-on earrings to my earlobes and hooked a pendant necklace around my neck. “It helps draw a man’s eye to a woman’s breasts.” Checking myself in the mirror, I could see why.

After taking my eyes from what appeared to be B-cup breasts, I took in the complete picture of what I had become. Damn! If I didn’t know I was behind this get-up, I’d have believed that I was looking at a relatively young and, admittedly, alluringly sexy woman.

If this was what was to be, then everything was perfect—all except for my hair.

This seems as good a time as any to mention that for quite some time now, I had been known to go somewhere around 8 to 10 weeks between haircuts. Both Marie and Megan always told me they like my wavy hair long and free-flowing. Well, just as the length was starting to get on my nerves, that sexual reunion with the old boyfriend occurred.

From that evening on, our lives began changing, and getting a haircut got pushed way down on my to-do list. Now that it was the end of October, it was going on close to four months since I last saw my barber.

To make do at work, I resorted to pulling my hair back into a man-bun which management and co-workers accepted. However, with how I was currently dressed, a man-bun wasn’t going to work. Marie did a quick brush-out of my lengthening hair, then clipped it behind each ear to ensure the earrings remained visible. After a spritz of perfume, except for shoes, I was all set.

A serious question popped into my mind. “What if I need to pee?” I asked.

“Whoa! Hold that thought. Before I answer that, I want you to stand in front of the mirror.” What one thing had to do with the other, I didn’t know, but I did it anyway. Marie instructed, “Now closely look at yourself and then ask that question again.” Damn. I still found it hard to believe it was me in the mirror. I looked that good.

Studying the reflection of the lovely lady in the mirror, I began to repeat my question. “How am I supposed to….?” That’s when I got what Marie was getting at. The voice didn’t match the image. “You heard it, didn’t you? That is not the appropriate voice for a lady, is it?” I had to agree. “You need to speak softer and a little more breathy. Now try it again.”

It took a couple of attempts until we both felt I sounded convincingly feminine. Satisfied, Marie smiled slyly as she answered my original question.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I thought of that. I left a little opening in the tape. When stretched, the tip of your dick lined up perfectly with where a woman’s urethra would be. Just pull your panties down to your knees and sit to pee like a lady does. Just be sure to wipe when you’re done.” I could only shake my head as to what I was going along with.

Of course, much of this wasn’t a surprise. After all, I had been a reluctant accomplice in shopping for my costume. ığdır escort But if having me wear panties and bras daily hadn’t already tested my boundaries, Marie just pushed me to take things a multitude of levels beyond that.

Day by day. Bit by bit, I was being challenged to break customary barriers and jump through non-traditional hoops, all for the sake of holding onto the woman I couldn’t imagine being without.

When it came to Marie’s costume, instead of matching the theme of my get-up by also doing a role reversal, hers was that of a scantily clad biker babe. That consisted of black, super tight short-shorts, a black, half-cup bra under a sleeveless denim jacket so short that much of her midriff remained exposed. Instead of the expected motorcycle club name on the back, her jacket read, ‘OUT 4 FUN’.

After putting on darker than usual lipstick and eye shadow, she combed some sort of gel through her hair. It slicked down her lovely mane of hair back until it lay flat against her head. As a finishing touch, she applied several threatening-looking temporary tattoos. Of course, she had them on her arms and legs. But also on each side of her exposed waist and one on the inside of her otherwise barely covered right breast.

God! She looked incredibly hot, in a very dangerous way.

The neighbors hosting the party lived in one of the larger houses in our part of town. It had been built 40 odd years ago for the mistress of some big-shot finance wizards. After the guy was imprisoned for creating a Ponzi scheme, the house was impounded. That forced his mistress and their kids to move out. After that, it was owned by a family of six who, years later, after their kids moved out, decided to downsize. Most recently, this nice, financially comfortable couple bought it.

This past summer, they invited several neighborhood families to join some of their friends to attend an end-of-summer BBQ and pool party there. The couple went all out with endless burgers and other munchies. There was an open bar for the adults. For the kids, they had even rented an inflatable slide. Almost everyone took dips in the swimming pool at one point or another. Needless to say, everyone had a really good time.

When Marie got the invite for tonight’s party, one thing was made very clear; this would be an adults-only affair. Absolutely, no minors.

The great thing about where they lived was that their house was close enough that we could walk there, drink as much as we wanted, and easily stagger home again when it ended. Cool, right

The temperature was seasonably cool for late October, but we still chose to travel as lightly as possible. There we were walking hand-in-hand along the street. Two women who, based on appearances, were from opposite ends of the social spectrum. The leather-jacketed, half-naked biker babe and the fashionably dressed socialite. Biker babe clopped along in heavy black boots while the high heels worn by the socialite clicked with each step.

Already my feet were beginning to hurt. And these were only two-inch heels! I wondered, [How do women endure 4, 5, and 6-inch heels?] All I knew was I wasn’t sure how long my feet would last.

It was about then that I began noticing and enjoying how my clothing was moving against my skin. The air caressed my nylon-covered legs, and the breeze flowed beneath the skirt, tickling my bound-up crotch, and being hairless made this even more noticeable and pleasurable. Wearing a skirt had its benefits.

“Hey, babe. I just thought of something. If I’m supposed to act and speak like a woman, don’t you think I should have a woman’s name?”

At first, Jess seemed like a logical choice, until it didn’t. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It sounds too much like my real name. It almost announces who’s behind this get-up. If I’m going to play the part of a woman properly, then I need to be that woman. Besides, there are guys with the name Jesse. Their nickname is also Jess.” Marie asked if I had a better idea for a name. “Well… How about Linda? If I had been born a girl, my parents planned on naming me Linda. I’d rather go with that.”

Honestly, I don’t think Marie cared what name I went by. But the smile on her face made it apparent that she was delighted that I had relented and now fully committed to playing my part as a female. A part my wife had orchestrated. And, dammit, I was going to play it to perfection.

Marie beamed, “Okay, Linda. Let’s join the party and have some fun.”

End of Part 14B

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This is only my 3rd attempt at writing ANYTHING since high school so be warned! I am enjoying writing these stories and would absolutely love any constructive criticism (positive AND negative) from anyone out there that knows what they’re talking about in a private message.

Part one of this story described in detail a night my wife had while attending a conference for work at an out of town hotel. She ended up sharing a room with a familiar colleague and going to a bar the first night she was out. While at the bar she had met a group of men that fucked her for a couple of hours in the parking lot of her hotel which she later described to me in great detail. This second part involves her experience the following night as described to me during several steamy confessions she gave while we had sex. Naughty debauchery like this and the confessions of it definitely super charge our sex life for weeks to follow.

The next day after the parking lot session my wife texts at 9 am to say good morning and tell me how she can’t believe how far she went with the four guys the night before. I tell her that I’m thrilled about the fun she had and that I’m dying to find out exactly what happened but once again tell her to save the details for when she gets home. She mentions that her and Cathy are not too hung over and are actually contemplating another night on the town. My cock stirs in my pants.

I try my best to be as productive as possible working around the house on renovations and home improvements but find myself periodically on and off of the couch to give my aching dick it’s much needed attention, edging to the thought of my wife’s naughty behaviour. I can’t keep my hands off of it but my intention is to not ejaculate until she gets home the next day.

I’m about to drive the first screw into a sheet of drywall I’m holding up against the wall and receive a notification on my phone. I quickly drop the sheet and open the phone to find my wife has been texting with guy number three from last night. She says his name is Brad and he’s already dying to see her again. He keeps texting all the things he’d to to her if he had her to himself.

“What kind of things?” I ask, phone trembling in my hands.

“He wants to taste my pussy.” She texts. “He’s never experienced a woman squirt before last night and wants to do that again.”

My eyes pop open and my jaw drops as I read the words. “HE MADE YOU SQUIRT?”

“She must have really been into it.” I think to myself and free my cock from my pants as I scramble back to the couch.

“I actually squirted twice.” She responds.

I jerk my dick furiously.

“That’s so goddamned hot! What else did he say he wants to do with you?” I ask.

“He wants me to suck his cock again and says he loves how good I am at it. He wants to savagely fuck me in as many positions as possible.” She responds. “He also wants to fuck me in the ass but I’m not too sure about that.”

I ease back on stroking my cock, feeling the orgasm building within me.

“And why not?” I ask

“He’s pretty big. Bigger than the three other guys last night and bigger than you too. Not sure if I’d be able to handle him back there.”

Gasping, I release my throbbing cock just in time to avoid blowing my load, nearly set off by my wife telling me about another man’s size. A pearl droplet of cum emerges from my head before rolling down the side of my shaft.

So close.

I work it back into my pants and get back to the drywalling, hoping I can focus on the job at hand and get something done.

A short while later, around 11:30, she texts back saying he wants to meet for lunch as it will be his last chance while she’s there because he has dinner plans that evening with his wife and her parents. He says that he NEEDS to have her as soon as possible. She mentions the fact that the conference attendees have a 1-1/2 hour break and I encourage her to meet up with him for some fun. I add that it would be amazing to see pics and video of them in action.

The fact that she’s stone cold sober in the middle of kastamonu escort the day has me thinking that she’s more likely to unfortunately succumb to her inhibitions.

My heart races with every notification that rings from my phone in anticipation of what I hope takes place in the next couple of hours. Ten minutes later, another text. Cathy has decided to meet Tom out for lunch somewhere in town so my wife will have the room to herself during her break and has invited Brad to come over. My stomach twists and tumbles as a cocktail of emotions rush through me.

“Are you SURE you want me to meet with him babe?” She confirms. “It’s not too late to back out”.

I immediately tear the raging hard on from my pants and send her a pic of my swollen cock. “You don’t want to disappoint THIS little fella, do you?” I text jokingly.

Laughy face, eggplant emoji.

“Lol ok ok!” She responds. “We’re about to finish up here and I’ll be heading to my room to shower and get ready. I’m so nervous!”

“I’m super exited about this!” I text.

“I want you to make sure that sweet little pussy of yours is clean shaven and to be wearing that lingerie under a hotel housecoat when Brad shows up.”

A big thumbs up and two red hearts across the screen.

While she packed for her trip before she left I had slipped a lacy black and red split crotch teddy I had bought for her into the open suitcase on the bed and we wordlessly exchanged a devilish grin. My stomach turned deliciously as I realize that I haven’t yet fucked her in it and Brad will probably be the first.

A few minutes later and I receive a pic of her cleanly shaven pussy, glistening from the wetness of her arousal. Shortly after a pic arrives of her in the sexy lingerie followed by one of her wrapped in the white, fluffy housecoat. Even through the thick, hanging material her delicious curves and ample cleavage still catch the eye.

“This is the first thing Brad’s going to see when he walks through the door.” She texts. “He’s on his way and will be here soon.”

“That lucky son of a bitch!” I respond.

“Wish me luck!” She writes.

Winky face, two big red hearts.

She waits anxiously in the room for what seems like forever until there’s a knock on the door. Her heart leaps. She opens the door to find Brad standing there and she’s relieved to find that he’s even hotter than she remembered from the night before. He’s wearing brown boots, jeans and a brown sports coat and she can’t wait to get him out of them. Before she can get a word out he steps into the room, closes the door and pulls her into him, kissing her passionately. His hands reach behind to knead and squeeze her full, round ass and slide up her front to fondle her heaving breasts.

Untying the waist strap on her housecoat he opens it up and leans back momentarily to admire what he has exposed before he lifts it over her shoulders and letting it drop onto the floor behind her.

He kisses her once more, holding her in tight and grinding his hips into hers as she feels his bulge through his jeans. He pushes her onto Cathy’s bed and sheds his boots, socks, jacket and shirt, revealing his athletic upper body.

“Come here and show me again what that wonderful mouth of yours can do.” He orders as he stands at the edge of the bed.

She sits up submissively and lays her hands on his firm chest, slides them down his body and to the waist line of his jeans, unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. Pulling them down to his knees reveals his swollen cock running down his leg and straining outward against his tight black boxers. She looks up with those beautiful blue green eyes smiling that gorgeous smile and pulls his underwear down.

Once it’s free his long, thick cock springs upwards and smacks her under the chin. It’s fully hard and aiming into her face.

She takes it’s heaviness in her hand and enjoys a quick moment to admire it’s rigid, veiny mass before swirling her tongue around the firm, bulbous head. He lets out a kayseri escort long drawn out moan as she starts to gently work his shaft in two hands and suck him into her mouth.

Taking her soft hair in his fists he rocks his hips forward and slowly moves himself back and forth through her grip. She finds herself unable to apply her usual technique due to his girth but can clearly see that he’s loving it as he’s laying his head back, mouth open and his eyes closed with a look of amazement frozen on his face.

He starts to increase the pace and forcefulness of his thrusting and his breathing soon becomes shallow panting. She worries he’s too far lost in the blowjob and will soon finish in her mouth but he gasps, sharply pulling himself away from her and freezing in place. He hisses and growls as his member spasms and jumps upward as he successfully fights back what seems like a powerful orgasm. A thick bead of cum slowly oozes from his tip and threatens to fall wastefully onto the carpet so she leans forward and softly licks it into her mouth, smiling as she samples his salty taste.

“Your mouth is fucking amazing.” He groans. “Now it’s my turn to taste you.”

