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

Yes she was there right in the middle of the sunny afternoon to attend to the crucial match of her newly owned soccer team, the Red Blue Strings.

Right at the center of the small Vip area she was a stunning presence.

The delicately pale neck and face protruding from her expensive white fur coat, designer wraparound oversized sunglasses covering her eyes, black silky leggings ending in audacious high-heeled Jimmy Choo shining boots.

And her short black bob shining in the breezy air, large silver ear rings dangling and shimmering in the sun, and a silky mahogany dark shade adorning her luscious, smiling lips, uncovering perfectly white teeth.

Yes, she was profusely smiling, as she was the center of nervous attention.

Here she was, seen and scrutinized, discussed and mostly envied, the first female president of the Red Blue Strings in all its glorious history, mid 40s successful businesswoman, the lady chairperson of most of the local charities, and yes, a passionate and dedicate worker and acute soccer expert.

In the last few months Ann Reginald had been on a business spree.

Sided