He steps out of his pants and underwear, pushes her back onto Cathy’s bed and kneels between her wide spread legs. She lifts them up to better expose her pretty pussy to her strange lover and peels the split crotch of her lingerie apart, giving his tongue full access. He skillfully kisses her moist pussy as if he were kissing her mouth, dancing his tongue up and down her slit and gently sucking on her lips. After several minutes of this he focuses his attention on her swollen clit, gently sucking it into his mouth and flicking the tip of his tongue across her sensitive pearl.

Brad’s oral technique and his enthusiasm begin to slowly bring her closer and closer to cumming until she is abruptly pushed over the edge when he slides one of his thick, wet fingers into her ass. She gasps, clutching two tight fists of his hair, pulling his mouth into her and forcefully grinding her crotch into his face. She cries out in ecstasy as waves of pleasure wash over her and slowly dissipate.

Brad stands, wiping the wetness from his face and takes his still rock hard cock in his hand, slowly stroking it and slapping it against her belly. She reaches down to guide him to her opening and he slides it up and down between her hot lips, teasing her and randomly pushing forward, threatening to slide his engorged head Into her gripping flesh. Finally he inches past her initial resistance and her pussy accepts his thickness. After pausing for a moment he begins to move in and out of her, slowly at first but advancing in tiny increments with every forward thrust. She looks down to find he is only halfway buried in her and grips the exposed surface of his shaft, rolling his glistening foreskin back and forth as he fucks her.

It’s not long before she’s moaning and feeling the swelling sensation of a squirting orgasm. She can tell Brad has worked up to driving most of his length into her as his heavy balls slap against her ass but she gets him to pull himself out of her so that they can move over to her bed and place her housecoat beneath them.

As she’s spreading the housecoat across the mattress he pushes her from behind causing her to bend over the bed. He takes her by the hips, positions himself at her slippery entrance and squeezes his fat cock into her, resuming his previous pumping rhythm. She walks her knees on to the bed and arches her back, fully surrendering herself to him doggy style. His cock glides easily in and out of her as he kneads her jiggling ass and reaches under her to squeeze her large, heavy breasts.

It’s less than a minute of being fucked from behind before she feels the building pressure again and she groans out. There’s a hot flooding between between them and her squirt coats Brad’s shaft, running down his swinging balls and down her inner thighs. Brad gasps and begins to wildly pound her pussy as her release kıbrıs escort continues to flow, his hips smacking against her ass causing it to splash across their bodies. She yells out for him to pull out and when he does the full force of her orgasm is freed, projectile squirting with a swishing sound and splashing across the house coat.

“Holy fuck, that’s amazing!” Brad exclaims.

He scrambles down to his knees and grinds his mouth against her, licking and sucking to taste her soaking pussy just in time for another eruption of fluid to blast into his mouth. He moans out and struggles to swallow three large gulps.

Brad stands up behind her to slide his cock back in as she’s enjoying the tail end of her orgasm when when she notices she has forgotten to close the curtains. They’re on the second floor and any passerby looking in can see them as her bed is near the window.

She interrupts Brad’s penetration to wrap herself in a blanket and get up to close them but he follows and pushes her onto the armchair, bending her over again, in even greater view of anyone outside. Her first impulse is to move back to the bed to avoid being recognized and tries to get up but he firmly pushes her back down. A loud, stinging spank rings out into the room when he slaps her ass, punishing her. He’s fully in charge. Her nipples swell in heightened arousal and she suddenly aches to feel Brad invade her depths even more. She decides that anyone outside would probably be too far away to identify her.

Probably.

Being set out on display, naked and vulnerable turns her on and she arches her her back and raises her ass in the air.

Several vehicles pass by in the parking lot as Brad slides himself back into her pussy again and pulls back out, slick with their slippery juices. He strokes his cock and smacks it sharply against her ass, seemingly enjoying putting on a show for anyone that might be watching. Another car drives by and suddenly slows down, almost to a stop. Having an audience seems to excite him and he pushes his big dick back into her, proceeding to pound her aggressively, grunting and growling out how much he’s loving fucking her. My wife’s moans increase in volume to the point that she thinks the voyeur in the car might hear her if they had rolled down their window. She grabs a cushion from the floor, presses her face into it and yells out a muffled cry of pleasure with every one of Brad’s thrusts.

She looks up from under the thrashing and swinging hair in her face and notices that the car has stopped, brake lights on but definitely watching her getting pounded. Without missing a beat of his relentless fucking he grasps her hair, gathers and twists it into a tight ponytail and wraps it around his open hand before clenching it tightly in his fist. He yanks towards himself sharply, jerking her head back and leans forward to kiss and bite her neck. Her cushion falls to the floor as as her pretty face and swaying tits are exposed wide open to her impromptu audience.

Brad quickens his pace and increases the force of his pumping, now thrusting his full length into her and almost painfully hitting depths she’s never had stimulated before. Without warning he suddenly presses his thumb against her tight asshole, gradually sliding it in as he slams his hips against her. The sensation pushes her towards the edge of cumming and she feels the building of another orgasm deep within her, fucking back into him meeting his pounding head on. He releases her hair and takes hold of her hips as his muscular body tenses up and he grunts loudly, pulling her into him tightly.

“Oh god I’m gonna fucking cum inside of you!” He cries out.

The feeling of his fat cock twitching violently inside of her and blasting spurt after spurt of hot cum deep in her pussy sets her off. She clenches and tightly squeezes him as she orgasms and he slams into her a few more times while she cums.

Brad pulls his softening cock out of my wife and a massive load of his thick, hot semen pours from her stretched, well used pussy over the edge of the armchair seat and across the floor.

She looks up and sees the car outside pulling away as she stands, turns and kisses him deeply before giving his low hanging cock a playful slap. She giggles, walks to the bathroom and tells him that she has just enough time to shower and get back to the conference. They say their goodbyes and agree to stay in touch.

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My hands were shaking as I took the elevator up to the fourth floor of the Capitol building. This guy was going to a piece of my mind. He was intimidating as all fuck but I didn’t care. I was done. I’d worked so hard to get that meeting for those kids. It was after hours but I knew he was still there. Frank in security had helped me with that one. It should just be him and a secretary. I was fairly certain I was going to walk in on them fucking. Wouldn’t that be perfect!

Much to my surprise I actually crossed paths with his secretary on my way down the hall. She was buried in her phone and didn’t notice me. Good. I was probably about to do something that would get me fired. It was just a legislative internship. I didn’t really care. Push comes to shove it would make for an interesting story.

He was behind his desk and didn’t bother looking up when I came in. “You ditched your meeting with those kids like a fucking coward!” Now he looked up. And the bastard fucking smiled at me.

“Do you know how hard it is to get young people interested in politics? Let alone involved?! I had to explain to them why it’s just part of it for you to pawn them off onto an administrative intern. It was twenty minutes out of your day. How dare you?!”

“It’s Angel, yes? From the public interest group?”

“Angela, you asshole. And yes, not that it fucking matters.” We were on opposite ends of the political spectrum, but we’d always been able to remain civil towards each other before.”

“Well Angel, I suggest you watch what your tone.”

“My fucking tone?! That’s what’s bothering you?”

He stood up and came around his executive desk. He had an expensive leather couch with matching chairs. He was one of the senior senators and had one of only a few of the ardahan escort much larger offices in the original Capitol building. This wing of the building, this time of night, we were likely the only ones here. I began second guessing my bravery as his 6’4″ stature began walking slowly up to me.

He was right in front of me now. Close enough I could smell whatever cologne his second wife had bought him. Wood Slut is what came to mind as I inhaled several different notes of pine, birch, oak, etc. “That tone doesn’t suit you. And it doesn’t suit me. Again. I suggest you watch it.”

I was enraged. What an entitled dick. “Why the fuck–” His mouth was on mine, and he was pulling me into him. His arms around me felt…I pushed him away as I yelled at him. “What are you doing?” He smiled at me as I recovered from the surprise of it all. I went to leave. I couldn’t believe this! I just…I opened the door and looked back at him. What the fuck was I doing?!

I shut the door and turned around to face him. He was still standing there, between his pretentious oversized desk and his lavish leather furniture. There was a fireplace with a sword of justice recessed into the metal frame on the side. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I was feeling ballsy and let’s be honest, he had much farther to fall.

I walked back up to him. He kissed me and I pushed him away again. He looked at me confused as I gave him a blank expression. He came back up to me and I let him kiss me longer before pushing him away again. “Look, if you don’t want this…”

“Take it.” The expressions that flashed through his face made me wet as I waited for realization to dawn on him.

He straightened up, took off his jacket, adıyaman escort undid his cuff links, and rolled up his sleeves. “Safe word.” He wasn’t asking. This was matter of course.

I thought for a moment. Looking over at his fireplace I smiled. “Justice.” He smirked as he took off his glasses and put them in a drawer.

He came over to me, grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and forced another kiss. He pulled back slightly from the kiss and whispered into my mouth, “run.” I didn’t even think about it. I leapt out of his reach the second he let my hair go. It didn’t matter. He was right there, on top of me, before I even got to the door.

He slammed me into the door and held my hands above my head. I could easily get away. He wasn’t playing seriously. He tried to grope my chest and I slipped out of his grasp and backed away from him. He was biting his tongue and I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me or himself. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to pull that move again. I sidestepped out of his reach as he came for me again. I smiled at him and a second later he charged.

I was pinned on the floor in front of that fireplace. Of all the places, the comfortable couch, the oversized desk, but here we were on the cold granite in front of a dying fire. He’d pushed me down and came down right behind. From behind his hands nimbly ripped open my shirt, buttons flying, and he pulled down the sleeves, grabbing at the bra straps. He tore at my bra and pushed my bare breasts against the rough stone.

He hiked up my skirt to find I didn’t have any panties on. “Naughty Angel,” he mused to himself as he held me down. I heard his pants unzip, and I began to struggle. I could sense his hesitation and karabük escort it pissed me off. I started to really struggle, and he finally got it.

He parted my legs and positioned himself behind me. He pulled my hips up to him as the rest of me struggled to free myself. Despite myself, I moaned deeply as he pushed his cock into my dripping wet pussy. This seemed to give him some necessary courage as he started to really fuck me in the primal way I’d been hungry for. My boyfriend wasn’t comfortable with this kind of play, and I was okay with that. But I needed to get it from somewhere. Thoughts of my boyfriend left me as I began to cum and his movements became frantic.

His fingers dug into my hips as he pulled me to him. His guttural noises enveloped me. “I’m gonna cum,” he groaned. I knew he wanted to ask if he could cum in me. But by now he knew better. He grabbed my hair and pulled out of me, jerking my face towards him. He pushed his cock, covered in my juices, into my mouth as he began to face fuck me. He pushed his cock as deep into my mouth as he could and groaned loudly, emptying his load down my throat.

He staggered backwards for a second as I swallowed what he gave me. His breathing was ragged, and the noises made my heart happy. He offered me a hand up and I coyly took it. He wanted to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he showed me his private bathroom and found me a clean undershirt of his that would work. Out of place as hell, but this time of night it would work.

I didn’t say anything either besides a polite, if not timid, “thank you,” as he handed me the shirt. We kept smiling at one another like idiotic teenagers after their first time. It was my first time with someone that much older, and in any real position of power. I still didn’t know what had come over me. I motioned to the door and began to leave. He smirked and gave me a nod.

As I began to open the door he called to me, “for the record, Angel, I only missed that meeting because your fucking governor called me into a last-minute shitshow meeting with him.”

I guess the governor was next on my list…

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I fetched my phone from the table to look at the time, and discovered I was up forty minutes before my alarm was supposed to ring. I tossed and turned the whole night feeling horny thinking about the game Malika made me play. The night long stroking had only made my sex drive higher. I climbed back to my bed and started googling sweaty and armpit photos of Emilia Clarke, Sophie Turner and every Game of Thrones female cast’s name I could remember and stroked myself violently to them. Just before I could cum into a paper towel I was interrupted by a loud conversation outside my door. I opened my window just enough to peek at the cause of the disturbance.

“Are you sure you want to miss your classes?” asked Neha didi to her sister standing at the door.

“Yes. For the hundredth time, I don’t feel good. Now go!” replied Natasha with frustration in her voice.

I continued stroking my dick looking at Neha didi’s magnificent body. She was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans that stuck tightly to her muscular body. My horny brain could only think about sucking her perfect sweat armpits before lifting her petite body in my arms and bang the hell out of her.

“Alright then. Take care.” Neha didi said, as she walked off flaunting her tempting ass, making me stroke faster.

After she disappeared down the steps I saw her sister tiptoeing towards the staircase. She was obviously making sure her sister was gone. She then hurried back towards their room and peeked down the railing of the open corridor. I started to doubt if she was really not feeling well. She then started walking towards my door. I quickly jumped back pulling my pants up. She knocked on my door. The quick turn of events had left me paralysed. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I answered the door after a short delay making sure everything beneath my waist was shielded by my half open door.

I saw her standing with her head hung down with shyness, as always. She was wearing tiny tennis shorts that didn’t conceal the stretch marks on her girthy thighs. Her legs were slightly tanned below her knee unlike the milky white upper half. She had a white tank top on that fit her tightly making her herculean tits spill out from the sides. A red bra, visible through the translucent top, supported her massive busts making ample cleavage visible. Stretch marks were also present between her boobs. Her bra straps couldn’t hide under the thin straps of her tank top. Her bare chest revealed freckles that faded away near her shoulders. She had a slightly chubby body with an extremely pretty face. Her face had minor stretches of acne and a prominent zit was on her forehead. Her cheeks were freckled like her chest. She had innocent looking eyes behind her black square-framed glasses. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail with locks of hair falling at the sides of her face.

“Hi. I am Natasha.” she said with a sweet, innocent voice.

“Yes, I believe we have met before.” I said with an awkward smile, recollecting our first encounter.

“I was just wondering when you leave for your classes.” she said with urgency in her voice.

Something felt fishy. The most introverted girl I ever met was asking me when I would leave for college only on our second meeting, not to mention her double checking if her sister was gone. Fuck college, I told myself. I wanted to find out what she was upto.

“I will be leaving soon.” I lied. I now had plans to stayback and find out why she lied to her sister and wanted me to leave.

“Okay cool!” she said before hurrying back to her room abruptly.

I waited at the window to see what was going on. Only fifteen minutes later I heard her door bolt open. I quickly hid myself peeking through a narrow gap in my window. I saw her head peek out and scan the corridor. She then stepped out texting someone on her phone. A couple minutes later I saw a bald man walk into the corridor dressed as a courier guy. Natasha pulled out a rolled up bundle of cash from under her pants and waited near her door shaking her leg impatiently. The bald man approached her when I could see him better. He had his left eyebrow pierced and had a tattoo on his neck. He looked too shady to be a courier guy. He stood before Natasha looking at her top to bottom with his eyes finally stopping at her chest.

“You should really slow down on this stuff girl.” he said with a grin on his face.

Natasha kicked the man hard on his balls. “Mind your own business.” she said, handing over the thick bundle of cash, “..which you are doing really badly. If you are late one more time, I will feed you your balls.” she added.

I was shocked. I never expected a sweet, innocent and nerdy girl to be secretly so badass.

The bald man laughed and pulled out a brown paper bag from his delivery bag. Natasha snatched it and shut the door in his face immediately üsküdar escort after. I didn’t know much about drug dealers but this man definitely felt like one. I waited for him to leave and stepped out of my door stealthily. I walked to her room and continued spying on the secretly badass girl. I could see that the window was closed but now bolted. I very carefully pushed it open very little to peek inside.

I saw Natasha standing and taking out the contents of the brown bag onto her table with little patience. From what I could figure, there were around three tiny cylindrical glass bottles with blue labels on them. There was also a plastic bag filled with what looked like a translucent jelly. I saw her lay it all on her table and drag a chair in front of her cupboard. She climbed the chair and opened the dirty top chamber that had cobwebs on it. She put her hands inside and struggled to pull out a red bag. She got down and unzipped the bag hurriedly pouring out all of its contents on the table as well. I saw two suction cups with pipes attached to them that ended in a transparent bottle that had a pump attached to it. There was also a metal box which she opened to take out a syringe from. My drug dealer hypothesis had enough evidence supporting it now. She dampened a piece of cotton with what looked like clinical spirit, disinfecting her arm which had a black strap tied to create pressure followed by the new injection needle. She punctured the metallic seal on the tiny bottle with the needle and pulled the plunger back filling the syringe with all the transparent fluid. She tapped it making sure no air bubbles were present. She then tapped her arm to expose her veins and injected it carefully in her arm. She pushed down the plunger emptying the drug into her veins.

The drug showed its effect in seconds. Natasha dropped down on the chair with her head hanging back and her eyes fluttering. While still in her ‘high’ she pulled the plastic bag with the jelly in it and opened it, her eyes barely being able to remain open. She picked up a tiny charred, metallic spatula and took out a bit of the translucent jelly. She then started warming it under a lighter from the same box she had the needles in. The jelly started to boil in seconds. Natasha stood up and walked to her bed barely maintaining balance. She pulled down her tiny shorts and her panties exposing her hairy pussy spreading her legs wide open. Her pussy mound was covered with dense curly pubic hair. Her clits were red and swollen. I was awed. She proceeded by pouring the melted jelly which now turned into a gooey slime onto her palm. She then started rubbing her clits with it. Strings of the goop formed between her hand and pussy. I had never imagined a mode of consuming drugs in this manner. The mysterious jelly was instantaneous in its effect. Natahsa started moaning and shaking as she rubbed her clits with the drug. As she rubbed faster and faster her moan transitioned more into a scream of pain which she seemed to enjoy the same. Her free hand suddenly grabbed her huge boobs as if someone had whipped them. Her scream grew more wild and wet patches started to emerge on her white tan top. She quickly pulled down her bra and tank top as her ginormous tits fell out. I was stunned to see milk leaking out from her pink, swollen nipples. Her areola was pink and prominently dotted. Blue veins ran all over her tits that were the size of a melon.

“FUCK FUCK FUCK.” she screamed, squeezing her tits as milk spurted out from them.

I was extremely turned on looking at her tits hanging out of her wet tank top and her hairy pussy being rubbed violently. To have a better view I tried to push open the window a bit more. To my utter misfortune, the window creaked and quickly got her attention. She jumped out of her bed in terror and looked staright at me. Her right hand covered her pussy and her left hand could barely cover the nipple of one tit. Her nipples were still leaking milk uncontrollably. I saw droplets of milk on her glasses and panic on her face. I instinctively rushed back to my room and bolted my door shut.

What did I just see? What will she do to me? Will I go to jail? How was she lactating? A thousand questions flooded my brain.

As I was going to reach out for the window to peek outside again I heard knocking at my door. I slowly walked to the door and waited. The knocking got more and more desperate. I opened the door to see Natasha standing in her tank top soaked in her own milk and with red, teary eyes. She pushed open the door fully getting inside and bolted it shut quickly.

“Please don’t tell this to anyone.” she pleaded, falling on her knees.

I saw that her bra was around her stomach and her nipples poked through the wet tank top.

“I don’t know what you are gaziemir escort talking about.” I said, trying to cover myself up.

“Please, I am begging you. I will do anything you want but don’t tell anyone.” she continued pleading, down on her knees.

My senses came back to me and I realised it was her who was at fault and not me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked with authority.

“I just- It was my friend who- I don’t-” she broke down and started crying.

Not knowing what to do I knelt down and hugged her. “Hey, hey it’s alright.” I said to comfort her.

She cried for a full minute on my shoulder as I hugged her. I could feel her back damp with sweat. Her body gave out a strong odour of sweat and female lotion. I felt the wetness of her leaking tits on my stomach.

“Now if you don’t want me telling this to your sister, you have to tell me what’s going on.” I said lifting her up, holding her by her arms. “Who was that man and what drugs are you consuming?” I asked her, handing her a glass of water.

She sipped the water slowly only to allow herself time to think. She was not getting away. I had caught her red handed. Knowing she can’t cover it up she started speaking.

“He was my drug dealer and this is a libido inducing narcotic.” she said, pulling out the plastic bag from under her pants.

“And what was the one you injected?” I asked.

She covered her face with her hand realising I had seen it all.

“It’s also a libido inducing drug. It creates the high by giving you orgasms.” she revealed, not very proudly.

“And what the fuck is that?” I said pointing at her wet, lactating tits knowing that she was now under my control.

“The drug has side effects.” she said with embarrassment, “The one I injected is responsible for the milk and well.. Enlargement.” she said, grabbing both her heavy tits.

Controlling my non-drug induced libido I told her ” I don’t know. This is some serious shit and I have to tell your sister about this.”

Her eyes started to water again and she hugged me pleading. “Please, I am in a rehab program. I am making progress. Don’t tell her, please. She will kill me.”

“How do I know if you are not lying.” I said, distancing her slowly away from my body.

“I can show you the program and my progress badges.” she said, hand in hand, still pleading, “I am having bad withdrawals and I just need light doses to temper them down.”

Any junkie would say the same things to convince someone but for some reason I believed what she was saying.

“How did you start and where do you get all the money from?” I asked her more.

“My friends introduced the dealer to me. I wanted to do something daring to impress them all so I bought this. I got addicted.” she said adjusting her bra straps.

“And the money?” I repeated the second part of my question.

“My dad is a stock broker. Money has never been a problem.” she said with a voice which was transitioning from fear to calmness.

“You have to promise me you will do whatever it takes to stop this or I am gonna tell your sister.” I told her looking into her eyes.

“I promise. Daddy” she said with a happy glow restoring to her face red from masturbation and crying.

“Hey just because I am asking you to do the right thing doesn’t make me a daddy.” I said.

“Sure.” she said giggling, “Daddy.”

“What about the.. Side effects?” I said, trying hard not to look at her tits.

She smiled looking at me with sin stirring in her eyes. She tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear and said “I don’t think you want them to be gone.”

She pulled down my pants and my erect dick popped out.

“Oh daddy! You seem to be furious.” she said, holding my dick in her hand. “Are you gonna punish your little girl now?”

She got down on her knees maintaining eye contact. She then started to slowly put my erection into her mouth until I could start feeling her throat. Her eyes turned red and watery again. She slowly started to suck on it, gagging because of the length she rammed into her throat. She gargled a mouth full of saliva while giving me the sloppiest blowjob I could imagine. Her bloodshot eyes started to tear up more. Mucus started to come out of her nose and saliva dripped all over her boobs. Her hair was a mess, she was a mess. She was getting hornier from the intense blowjob and the drugs in her system. She took my dick out of her mouth as a thick stream of white phlegm-saliva mixture poured out onto her body.

“Daddy you know my secrets now. Aren’t you gonna use them to take advantage of me?” she said, raising up. “Fuck me like the dirty slut I am, Daddy!”

She pulled out her tits from her tank top and used all the residual spit to massage it on them.

“Look sancaktepe escort Daddy. Huge stinking, lactating tits. They reek of my spit and sweat.” she said, squeezing the two glossy tits together as milk streamed out of her swollen nipples. ” I know you like them dirty.”

I could endure no more. I pushed her onto the bed and started gorging on her tits. They were huge and mushy. Just as she described it reeked of her sweat and saliva mixed. I bit her fleshy udders mercilessly which sent her into total ecstasy. I started sucking her nipples. A thick stream of viscous fluid started gushing out. It was sweet and creamy. As I started sucking harder her milk got more and more viscous. It was like the solid constituents were stuck and needed force to be sucked out. As the milk got thicker it became more and more difficult to suck out.

“Harder daddy! These are the tits of a drugged slut. You need to suck harder!” she screamed.

My cheeks started hurting but I continued sucking harder. The flow slowed down as if something was stuck in her milk ducts. I kept sucking harder. Suddenly, milk started gushing out again after something slurped into my mouth. It felt like a gelatinous curd of her own milk. She gave out a loud moan as the obstruction cleared and her milk flowed freely still. She then held my head and raised it, stopping me from sucking. I looked into her eyes.

“Fuck me.” she said, looking back at my eyes.

I quickly jumped out of the bed to pull out a pack of condoms from my drawer which I had bought out of curiosity. As I was opening to pull out one I felt her hand stopping me. I looked at her confused. She snatched the pack and threw it and started pulling her pants down.

“There are more side effects than just my cow udders.” she said as her pants slipped down exposing her pussy. “I don’t ovulate every month. Just when I am off these. You can fuck me all you want I won’t get pregnant. I am a cum dumpster. I am just a fuck hole for the mankind.” she added as she spread her legs in invitation. “Fuck my virgin holes. Fill them as you like.”

I wasn’t thinking anymore. I slammed her back on the bed and put myself deep into her already wet pussy. Her eyes rolled up towards each other. She bit her lips and was in absolute ecstasy as I started fucking her slowly. She started moaning with her shrill innocent voice. The drug on her pussy started showing its effect on my dick. I started ramming her without control. She didn’t object to any of the harshness. She rather enjoyed it. I gripped her neck with one hand and started choking her. She moaned louder. Just when I thought that I had seen enough crazy side-effects in her body I was proved wrong. The deep thrusting brought her to her first orgasm. She started to cum and squirt. I had never fucked a girl before but I was sure that usual girl-cum was nothing like what this drugged slut squirrted. It was thick, viscous and white like condensed milk. The spurting pussy cream had coated my dick in a thick film as I pulled myself out. More and more of the cum oozed out of her like her vagina was a can full of her bodily ‘condensed milk’.

“Eat it. I know you want to.” she said with dominance in her voice. “Eat it or I will tell everyone that you raped me.” she said as her voice turned evil and more dominating.

Even if she didn’t threaten me I was up and ready to slurp all of it. As I leaned forward to reach the big white puddle she grabbed me by my hair and made me lean enough to have the tip of my nose touch the puddle.

“Aw my baby. Did you not enjoy drinking mommy’s milk from her drugged tits? I know you did. I know you enjoyed those bits of curd from mommy’s milk, didn’t you, my baby boy?” she said switching positions of the whole roleplay she initiated. “Now lick mommy’s cum, you might find some of it curdled too.”

I started to do as I was instructed. I started licking into the puddle of thick pussy cream. It was so viscous I felt like licking adhesive out of a bottle. It was sour and tasted strongly like her vagina. The thickness of it was almost making me choke but I didn’t stop. I could feel bits of her cum turned into jelly which I could chew. The drug she was having had some real good side effects!

“Good boy. Now let mommy make you cum too.” she said, sitting up and pushing me back to make room for her kneeling stance. She did not care to prevent her cum from messing up her clothes and hair while she got down. She rather grabbed a handful of it and smeared it all across her chest coating her boobs with a white, shiny film. She grabbed another handful and lubed my cock with it and stroked it continuing with her dirty talk.

“The first time we met, you came so much just looking at my sweaty pits. I wonder how much you are gonna bust now.”

She put my cock in her mouth tasting her own cum and started blowing me hard again. This time I couldn’t endure anymore. Soon, I deposited a massive load of cum into her throat. She swallowed it and gave out a sigh as if a long thirst for cum was quenched.

“We are going to have a lot more adventures than this, if you keep me as your little secret.” she said as she got up and left with a cum covered body.

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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It was shocking at first. My ex had gotten into trample fetish play for a while when we were first married. At 5’1″ (155cm) and 100 lbs (45kg) she’s a tiny woman, like a pixie, and she was always slow and delicate about it. Plus it had easily been 5 or 6 years since we did anything like that. At 5’3″ (160cm) Tracy wasn’t much taller, but she was much more fit and a full 25 pounds (11kg) heavier, but here she was standing on my face. No questions, no preparation, no concerns, she just pushed down and stood on my face with all 125lbs. The smell, wetness, and overall sweatiness of her stocking feet went right out of my head, and my whole world revolved around the incredible, painful, ecstatically wonderful feeling of Tracy standing on my face.

Just when I was getting used to it she stepped backwards onto my chest. I looked up to see her face hovering above me. Knees bent a little, looking down at me with one hand on the coffee table and the other on the couch to keep her balance. Both feet on my chest and just standing there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Are you ok? I’m so sorry. You told me once that you liked that so I thought it would be ok but I should have asked. Did I hurt you? Please say you’re ok, or at least not mad, or something.”

The words were flying out of her so fast that I couldn’t get a word in. When she finally breathed I told her that I was just fine..

She sighed, relaxed a little, and started in again with “Are you sure? You’re not just saying that right? You’ll tell me if I’m too heavy right? I should have asked first, or brought it up. You’re not mad are you?” and kept going for a couple of minutes until I started laughing which almost made her lose her balance.

She staggered a little and said “Oh my God, I’m standing on your chest!” and then twisted sideways to fall back onto the couch..

“Why didn’t you say something? I must have been crushing you. You should have told me to get off!”

I took a deep breath and told her to do the same. “Why? I was up enjoying having you stand on me, why would I tell you to get off?”

She gave me a puzzled look, and after a minute apologized again saying “Well I’m still sorry, I should have at least asked if you wanted me to. Last night I was thinking about all the things we’ve talked about, and the conversation about standing on your face popped into my head when you said to push as hard as I want. I really am sorry, sometimes I do things without thinking them through.”

I lay on the floor, listening to her ramble and trying not to laugh, but failing. She finally lightened up a bit and nudged me with her foot, telling me to stop laughing at her although she was starting to laugh too. When I finally stopped laughing, all I could say was “Damn!” That got her worked up again, worrying that she had hurt me, or that I was mad at her.

“Tracy, stop. I’m ok, more than ok actually. I love that you just stood on my face, and that you did it without any warning.” She didn’t seem to believe me so I continued, “Ok look. To be honest this night is full of surprises. I thought I had experienced your feet at their worst, or best (grinning), the day your chef quit, but they’re in a league of their own tonight. I mean, damn!”

“I know, I know. I’m bahçelievler escort such an idiot sometimes, always pushing things too far and ruining them. When I felt my feet slipping around in my boots at work I thought it would be funny to see your reaction to them like this, but I wish I had just gone home instead of texting you. I’m so sorry. Please say we can go back to the way we were yesterday.”

I must have looked confused, because she gave me a puppy dog look and just said “Please?”

I just looked at her for a minute, a little amused but wondering what it would take for her to understand. “Look Tracy, stop worrying. If I had known what your feet were like when you texted me, or that you would end up standing on my face like that, I would have bought you flowers or something. I definitely wouldn’t have said no or changed anything. I’m not mad, just the opposite. This is one of the best nights of my life.”

She finally looked up and smiled, asking “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“So I didn’t knock you out with the stink or crush your face when I stood on it?” She giggled a little at the end of her question so I knew she was starting to relax.

I laughed a little, saying “No, you didn’t knock me out or crush my face. Why don’t we go out on the deck, calm down, and finish those drinks. You seem like you’re a little shaken up.”

She agreed that was a good idea and started to head outside. I called her back and handed her boots to her. She gave me a puzzled look, so I explained that the deck was kind of dirty and I didn’t want her feet to get all filthy or ruin her stockings.

She started laughing as she pulled them on, saying “you just don’t want them filthy in case I stick them in your face again.”

I knew she caught me, so I just laughed and responded with “Well yeah, there’s that too.” It was good to hear her laugh at that.

We sat on the deck for a while finishing the drinks I made over an hour ago which were now completely watered down. She still looked a little concerned so I changed the subject a little by asking her if she enjoyed what we did earlier. It took a minute, but she finally answered “You know what, I did. The first few times we sat in my car I was so worried, but you didn’t seem to mind that my feet stunk. Of course the foot massages are great, but as weird as it is, it really feels good when you breathe between my toes. I don’t know why you like it or what you get out of it, but I really don’t care.”

She laughed at herself a little, paused a minute, and continued. “I don’t know what came over me today though. When we were setting up for dinner I was walking around and felt my feet squishing, and started giggling because I immediately imagined your expression if I stuck them in your face the way they were.”

It was fun to hear her laughing at herself while explaining her thought process, so I laughed along with her until she continued. “Anyway, I actually planned on just teasing you about it. You always tell me that you like when my feet smell, but they’re really awful today. I wasn’t going to text you, but then I did. I was going to just tease you during the ride home, but then I got off the train with you. Of course bağcılar escort the drinks didn’t help.”

She giggled at herself again but continued, “When you lay on the floor I couldn’t help resting my feet on you as a tease. I didn’t think you’d mind my boots on you, you told me that once, but I was actually telling myself that I had to leave them on. Tapping you was mostly a tease. You weren’t taking them off me so I thought that you probably realized how hot they were all day, but then there I was pulling them off. I really don’t know how you survived. The smell was terrible even up where I was sitting.”

Her laugh started sounding a little nervous, so while she was giggling I said “Well don’t worry, I don’t understand it either. I just know that stockings, boots, and sweaty feet do something to me. This was just incredible today, beyond what I ever imagined, but I loved it. I really do think I was in a trance when you were using my face to massage your feet.”

It was my turn to dig up an old conversation we had: “Remember when we first met? You told me that you liked to lick an old girlfriend’s breasts when she came home from the gym, and enjoyed it a few times when she trapped your face in her armpit when you were doing it. I think that’s a lot like me with feet. It doesn’t make sense, but you loved it.”

Tracy finally smiled, saying “Mhmm, I guess that makes sense. I kept expecting you to push them off your face, and that you were just being nice by not complaining. I’m so relieved that you weren’t all grossed out by it.”

It was good to see her finally accept that I really did enjoy this, but didn’t want to dwell on it, so I changed the topic a little. “So… you stood on my face, huh. Outside of worrying that you were killing me, what did you think of it?”

She took a few breaths, both to think and keep herself from getting worked up. “Well at the time I didn’t think of it at all. I didn’t plan anything out, it just kind of happened. Honestly when you first lay on the floor the thought of stepping on you to get to the couch crossed my mind, maybe that had something to do with it. But it all happened so fast that I was almost surprised to look down and see you under me.”

I got a good laugh out of that. “Well then I don’t know who was more shocked about it.”

She laughed at that as well, took a big gulp of her drink, and relaxed a little more. “As soon as I realized that I was standing on your face I knew it was a mistake. I didn’t know what to do. I only stayed there as long as I did because I was in a kind of frozen panic with a million things whipping through my head.”

“Oh my God, I’m standing on his face. What’s wrong with me; why am I standing on his face?

Why isn’t he saying anything, or screaming at me?

Is he unconscious?

How do I explain this? He’s going to hate me.

He said he likes this, but this must hurt like hell.

Did I not understand something? This can’t be right, it has to be killing him.

What am I doing? I must be crushing his face.

Am I breaking his nose?

No, I’m not standing on his nose, can you break someone’s cheek bones?

Oh my God, get off his face already. How do I get off ümraniye escort without hurting him more?

He’s going to hate me so much. Why did I do this?

I should have just gone home.

He’s never going to talk to me again, I’m such an idiot.

Is he even breathing, I can tell if he’s breathing.

I really like having him as a friend, why did I do this?

Shit, get off his face already!”

“Then I was looking down at you. I don’t really remember making the decision to get off, and definitely not deciding that it would be better to stand on your chest than on your face. I was just suddenly off your face”

She was a little shaky from reliving it, hell I was dizzy just listening to her relating the turmoil in her head at the time. “Jeez, you really were panicking. Well you can relax. You didn’t kill me, or break my face, or hurt me too much. And I definitely want to stay friends. I’m not going away.”

She visibly relaxed at that, saying “Thank you so much. When I was standing, um, on your face, that still sounds weird to say, I was so worried that I was really hurting you, and that you’re never want to talk to me again.”

I told her “Well of course it hurt, you’re 125 lbs and were standing on my face, but that’s part of the enjoyment for me. The fact that your feet were as incredibly sweaty and smelly as they were today only made it better.”

“Really? So you like that it hurts?I wish I knew that earlier, I probably wouldn’t have panicked as much.”

We both got a laugh out of that. I wanted to get her take on all this, so asked if she enjoyed it at all when she stood on me. It took a couple of minutes, but she finally answered.

“Maybe? I think so? I was so worried that I was hurting you that I didn’t think about how it felt doing it, but I guess so. It was definitely different than just rubbing my feet on you. It probably would have been different if I didn’t think I was going to end up in a hospital with you trying to explain how your nose got broken and why you face stunk like feet.”

I got a good laugh out of that, and finally said “Good, so the next time you can relax, be your normal mischievous self, and have fun.”

“The next time? Really?”

“Well yeah, if you’re ok with it”

“You really want to do that again? I was sure I was putting too much weight on you. I didn’t smash your face?”

“You did smash my face, but definitely not too much. Like I said, I like that kind of pain. I hope you’re ok with that.”

I could see the look on her face change from one of disbelief to understanding.

“Well now that I know I’m fine with it, I just didn’t realize that’s what you’re into. I thought you just liked smelly feet. I’ve had a couple of girlfriends who were into some pretty extreme things so I get that pain can be exciting. I have no problem causing discomfort and even hurting you a bit if that’s what you want.”

Well that made me shiver a bit in excitement and we had a rambling conversation about her past experiences, mostly with biting and scratching, and how one of her exes liked being bit hard enough that it would leave a bruise for a few days. By the time we were done she had relaxed, and was smiling a little at the memories. I told her since that was out of the way, she could just have fun next time and not worry about killing me.

She leaned across the table, stared me right in the eye, and said “You better watch out what you ask for”. I looked back at her and saw her biting her lip with that glint in her eye and got the distinct impression that things were going to get a lot more interesting.

To be continued…

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?
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Mila crossed her legs. Her sheer stockings slid over each other and gave a static shock. She flinched, but also enjoyed the sensation.

Her thick panties, her protective bra, revealed enough. Well, not enough for Mila’s liking. Her ample breasts were tucked snuggly, so snuggly that they did not sway when she walked, and they were so covered that she might as well been wearing a sports bra.

Her panties, as well. Thick, a bit riding, and secure.

Her garments were secure, save her staticky stockings, and while they aided her in patrolling the castle, they left far too much of her body to the imagination.

The doorknob turned. Mila snapped out of her trance. This room, much as any other commoner’s, was sparse. Wooden walls without paint, a broken window letting in the elements, a horseshoe dangling from a nail on the wall.

Typical. Mila rolled her eyes.

The door began to open, slowly at first until Zoey was in complete view. Mila sighed.

She hardly knew Zoey, apart from being, well, common. This shack could have been hers, and Mila would not have been surprised.

However, it was not. Rather, it was lent for today’s cordial by a beady-eyed hag, who probably wanted a piece of the spoils.

There was something, still, unique about Zoey. Mila noticed this as the low country girl stepped in. Zoey nodded her head and came to shake hands.

“Thank you for comin’!” Her blues eyes lit up. Her voice was rural. Blatantly a farmer’s daughter. Her dirty blonde hair ran to her mid back, which was part of a slim figure.

“Don’t mention it.” Mila halfheartedly shook Zoey’s hand.

Before Mila had time to say anything else, Zoey started undressing.

To which, Mila was surprised.

Zoey’s figure was surprisingly toned. Her breasts were just enough for handfuls, supple like bread dough, and tipped with dark pink nipples.

Her farm-tanned skin, which was dented by sunspots and small scars, and a triangle birth mark above her right ass cheek, glowed healthily; her shaded abs contrasted this.

But her ass. Mila caught herself licking her lips.

It was the product of manual labor. Years of it. Years of swinging a pitch axe and hoe, years of bending over and picking up. Whatever the gods gave her, she sculpted to tantalizing perfection.

Mila wanted to slap or bounce coins off Zoey’s ass… until the farm girl turned around and smiled.

“I’m ready!”

Mila shook herself back to the current moment and squinted.

“That’s not how this works.”

Zoey frowned. “Oh… I’m sorry, should I get dressed?” A shade of blush barely made it through her tan cheeks.

Mila shrugged. “Up to you. I don’t–“

“No, stay naked. Slut.”

The voice was cutting, yet reserved. Gloria stood in the doorway, sizing her opponent up.

Now Mila was excited. She crossed her legs the other direction and shifted on her stool. This might be a good match.

Gloria was born, raised, and simply was, beautiful. Her dark hair, somewhere between walnut and mahogany, was only outdone by her eyes. Sometimes.

They always saw the room first, took everything in. Then the person. Gloria predatorily looked her opponents up and down, seeing beyond size and bust but also muscle and tension and fatigue.

Then Gloria saw the soul. Her dark eyes read a girl’s fear (and pleasure) like a book.

Mila never saw Gloria’s full matches. She only heard the rumors and caught the end, where Gloria’s opponents were crumpled on the floor. Sobbing. Or begging for more. Or both.

Gloria stepped into the room. She had black silk on, that she let slip off and fall to the floor.

It was comically out of place there. The floor was cold cobblestone. It had been brushed of hay and mud, but it was far from clean.

And definitely not where hundred coin silk belonged.

Gloria stepped out of it and began undoing her bra straps.

Mila was throbbing. Her heart, her clit, her mind, throbbing. As Gloria undressed, all Mila could fixate on was the purity.

Whether it was because she was born rich, or had proper care and nourishment, Gloria’s skin was pure.

Fair, clear, and unblemished. It was smooth and made Mila’s mouth water.

And it fit her curves, which were more and more revealed as Gloria undid her bra and panties.

Round breasts that Mila wanted to twist, and knew would bounce right back. Light brown nipples, button nipples, and a slender body that deceptively curved like a vase.

Mila uncrossed her legs.

That is when she noticed it.

Zoey was… either brave or oblivious. Mila knew the two could go together, and even be related, but in the face of Gloria, how could Zoey not be intimidated.

Or just jaw dropped.

Instead, Zoey had a dumb grin.

“Glad you made it from your tower. Didn’t trip over your servants?”

Gloria did not respond. She looked Zoey up and down again. The farm girl was shamefully hidden under baggy work clothes. The drab and tough çeşme escort fabrics were probably hell on skin.

Then again, Gloria thought, the farm girl might be more immune to pleasure that way.

Gloria also noticed Zoey’s ass. It was, handedly, better.

Gloria surmised her own rear, which was nothing to scoff at. It was trim. It was athletic, but also leaned to the tinier side.

Zoey’s ass was built for long fights, however. The smooth shape that came from hard earned muscle, and innate genetics that made every pair of pants a little too difficult to button, would have reserves of strength and endurance.

Gloria would lose grappling. She decided then and there.

Mila coughed to break the tension. “Well, this is not how things go. Typically.”

Zoey, whose smile faded, and Gloria stared at each other.

“This is still a cordial match of two consenting parties. I, as castle patrol, shall mediate this match until a fair and…” Mila could not stop ogling both girls. Zoey’s ass. Gloria’s breasts. “…dominant girl is found.”

Mila swallowed and retrieved two vials from her satchel.

“You both shall drink the elixir, state your griefs, and await my instruction. Am I understood?”

The girls did not stop looking at each other.

“Am. I. Under. Stood.?” Mila’s voice became cold and professional. Attractive as today’s contestants were, Mila was castle patrol. She had a job to do.

The girls turned to Mila and accepted the elixirs. After some coughing from the bitter liquid, Mila nodded towards Gloria: “State your grief.”

Gloria did not say anything at first. She let the wind whistling through the broken window, and creaking door hinges behind her, speak first.

And her nipples hardening. Both girls became visibly aroused as the elixir worked further down. Their eyes widened and there was agitation in their stance, as Mila thought she noticed thin wetness on both their crotches.

“Respect.” Gloria finally said. “This farmer humiliated me.”

Mila saw something she never would have guessed in all the Ravenous One’s domain.

Gloria–blush?

Just the smallest hint of pink shaded Gloria’s cheeks until she caught it and returned to cold and calculating.

“This farmer does not know her place. After throwing wine in my face, I will make sure she knows the difference between commoner and elite. Between farmhand and scholar.”

Mila nodded then turned to Zoey. “Your turn.”

Zoey shrugged. “Prissy bitch over here pretty much summed it up. I threw her wine in her face cause she was mouthing off like she owned the place.”

Gloria quietly muttered, “I do own the place.”

All the girls stopped and looked at each other until Mila spoke.

“If you two still contest your griefs, I shall present you with acceptable penance offerings.”

Hesitantly, Zoey and Gloria looked at each other and gave near imperceptible nods.

“Then the stakes are bedmates. Conditionally. For two days.” Mila sat down and crossed her legs. “And public knowledge of the winner. Is this still…” Mila leaned forward. “Acceptable?”

She knew Zoey would not care but Gloria had to. The last part was her greatest risk. If she lost, the people would know. Not only her persona, but her status would be shattered.

The two contestants nodded again. Gloria did her best to conceal her anxiety about the stakes. And to her credit, she did.

Being bedmates with Zoey, a filthy commoner. But not just a filthy commoner. Her. It just had to be this bizarre farmgirl from nowhere who had to have a temper and had to know how to catfight and… had to be dripping with sex.

Gloria let her mind wander just a bit. She knew it was the elixir working, and she knew Zoey was doing the same. In the quiet moments before Mila would drop a red handkerchief, both girls were glassy eyed and imagining winning. How good it would feel to toy with the other girl. To make her scream and shiver from pleasure.

How good it would feel to nip at her nipples, then just bite down all together.

Or the toys, and the ropes, and keeping her locked up. Or simply just edge her. Make her want an orgasm from the better woman. Make her beg with pleading eyes, and pleading eyes alone, because her mouth would be full with…

As if Catalina, the goddess herself, intervened, both girls realized it at the same time:

How bad it would feel to lose.

Mila dropped the red handkerchief and the match was underway.

Both contestants locked hands, and Zoey immediately took the advantage. Her ass puffed outward, and the musculature in her shoulders tensed. Gradually, Gloria took steps back. Her arms were straining, and her breasts already jiggled up and down from her heavy breaths.

Another step, shit. Gloria tried to pull her fingers out of Zoey’s grip to no avail.

The farmgirl smiled. “Now where was all that good talk from a minute ago, huh?” Zoey’s başakşehir escort eyes widened. Her nostrils flared as she forced Gloria to give ground.

Gloria knew this was a losing battle. Zoey had maybe fifteen extra pounds of country muscle on her, and it did not even look like she broke a sweat. This was a battle of brute force, grinding girl against girl, and now tit against tit as the two clashed. Gloria initiated the fully body contact. She knew her tits were better, more cushion.

It worked. Zoey bore into it fully.

“Breakin’ a sweat already? Damn.” Zoey whispered in Gloria’s ear.

The close contact sent shivers, and Gloria’s nipples stiffened further; they were sore from the constant rubbing. Her own ass was tiring from Zoey’s constant pressure. Her womanhood was becoming strangely wet from it, especially when a misplaced thigh would bump into it.

Gloria’s plan worked.

Before Zoey had time to grind nipples again, which was ecstasy due to Gloria’s pained expressions, she was plummeting to the floor.

Before she had time to push herself up, there was a weight on her back, then slender fingers in her hair.

Gloria took in a deep breath and yanked Zoey’s blonde hair. She yanked until out of breath and the farmgirl was screaming.

“Let go, rich bitch!”

Yank.

“Gah! I’ll put my foot right up your ass!”

Yank.

Gloria learned from several matches that threats were intimidating, but silence bred uncertainty and uncertainty was fear.

Yank.

Zoey was clasping Gloria’s wrists to free her hair. Once again–Gloria’s plan worked.

Zoey was in no position to push back up; she was both occupied and distracted, and it was time for Gloria to begin the end of the match. Using Zoey’s firm grip as an anchor, Gloria stopped pulling hair, and pushed. She pushed Zoey’s face into the stone floor.

Tears welled in Zoey’s eyes as blood rushed to her cheek.

“Stop, dammit!” Spit flew from her mouth as she screamed. But it was not just her face.

Her breasts were compressed and bulging outwards; blue veins were visible beneath her tan skin as the porous cobblestone floor grated her nipples.

She was furious. She was desperate. She was extremely wet.

Gloria first noticed, and it is questionable if Zoey ever did notice her own subconscious humping of the floor. It started subtle. Just a tap or bump. Eventually, it was soft grinding. Gloria first thought Zoey was trying to grind her way out of this from the bottom. In truth, it was divine.

Gloria left streaks of her nectar on Zoey’s tan skin. The grinding, despite meant for the floor, made something bubble up in Gloria.

Still, this was one sided. Gloria furthered this by removing one hand to pinch the side of Zoey’s breast; she took the skin and rolled it between her fingers until red.

Zoey bucked immediately, almost throwing Gloria off, but fell back down, more tired and defeated than before. Pressure bent her skull, the floor grated her nipples, Gloria worked the sides of her breast, and…

Zoey’s eyes widened. Yes. She was incredibly horny. The floor directly beneath her crotch was damp as she had continually humped it for the past minute. Its only getting worse.

She had never been so horny. Every nerve ending in her was on fire. She needed it, she needed Gloria to press her face twice as hard, to pinch her breasts until they scarred and slap her ass until it was red.

Her body yearned for more pressure.

More bending until something broke.

Zoey flailed. She was not screaming, she moaned. Load and uncontrollably until she was out of breath; she rammed her pelvis into the floor. The sensation of the floor scratching her entire body, of her heated rival on her back, of… warm streaks also on her back?

Whether it was intentional or not, Zoey’s constant grinding had made Gloria gushing. Not only did she struggle to keep pressure on Zoey’s head, she had stopped pinching the farmgirl’s breasts and could hardly keep balance between the humping and her own lust.

Zoey summoned every ounce of muscle in her glorious ass and stood. Gloria tried to push down at first, which became an effort to hold on, which became an effort to step away as Zoey slid out and stood back up.

All three efforts failed. Nothing brings vigor like the brink of death or orgasm, and Zoey was still at the brink. Gloria felt strong hands grab her breasts and squish.

Gloria shrieked. As a bonus, her dark hair covered her face so she could barely see. Zoey did not care.

She compressed Gloria’s breasts until they bulged out from between her fingers, red and inflamed. Zoey squeezed until the nipple of the left breast popped out from beneath her palm. Zoey could not contain herself (nor should she have).

She hunched over.

All Gloria felt was a warm breath, then crunch. Zoey bit down on the nipple, like a berry, and tugged back.

Gloria’s küçükçekmece escort legs went weak, the only thing keeping her up was the grip Zoey had on her nipple and breasts.

To add insult, Zoey began working her tongue in small circles on the tip of Gloria’s nipple.

The brunette beauty could not take it. Her knees gave. She could only save herself by falling into Zoey, as if she were desperately hugging. Zoey obliged.

She let go of Gloria’s nipple and breasts and switched to a bear hug. Gloria, in a daze, barely knew she had been hoisted in the air and was plummeting down.

The two crashed into the ground, Gloria taking both the fall and Zoey’s weight.

She groaned. Her arms and legs could not move, her lungs could not pull in air, and the blow to her head mixed with the horniness between her legs until she could not see straight.

Mila got off the stool. “Do you yield, Lady Gloria?”

Zoey pinched the maimed nipple and began rolling it. “Better give, bitch.” She sneered.

Gloria tried to roll out of it but was immediately (and easily) pinned back down. Zoey slapped her. “GIVE.”

Gloria did not try to roll again. She did not even try to remove the hand that tugged and rolled her nipple. She was a plaything, laying there.

She did not even move when Zoey inserted three fingers into her womanhood.

“I aint gonna be gentle with ya, hun.” Zoey began stretching Gloria’s hole to fit a fourth finger.

And all Gloria could do was lie there. Still. Not broken, but frozen. Her nipple in searing pain, her womanhood radiating pleasure through her entire body until goosebumps popped.

Zoey did not stop.

Mila got to one knee. “Lady Gloria, if Zoey forces an orgasm, she will be the victor… Do you give?”

Mila hardly believed the words she was saying. Gloria, the brunette dominatrix who read, dismantled, and devoured other champions was nothing more than a wet rag on the floor. Zoey was merciless. Sweat glistened off her body as every muscle filled with blood. She was exquisite, forcibly removing an orgasm from Gloria who did not even have the honor to give. Or speak.

Gloria could merely take it. She was nearing her cracking point. Zoey was already covered in Gloria’s nectar, her fingers had begun to prune as the slish and slosh got louder. Gloria could barely hold her cum in. She was sore and dazed and… counting.

Gloria did not say a word. She did not even move. Instead, she counted. She counted the rhythm of Zoey’s fingers. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Each pump brought her to the brim. She could feel every vessel of her southern lips swell, and cum escape out. She inhaled, desperately trying to distract herself from the burning need to release. She was so close, her legs twitched, her heart was between her ears, and Zoey kept going.

One, two, three. Her womanhood was screaming to let go. To take the bondage and just let go.

One, two… three. There. Gloria’s plan was working.

Zoey had spent so much energy getting up, in the bear hug, and forcibly fingering. In a bizarre case of irony, now her nectar covered Gloria’s stomach, making it slippery.

One… two… three.

Gloria had to move. In two more pumps, she would explode. Zoey had to be tired enough to budge. Had to be.

One… tw–

Gloria summoned every ounce of remaining energy. She bucked her hips first, throwing Zoey forward; Zoey flailed for a moment before realizing what happened and planted her hands to the floor. She was still on top of Gloria, albeit her crotch was on Gloria’s mouth–perfect.

Gloria twisted her legs to give Zoey an extra obstacle to her womanhood. Even if it was a few seconds of handfighting before Zoey pried Gloria’s legs open, those were seconds Gloria recovered.

And seconds Zoey was eaten out.

Gloria extended her tongue and began the alphabet. Zoey’s back arched instantly. She looked at the ceiling and gritted her teeth.

“Dammit–ah!”

The elixir put both girls in overdrive. Both girls were incredibly horny, and both hung off cliff’s edge.

Zoey struggled to reach behind through waves of electrifying pleasure. She found Gloria’s womanhood guarded by crossed thighs.

“Coward!” She cursed.

E… F… Gloria’s tongue silently swirled. Nectar spilled from Zoey. G…

Gloria was also exhausted, however. She could only keep her thighs locked for so long until Zoey dug a way in.

A jolt of warmth and pain shot up Gloria. Her tongue stuttered, but she persisted.

H…

One… two… three…

Mila watched in disbelief. She had not taken the elixir. Still, her thick panties were damp from excitement. Zoey, a fresh face from the fields, did not just hold her own. She had Gloria on the ropes. Both girls, slicked in sweat, muscles giving out, womanhoods pushed to the limit’s edge, were moaning and fiercely competing.

I…

One… two… three…

Gloria could not take it. Her vulva, her clit, her insides were slicked and fever hot. Zoey managed to force a fourth finger in and was working on the fifth. Gloria’s southern lips had been twisted, stretched, and were quivering; she needed to release. Her orgasm was at peak. Her breasts were full with fluid and though she tried to fight the arching of her back, she could not.

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It was time Karla showed Jack who was the boss. Inviting him back to her flat after work, she had a plan. She dug out her most outrageous pair of high heels. The open-toe platform slingbacks. The ones that were far too racy to ever wear to work.

In fact, the heels on them were so high that she had to move slowly to avoid toppling over. Her toes were painted a bright pink colour which clashed – deliberately – with the black of her shoes. Now she just had to wait for him to turn up.

As the pair had developed a friendly relationship over the years, it was not unusual for them to meet up outside of work. They had cooked for each other, gone out to dinner together and visited local landmarks. Both were glad, on occasion, to have some company.

Jack arrived, knocked on the door and let himself in. Karla always made sure her flat was in pristine condition, especially if she was entertaining, and by the time Jack arrived she had popped a couple of tea bags in two clean mugs and flicked the kettle on as she heard him come in.

Jack took his usual seat and thanked Karla as she handed him his drink. He’d noticed her footwear – it would have been impossible not to – and he sensed that as they chatted about work and the weather that she was trying to catch his attention.

Of course she was. If stretching her legs out and wiggling her toes wasn’t going to work, she would have to take charge of the situation. “So, what do you think of my new shoes, then?” she asked.

Jack smiled. “Well, how shall I put this,” he began, noting Karla tilting her head and part-frowning as he spoke, “They make me want to get on my hands and knees and start licking your feet.”

Quick as göztepe escort a flash, Karla, with a wicked smile, said, “Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

Jack smiled too, but he wore a slightly nervous smile. Karla had rather quickly moved from being completely unsure about foot fun to wanting to dominate him. She now took his hand as he stepped forward, and said quietly, “Down you go, boy.”

Jack sunk to his knees, ran his fingers up and down Karla’s shoes before jamming a finger of each hand underneath her heels. Then, he started licking the toes on her right foot moving her feet closer together so he could lick all of her toes in one go, going from left to right and back again.

Karla let him carry on like this for a few minutes, looking on and feeling empowered by having him at her feet. But she couldn’t let him get too comfortable. She pulled her feet away from him and lifted them up, resting them on the arm of the chair Jack had been sitting on earlier.

“Lick my heels,” she commanded.

Jack nodded and swivelled to his left. He quite liked this dominance, and it was turning him on. He arched his head up and started licking Karla’s heels, commencing at the bottom, and again moving across both feet until he was licking and sucking on her ankles. Karla had laid her head back and closed her eyes as Jack’s tongue moved from her heels to her Achilles and ankles. She breathed in deeply and let out a quiet moan. She couldn’t help it.

“Right, you can take my shoes off now,” she said firmly.

Jack carefully eased the shoes off Karla’s feet, making sure he trailed a finger or two down her soles çorlu escort and toes as he did so. As he placed them on one side, remaining on his knees, Karla put her feet on Jack’s legs.

Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted Karla to sense he had an erection or not, although he was given no time to overthink it as Karla issued her next instruction.

“I love those shoes, but they make my feet ache,” she said. “Make my soles feel better.”

Jack gave a small nod, but before he could say anything more, Karla had moved her feet up towards his shoulders and pushed him down, so he was lying on the floor. He shuffled forwards, so he was directly under her feet, which were smothering his face. Karla laughed to herself as Jack held the top of her feet and began to feverishly lick her soles. As he did so, she pushed hard and moved her feet up and down so she could get what she wanted.

“Good boy,” she purred as Jack continued. “Not suffocating you, am I?” She giggled.

Jack shook his head. He was loving the feeling of having Karla’s feet pressed into his face so he could smell, feel, and taste every bit of them. By now, he’d stopped caring about whether Karla had noticed how much he was getting turned on.

Karla wasn’t interested.

As she had covered Jack’s face with her feet, and he couldn’t see anything, she had taken the opportunity to touch herself. Being in charge and having her feet played with really did turn her on. It was triggering feelings she hadn’t felt for a long time. She lessened the pressure she was putting on Jack’s face and dragged her feet down his face until her toes were crossing his lips.

“Mmm, ümraniye escort suck my toes now,” Karla said, closing her eyes as she fed her big toes into Jack’s mouth. Similarly, Jack closed his eyes as he sucked hard, trying to keep up as Karla teased him by wiggling about and slipping different toes in and out of his mouth. It was all Karla could do to stop herself from letting herself go, and Jack was feeling much the same.

Karla wasn’t about to let this feeling pass. She sat up and motioned Jack to do the same.

“Get behind me,” she said. Jack was confused. Karla swung her feet, so they were underneath her chair. She pointed at the back of her chair and told Jack precisely what she wanted him to do.

“Get underneath and suck from behind.”

Another smile from Jack. He’d always fantasised about worshipping the feet of women who were hiding their faces from him and this position suited both of them.

For Jack, it meant he could suck Karla’s toes and rub his cock. Karla was by now gently working a finger up and down inside her knickers, but doing so as calmly and carefully as she could. She was highly aroused, but she was determined to keep that a secret.

Jack made sure that he spent time sucking each of Karla’s toes and licking the gaps between them. He could hear her moan as he did this and despite Karla trying to be discreet, he knew she was touching herself.

Jack could have spent all evening with Karla’s feet in his mouth, but Karla wasn’t about to let him have things his way. She made sure her hands were back in her lap when she pulled her feet away from Jack and stood up.

“I quite enjoyed that, Jack,” she said. “Thank you very much. You may go home now.”

Jack did as he was told. Karla was not somebody who often revealed her feelings and no matter how abruptly the liaison had been ended, he’d thoroughly enjoyed it himself. More than Karla could have possibly imagined.

And he now knew that he was turning her on as much as she was turning him on.

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It’s often said that people have a ‘prime’ in life. At almost forty, newly divorced, I realized I was past mine. Once the co-captain of my high school basketball team, a second string quarterback, I got a scholarship to college, married the blonde hometown prom queen, taught Sunday School, and worked my way up to Assistant Vice President at the bank. Sounds like a modern fairytale, right? Well, one afternoon in the early 1990’s, an answering machine message turned it all to shit.

“Jewdy Dan’ls, yew stay’way from mah huzzbun, yew fuckin’ ho-wurrrr!” The angry woman’s voice blasted out of the speaker, her deep West Virginia accent resonating across my kitchen. I thought Judy, my wife of fifteen years, had been too interested in her voluntary church clerical work lately and too uninterested in sex the last few months. The pissed off caller was our minister’s wife.

I stayed calm and didn’t jump to conclusions. Wanda, the preacher’s nutty spouse, may have just been jealous or mistaken. When Judy got home, I had barely mentioned the message from the household of charismatic Reverend Tommy Foster, when my wife broke down and confessed in a sobbing pile at my feet.

About the same time the divorce was progressing nicely, my regional bank was being bought out by a bigger one, so I took a job at a large data processing center in suburban Baltimore. I left the small town scandals, gossip, and green valleys of dairy and coal country behind to start over.

At first my job was crappy, being from the acquired bank, no one, even my own team, took my title or ideas seriously. Meaningless reports and paperwork piled up on my desk, much of it delivered by the print room’s sullen employee, Saleesha. She never smiled, even when I cracked a joke. The short woman was African-American, as were over half the women in the building, which was mostly staffed with female employees. Saleesha was a big girl, and I know ‘wide as she is tall’ is a derogatory cliché, but this woman almost met that description. Maybe a height of five foot two, despite smaller hands and feet, her upper limbs were thick with flesh that nearly overhung her joints. Her torso was proportionally large, but her shape was still somewhat of an hour glass, wide hips balanced by her honeydew melon-sized breasts. The perceived flaws of her body faded when gazing at her face, which was minimally affected by her weight, stunningly pretty with big dark eyes and a bright smile. I only knew of the smile because it was seen in a portrait on her desk of her and her son. She wore wigs daily, as did a few of the other women, as her hair was wavy and reddish one day and straight and black the next, then back to reddish. Like all of us, she wore conservative business clothes every day, but upper management began a new ‘casual Friday’ policy, and a short-sleeved, scoop neck top with a bit of crowded cleavage revealed smooth, flawless skin, except for a hint of, well, cellulite on the back of her upper arms. I paid the anomaly no mind at the time. She was just another coworker at that point.

One day I passed a young woman in tears at her desk. On her dark green screen was a blinking orange cursor, that was all. I asked her what was wrong. She typed ‘logon’ and nothing happened. She feared she would get in trouble for not finishing her work. I had her try another code, which worked.

Within days I was the most popular guy on my floor. The employees had not been trained very well on the ‘other’ system, meaning the computers of my old bank, and I was darting around giving hints and shortcuts to all the women, when they weren’t stopping by my tiny office to ask questions, chat or show me pictures of their families. They even felt comfortable enough to kid me about my ‘hillbilly’ accent. My bosses were happy the work was getting done faster and put me in charge of most of the area.

The sole holdout from my new fan club was Saleesha, still unfriendly. On a rainy weekend, I began to find out why. She had been dealt a rough hand in life.

Upon taking the job transfer, I had moved to an apartment complex close to the office, and later I found out Saleesha, a single mom, lived across the parking lot. One Saturday as I arrived home, she was boosting her wheelchair-bound 10 year-old son over a parking bumper and up the curb, since the local asshole parked his big Jeep in her reserved spot with the access ramp constantly. She was also carrying plastic bags of groceries and items were falling out. The open doors of her lift-equipped van were letting the downpour in. I parked and quickly ran over and offered to help. In moments I had her son under the hallway awning and groceries corralled while she locked up the van. All of us soaked, she stoically refused any further assistance once she had opened her door, and rushed inside without even a thank you, not that I really cared. She had more important things to worry herself with.

Monday morning as I looked up from the thump of reports falling into my inbox, Saleesha actually paused.

“Good mornin’, Wayne. I never thanked tuzla escort you for helpin’ me and Micah Saturday,” she said, looking at me sheepishly with those gorgeous eyes.

I played dumb. “Huh? Oh don’t worry about it.” I waved it off. “Didn’t know you lived so close.”

Her upper torso flesh quivered subtly beneath her dress, and I could practically hear her bra straps begging for mercy. I found myself fumbling for words, something that hadn’t happened in years. The conversation quickly stalled. “Let me know if ya’ll need a ride or somethin’,” I blurted out, looking at the dismal gray skies outside before starting to jot down my number on a notepad.

She scowled. “Look, just because my van isn’t brand new doesn’t mean…”

“Four wheel drive..” I interrupted “I mean, if it’s icy, you know. I got my redneck Wes’ Virginia moonshine truck, lotsa room in there for Micah’s chair an’ all.”

Spring was approaching, but the roads could still be nasty in the mornings. Judy got the Volvo in the divorce. I still had my rusty old Blazer, I hadn’t even changed to a Maryland license plate yet.

Saleesha actually smiled. “That’s your’s? You’re gonna need moonshine to get me in that junky thing!” she joked, walking away.

Later that day I made a phone call to a contact at another bank, one that made auto loans for the dealer that sold the Jeep of the seemingly jobless, selfish asshole that always parked in Saleesha’s spot. As I had guessed, he was way behind on payments, and they didn’t have his girlfriend’s address. Surprise, a few mornings later the Jeep was repossessed, the cops came when a ruckus was raised with the tow truck driver. It turned out the guy had outstanding warrants. We never saw him or the truck again, and Saleesha was able to use her space from then on.

2

Spring arrived and I stayed busy, and soon realized I had traded the gossip farm back home for another here at work. At 6’5″, I had gotten wind of the fact some of the women called me a ‘tall drink of water’ and the story of my divorce via my ex-wife’s infidelity, which I had only mentioned to a couple people, was common knowledge. A few women even seemed to be a little flirtatious, but I was nearly twenty years older than most, and a ‘boring old white guy’, or so I felt. While out among their desks, I did enjoy the tight skirts, pants, dark-skinned cleavage and occasional down blouse, it’s now called, views of their bras. The lingerie cradled breasts of all sizes, but sometimes not too well, as smaller, firm tits put no pressure on the cups, and the resulting gap sometimes allowed a beautiful brown nipple peek. I recalled the day’s images as I jerked off in bed at night, fantasizing about a few of the more friendly, shapely girls. Raised in a demographically white small farm town, this was a fun, new world for me, and a ‘safe’ one, in that I knew the flirtations were harmless, and none of the girls would really ‘go’ for me.

The weather warmed up, and one morning I approached the laundromat on my side of the complex. In the room and facing away from me was a heavy-set, very curvy African-American woman in flimsy red shorts, bent over, pulling clothes out of the dryer. Nearly as wide as the dryer was her inverted-heart shaped bubble butt. The backsides of her thighs were exposed and her shorts were thin and tight enough to reveal an expanse of quivering cellulite from her waist to above her knees. Instead of going inside, I stood, mesmerized, for several seconds and watched that big behind dance around. As she raised her head, I saw she had very short straight hair, brushed back simply on her head. It was Saleesha. There were washers and dryers in her building, but they must have been in use or out of order. I retreated, not wanting to embarrass her, as I was sure she didn’t want me to see her without a wig and not ‘put together’ as she was each day for work. Most men couldn’t care less how they look, with women of course things were different. My ex never even went outside without mascara and lipstick. A hurried back to my apartment to peek out the window and watch her walk back across the parking lot, but cars blocked my view.

All day the vision of Saleesha’s backside haunted me. For my entire younger life I had been conditioned to only sexually consider women with zero or minimal perceived physical flaws, and pursued my ex initially because her blonde looks were ‘approved of” by my father and male peers. While concentrating on my career, church, and being married with what was, at one time, a good sex life with a fairly horny wife, I simply hadn’t thought much about other women. I did love Judy, but she was always itching for more travel and adventure. Her sneaking around to trucker motels to screw our minister, and others, it was revealed in court, must have filled her need for escape and excitement.

The night of the seemingly innocuous laundry room encounter, I woke up in the wee hours with a rock hard dick, a frequent occurrence with no wife to screw. I grabbed pendik escort it and began to fantasize about certain women in the office, white, black, Asian, or Hispanic, when I suddenly remembered Saleesha. As I stroked I thought about how soft her flesh must feel to the touch, especially the dimpled mass of her rear end, and began to imagine my pelvis or face ensconced in it. In moments I was shooting jizz like a geyser all over my boxers and stomach. I didn’t even bother to clean up as I immediately worked on a second messy load, all while mentally replaying every encounter with her, good and indifferent, as well as various sex fantasies. It must have been the mysterious allure of the cellulite that fueled my excitement; I had seen plenty of big plump asses over the years and they never got me so horny. Most guys find the crepe cellulite surface unattractive, and I guess I really had just been following the crowd, but not any more. Even a boring guy like me can have a new fetish, even at forty. Later, I scolded myself for lusting after Saleesha, as it might cause a flirtation to creep into my conversations with her. I didn’t want to mislead her, since my motive was pure animal lust.

3

A week of routine days ensued, and early one morning I ran naked to the phone, sunrise boner flailing, just before getting in the shower. The battery in Saleesha’s van had died, so it was my rusty Blazer to the rescue, driving up onto the lawn and sidewalk to give her a jump. I had quickly hopped into a t-shirt, and a pair of cotton shorts with no boxers, and could feel my semi-deflated dick banging around inside them and even tenting the front a little as I hooked up the cables; I don’t know if Saleesha noticed or not. I had to remind myself that despite my newfound attraction to her, I was trying to be a friend; the last thing she needed was a middle-aged white guy from work hitting on her. The next day at the office I overheard that her battery had been dying frequently. I could tell it was an old one, and the wheelchair lift likely drained it quickly.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Saleesha, barely wrapped in a towel, with no makeup and her real hair pushed away from her face and dripping, yelled at me from the shadows of her apartment doorway the next Saturday morning. I had bought a heavy duty battery at the auto parts store and had just finished installing it in her van, with the help of co-conspirator Micah. He helped by producing the keys and holding tools. I had lifted him into the driver’s seat and on my signal, he started the van with a big grin. Later she called, perturbed, saying she wasn’t a charity case; I told her to pay me back whenever she could.

That same night about 6:30 I got a panicked call from her. She was embarrassed to ask, but she needed someone to watch her son while she went on a blind date with a man someone at her church had fixed her up with. Her mother was originally going to watch Micah, but didn’t feel well, and all her friends were busy.

I agreed and went over to her apartment, taking a couple books to read. “You look terrific!” I said when she opened the door in a red flower patterned dress. She had picked a straight-haired wig with black hair that fell to her shoulders. Giant hoop earrings swayed on either side of her beautiful face. I had to make myself avoid staring at the necklace resting in her soft brown cleavage, it was the most plunging neckline I had seen her wear yet.

“Stop your lyin’, Wayne,” she said dismissively.

“Not lyin’,” I shrugged.

“Mmm mmm,” she hummed sassily, then gave instructions to Micah about his medications and bedtime, and to listen to ‘Mister Wayne’.

A car paused in the parking lot and blew the horn, and she leaned down to kiss her son and I wished her a good time.

The evening was uneventful, aside from a trip across the parking lot to retrieve my tools to fix her constantly running toilet. Otherwise it was quiet, with Micah and I watching TV or playing Atari.

About 10 PM, Saleesha returned. Between the early hour and the expression on her face, I knew things didn’t go well.

“Where’s Micah?” she asked, relieved to be stepping out of her heels.

“Gettin’ a time out in the closet,” I replied.

“What?”

“Just jokin’, he’s asleep. I laid him out on his bed a half hour ago. You’ll have to put him in his jammies. Great kid. “

“Oh no, what happened?” she asked, shedding her purse and removing the large earrings. She had spied my toolbox on the floor.

“Micah and I fixed your toilet. He’s a good helper.” Now that she was satisfied her son and plumbing were okay, she seemed to want to vent.

“So how did it go?” I asked about her big date.

She didn’t reply, but grabbed the neck of a bottle of red wine out of a high kitchen cabinet, which she reached by stepping up a footstool, her feet and calves bare inside sheer black hose. During my sneaky looks at her, I realized her body seemed to have been squeezed into a foundation maltepe escort garment, I think they’re called, as her torso seemed more rigid and a bit condensed. She stepped down and took two Marvel comic book tumblers from the dish drainer. “One of the housekeepin’ staff broke all my crystal stemware,” she said sarcastically, kidding about the plastic glasses, then scowled. “That fool just wanted a waitress for tonight,” she began, angrily about her date, as we both sat down at the table. “It was a men’s ministry dinner at his church, and I spent the whole time with an apron on, servin’ them an’ washin’ dishes. Us women ate in the kitchen afterward. Damnedest first date I’ve been on,” she sighed. “Guess I’ll be single forever.” she took a gulp of her wine. “Not that I mind bein’ independent, but just to have a man pay some attention to me…once in a while.” She looked off into the distance, frowning, her shoulders slumping.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find someone right for you,” I said, trying to be supportive.

“Men just want skinny women.”

“Not all men,” I countered, trying to hide my lecherous grin.

“Was your wife thin?”

“Um, yeah, I guess, but…”

“See?” she snapped. “Did you chase any fat girls?”

“Not back then, you’re right, but I learned a lot since then, grown up, you could say.” I was trying to stay generic, platonic in my responses, and not just blurt out the fact that I wanted to fuck her. “Most men grow up eventually.”

“Mmm mmm,” she hummed skeptically. “So, now that you’re also chasin’ fat women, when you get one, you bring her around here, I wanna meet ‘er.”

She had quickly finished her wine, and advised me she needed to check on her son, which I took as my queue to leave. Saleesha then thanked me for babysitting on short notice and said I was sweet, looking into my eyes for a moment with those brown stunners of hers. she was probably smirking at my stupefied expression “Goodnight,” she said with a peculiar half smile.

Walking back to my apartment, I realized I had gotten too close. Saleesha needed a younger man, of any race, who would stick around. I didn’t want to lead her on, and I definitely wasn’t ready for any kind of commitment to any woman, after fifteen years of marriage. The next week I kept things at arm’s length at the office, pretending to be busier than I really was when she came by my desk, actually smiling a bit.

4

A further distraction arrived in the form of a blind date of my own. That Friday I had been fixed up with a friend of a coworker. Several of us met after work for dinner and drinks at Harbor Place on Baltimore’s waterfront. Greek-descended, expatriated New Yorker Courtney was very nice, if a bit loud. She was thirty-two, a petite, tan, cute brunette dental assistant, also divorced. The night went flirtatiously touchy and smoothly. She gave me a nice wet kiss goodbye, and we promised to call.

Late the next morning I did get a call, but not from her; it was Saleesha.

“How was your date?”

Sadly, me having an actual date was breaking news on the office gossip network.

“You get any? She carryin’ your child now?”

“No!” I said, laughing, “It was just dinner! In a crowd! Geez.”

“Well…are you busy? You need to come over here. My toilet is messed up again.”

“Okay, be there in a minute.”

I was a little worried I was becoming her personal plumber and almost felt like telling her to call the landlord, but I knew they were very slow and weren’t even around on weekends. Her apartment had two bathrooms, so it wasn’t like they had nowhere to go. But, I had nothing else to do, so over I went. I was thinking about which type of commode valve I would need from the hardware store when I tapped on her door.

“Come in Wayne! Chain the door behind you please,” she yelled from the back of the unexpectedly dark and quiet apartment as I stepped in, toolbox rattling. The noise from her son’s TV or video games was missing. “Back here.” She was summoning me to the rear bedroom, which had its own bathroom, not the one I fixed earlier. ‘Great, a new problem’, I grumbled to myself. The room was crowded with clothes racks of dresses and suits, and bookshelves of family portraits, paperbacks and about a dozen faceless white Styrofoam heads, all of which held different varieties of wigs. The bed was crisply made, but covered only in mismatched sheets.

The ceiling fan was spinning but its bulbs were off, and the window blinds were closed against the bright sun. By the humidity and shampoo smell I could tell someone had showered recently. Next I got the shock of my middle-aged life.

Saleesha appeared, smiling, her hair in a colorful towel above the natural beauty of her face, devoid of any makeup. The real surprise was that she was apparently naked beneath a thin, black, silky, short-sleeved robe. The gap in her cleavage was wider and not as deep, and her massive tits seemed somewhat deflated, lower and spread wider across her ribcage than their appearance when held captive inside a bra. The robe offered a detailed silhouette of the forward-facing, blueberry-sized nipples within. Their scattered, surrounding bumps revealed the expanse of her areolas. Her upper arm and breasts jolted and quivered wildy as she pulled the towel down from her damp hair. and tossed it over the back of the kitchen chair she used at her vanity.

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By Todayshiddenobsession February 3, 2023

Synopsis:

This story is FemDom cuckold tale based on inspiration I received from Ms. Tara, when I shared with her, another story regarding cuckold training called “Cuckold Clinic” by TomWard.

Ms. Tara is a real-life wife in a female led relationship. I met her through a blog site, and she has graciously allowed me to use her pen name in my story.

Thank You to both Ms. Tara and TomWard for this inspiration.

From the title I’m sure you can get the direction for this story but there are also areas that focus on the Mistress wives learning to take control and Academy staff.

This story is pure FANTASY!

Relationships in real life between people should always be consensual.

This is only my second attempt at erotic fiction. I will try to employ the constructive criticism of the commenters from my first story to make this one better.

Ch06 Pegging used to affirm a Mistresses dominance

After some time working on business things, Dianne looks at her watch and tells Ms. Tara the pegging class will begin in 20 minutes, and it will take them 10 minutes to get to the area where it is being held.

“Well, we should be going then I guess. Are you joining me Dianne?” Ms. Tara asks.

“Oh, I have a feeling I know what you are up to, my calculating boss. I would not miss this for anything.” Dianne replies.

Together they head off across campus to the pegging training area.

On the way they pass the dorm areas where the submissives and cuckolds stay.

Their accommodations are not fancy, fitting a servant’s status. Each male has a small room with a cot and desk. A light on the desk and one next to the bed, a small dresser to keep a towel, washcloth, soap, toothbrush and toothpaste in. There is no closet or room for clothes because they are kept naked for the entire period they are here. The bed is equipped with ropes and harnesses so the student can be bound into any position. A small shelf near the door has an assortment of anal plugs and dildo gags of various sizes. On the wall over the desk is a picture of his wife in sexy lingerie next to a naked black man with a large erection and his arm is wrapped around her like a family photo. On the desk is a tablet where he must record his experiences. His entries are always public knowledge to any training or management staff, and of course his Mistress wife. As always, a submissive has no expectations of privacy.

In some rooms, where the wife has requested her husband be crate trained, is a medium sized dog cage with a thin foam base for sleeping in instead of a cot.

The room is equipped with several cameras that record and also broadcast to security the males every moment in the room. Above each obvious camera is a sign that reads.’ A submissive male should have no expectation for privacy’ or ‘you must never hide anything from your wife.’

Every 4 rooms share a common toilet, washing sink and shower area.

On the other side of the hall are the more luxurious suites for the wives who are staying for a period of time during their training.

These rooms are equipped with king sized beds in a private bedroom. The bedroom contains a large closet with several sexy outfits. A large dresser across from the bed contains a bounty of sexy nighties, bras, panties, garters etc. Everything to make her feel sexy and impress a new lover.

A luxury bathroom with toilet, shower, bidet, large soaker bathtub, a large vanity and sink with gold fittings. In the plentiful drawers are lots of makeup, perfumes, cleansers, hair product, razors etc. Plus, all of the appliances for hair and skin care. Everything a woman could want to be ready for a sexy date with a well-hung man.

A living area is equipped with a large screen TV that not only gets all available public and pay channels but the camera feeds from every camera in the training and sub sleeping areas. There is even a special channel that has a personalized schedule showing where their husbands are, at all times. This allows a wife to check in and watch her husband’s training any time she wants. While watching her husband or entertaining a lover or other wives to compare femdom ideas, there are comfortable chairs and a love seat for cuddling a lover.

There is even a stocked bar and kitchenette for entertaining the man of her choice.

The ladies may also take advantage of the 24-hour room service.

The proximity of the men’s and ladies’ accommodation was no accident. It was decided that the male trainees, being able to hear their and other wives being fucked by random lovers was a good conditioning element to get them used to being cuckolded by their wives.

However, the largest difference between the men’s and women’s areas is the women are free to come and go 24 hr a day and bring anyone they want into their suites.

The male submissives, are restricted to the facility 24/7 until they graduate. They are bound, gagged and plugged every night, then maltepe escort locked into their rooms by the female security staff, unless they are being used by one of the Mistress’ or staff. Each male’s room has a transparent door, again, so no privacy is possible.

Ms. Tara and Dianne arrive at the ‘ass reaming room’ as it is known by the staff.

Inside they find, two instructors in fetish clothes setting up for the training. 6 vaulting benches with arm leg and back straps similar to the punishment rooms are spread across the room. In front of each is a floor to ceiling mirror with the top 3 feet angled down. This is designed so that the trainee has a full view of the woman who is fucking him in the ass as she wishes. It’s a mind fuck for the man being pegged, for him to look into the mirror and see a woman’s power at being the one in control while getting off on fucking him. Next to each station is a rack of various strap-on harnesses with assorted sized dildos. All within easy view of the submissive who is strapped to the bench.

When strapped into place each trainee can be totally immobilized except for their head which hangs freely off the bench. At the head end of the table is an assortment of gags, including dildo gags.

Near the rear of the bench are several paddles whips and tawse along with various sized butt plugs and bottles of lube.

There is a clothing rack for anyone who wants to get undressed to peg the trainees. It is a personal choice for each Mistress or trainer.

As Ms. Tara surveys the room, a group of 4 Mistress wives enter led by a third trainer. They are escorted to the viewing area where the Mistresses are seated in comfortable chairs. They are given direction on today’s class and their participation options. Some of them are here to see their husbands being pegged and others are here to see any action. A few are very eager to try their hand at fucking a man in the ass for their own pleasure.

As they sit, some curiously look around the room and others are eagerly listening to the direction being given by the instructors.

While the Mistresses are getting their instructions, from a different entrance, 12 subs are brought in by two instructors dressed in black lingerie. One with a riding crop that she uses to repeatedly hit trainees on the thighs and asses as they move. The other trainer holds the leashes attached to each trainee’s collar allowing them to be led to a wall which contain shackles for the hands and feet for each sub. Secured to the wall with legs spread wide and hands over their heads, wearing only their locked chastity and collar. The leashes are left attached and hang down in front.

One of the instructors already in the room approaches the subs and begins to give them direction for today’s training. Up to this point they do not know why they are here.

At this revelation some trainees are complacent, accepting that their wives want them to be trained for this, or they look forward to being ass fucked because they enjoy it. Some are struck with fear and plead with the instructors not to do this to them. They claim it must be a mistake, that their wives would never do this to them, but their wives have signed a release for every male in the pegging room. The subs are each shown the signed pegging release with their wife’s signature. Not because they need to prove anything to these submissive husbands, but to show them that with the stroke of a pen, their wives have full control over every facet of their new lives as servants and cuckolds. There are still a few angrily screaming that they can’t do this and demand to be let free.

One from this last group is Carol’s husband.

Dianne goes over to each and scans their collars for their ID., She turns to Ms. Tara and while grabbing a particular sub by his chastity cage, she shakes his penis and tells her,” this one is Carol’s cuckold.”

At this point, some of the Mistresses go and selects a trainee and one by one they are brought over by the leash and strapped to the benches. Then the Mistress who picked a trainee goes over to the restrained sub, leaning or crouching down she introduces herself to them as Mistress ‘x’ and she will be taking her pleasure with a strap-on in their ass. Some of the trainees who have been progressing in their training respond with “thank you Mistress for using me for your pleasure.” Some plead to be exempted from this. For those, it is usually some focused thrashing on their asses with a tawse or crop that bring them around to acceptance. Once they realize it is going to happen and the sooner they accept and thank the Mistress, the sooner it will be over.

The belligerent ones however are harder to convince.

Carol’s cuckold is a man like this. Even though he has promised his wife to change his misogynistic mind set, he is still confused about what that means and resists giving up a lifestyle pattern he has been raised in and has practiced his entire life.

When it becomes his manavgat escort turn, Ms. Tara approaches the instructor and tells her she will be taking him.

Ms. Tara likes to be comfortable and feel sexy while training a new submissive male. So, as he is brought to the bench and strapped down, she removes her outer clothing.

Under her business clothes is a sexy lingerie set suitable for a intimate rendezvous at short notice but easily concealed under her business attire. Her lingerie consists of a pastel blue ensemble with 1/2 cup laced demi bra holding her beautiful, creamy, 34D breasts. A matching pair of lacy low-cut panties with a transparent rear. A garter belt with matching lace hugs her waist as it holds up shear black stockings finishing out a look that is intended to make her feel sexy, and more than impress anyone else. She wears only the finest quality lingerie, to match her worthy dominant feminine personality.

After he is secured, she approaches his face, her crotch only inches from his head. If he raises his head, he will be able to smell her excitement at bringing this arrogant male down to size.

‘Look at me” she commands. His head remains still. She is holding a crop in her hand and as she tells him again in a sterner voice, she hits him on the ass forcefully. “I SAID LOOK AT ME CUCKOLD!” This time he squeals and looks up to see her beautiful, fragrant pussy staring him in the face.

“Do you know who I am cuckold?” Ms. Tara asks.

You’re the bitch who has this shitty place and the quack bitch doctors who polluted my wife’s mind.” He replies.

“You volunteered for this training. You signed the papers. You told your wife you wanted to treat her better and let her lead your marriage. Did you not say that?” Ms. Tara asks.

“Ya … but I thought she couldn’t do it and then I’d take back over.” Is his reply.

“So, you underestimated the skill and determination of the woman you have been abusing for years to climb out of the misogynistic bullshit you had her in. Now here you are, at my mercy, and I’m the woman who is going to fuck the bitch into you.”

“Didn’t you tell her you didn’t want to be like your father and treat your wife like your father did your mother? You told her you never wanted to treat her bad and be a misogynistic asshole. You told her and Dr. Clark you needed help to change.” Ms. Tara asks.

“Right, but I didn’t mean for her to send me here.” He says in a quivering voice.

“Well, you are here, and I am going to help you change from an being an asshole to a wonderful, supportive, obedient husband. I’m here to help you save your marriage.” Ms. Tara says.

“Ok, but why do you guys gotta fuck me like a bitch?” He asks.

“Because cuckold, you need to feel what it’s like to be treated like a bitch just as you treated your wife as your bitch. You need to understand that as your new Mistress, in your new marriage, she or any woman she decides can do to you whatever they want, and you will learn to thank her for it. Do you understand?”

“I am going to fuck you in the ass, until you figure out that you are no longer in charge. Your Mistress wife is in charge now. You must learn to obey, without hesitation, without question, and without attitude!”

“I promise you, once you learn the lessons, we are trying to teach you here, you and she will be a much happier couple and she will be able to treat you, and guide you, tenderly again. If you continue to be difficult and fight who you really want to be because of some false macho pride, well you will be a sore and miserable excuse for a man. Now here is what is going to happen. I am going to peg you with one of the strap-ons there,” Ms. Tara explains as she points to the wall of harnesses and dildos. “I’ll let you choose which one I use first Ok. But before I’m finished with you, I’m going to fuck you hard, with the dick of my choice cuckold.

“I don’t want any of them in my butt.” Is his quiet reply.”

“Well cuckold, if you don’t decide, I will, and you won’t like my first choice cuckold.”

“Why do you keep calling me cuckold?” He asks Ms. Tara

“Because your wife spent this afternoon fucking and loving one of the men we have here.” She takes her crop and lightly taps his ass several times as she continues, “One of the men, I might say, with a cock much larger than yours. She tells me he fucks much better than you do as well. That makes you officially HER CUCKOLD!”

“No, no no no! She wouldn’t. She’s my wife!”

“She is your Mistress now and you had better get used to that because after a woman fucks a man who can give her multiple orgasms and treats her like a queen to boot, she is not likely to ever let the man who abuses her back inside her wet pussy. That is unless she sees some great improvement in his attitude and acceptance of his new life as her cuckold, servant husband.”

“If I can tell her, you cooperated and accepted your fate by happily taking girl cock in your ass. She might şişli escort be willing to believe your story that you are trying to be a better man for her.”

“Ok, ok, the smaller one. The red one. You can peg me with the smaller red one.”

“I’m sorry,” Ms. Tara says with her hand to her ear, “I think you need to beg me to fuck you with the red dildo attached to a strap-on harness.”

“Ok, I want you to fuck me with the red dildo.”

“I don’t think I heard the magic word or you addressing me as the superior to you that I am. Try again.”

“Ms. Tara, would you please fuck me with the red dildo?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure I like the red one, and where did you want me to put it?”

“Oh, God…why are you making me grovel? I feel so humiliated, and you’re making me beg to get fucked in my ass by you, a woman, in front of all these other women.”

“Humility is the first step to redemption cuckold.”

“Alright, alright, anything to get this over. Ms. Tara, would you PLEASE fuck me up my ass with whichever dildo that pleases you?”

“Well since you asked so nicely, yes I think I will fuck you with this one.”

She reaches over to the wall, her hand near the red dildo, then moves over and picks out a black dildo twice the size of the red one, about 18cm long with a bulbous head. Removing her panties and placing them onto the top of his head, then pulling up the harness over her sexy lingerie and tightening it, she inserts the black dildo into the harness and shakes it in front of his face.

“Like my big black girl cock, cuckold?” Ms. Tara asks him

” Why did you choose the black one” He asks

“Your wife told me today, she would like to try fucking a black man to see if it’s true, that black men with big hard cocks, fuck better than white guys with little cocks. I just thought you should experience a black cock to. You know, so you have something in common with your new Mistress.” Ms. Tara mocks.

“Now I think you should be a polite, obedient, submissive and get my girl cock lubed up. What do you think cuckold?”

“How can I do that my hands are tied and I don’t even know where any lube is?”

“Well, what do you have that’s available and wet?”

“Oh, no, I’m not sucking that thing. I’m no fairy gay boy!”

“That’s not a nice way to talk about gay men. They don’t like being called fairies.” Besides, no one said you were gay. Sucking my girl cock before it goes up your ass is to make it better for you. I guess if you would rather, I can ram it up your ass dry. I mean if that’s what you want.”

“No no, I’m sorry. Don’t fuck me with that thing dry. It will tear me apart.”

“Well, I’m not sure I understand your apology. Are you apologizing to me or to the gay men you insulted?”

“Oh geez, I apologize to all the gay men for referring to them as fairies. I apologize to you Ms. Tara for not understanding that you telling me to suck your black cock was for my benefit.”

“My BIG BLACK GIRL COCK.”

“Right, right your big black girl cock.”

“Well, if you want to suck my BIG BLACK GIRL COCK, you had better beg me and it had better sound sincere.”

Please, please, please, Ms. Tara, will you allow me to suck your big black girl cock before you put it inside my ass?”

“Well, if you insist cuckold.”

Ms. Tara then proceeds to push her black dildo right into his mouth until he begins to gag. She pushes in and out encouraging him to use his tongue and get it nice and wet. She continues to own his mouth with the black strap-on for several minutes as the other Mistresses and staff laugh and cheer him on with chants of ‘suck, suck, suck, suck. Suck that big black cock!’

Finally, she pulls the now wet and glistening black phallus out of his mouth. He looks it over and grimaces. ‘What would the guys think if they saw what just happened. A woman just fucked my mouth with a black rubber dick and I begged her to do it, just so it would go into my ass easier. What am I becoming?’ he thought.

By now all of this has made everyone in the room focus on Ms. Tara and Carol’s cuckold husband. Several of the Mistresses have their phones out shooting video or taking pictures. The rooms cameras have also recorded everything. But the fun has just begun.

Ms. Tara moves around behind him and realizes how wet this is making her. She will need to get off tonight when she has finished this.

When she gets behind him, she asks if he can see her in the mirror? She asks him if she looks good with the big black girl cock pointed at his exposed asshole. Again, he comes down another peg by telling her she is a beautiful woman who looks sexy with her beautiful lingerie and her big black girl cock ready to mount his ass. Whether he is saying this because he believes it, or just because he is defeated and wants to end this horror doesn’t really matter. He is saying it and that is important to the lesson.

She does not want to hurt him seriously. She knows ramming this dildo into him with only spit for lube would be wrong. So without him seeing she adds some extra lube to his saliva. She is thinking if she fucks him with a dildo this big into his virgin ass basically dry she will tear his asshole and that is not the goal. The goal is to have him understand his Mistress wife or any woman she assigns him to has the right to do whatever she wishes, and he has no right to refuse.

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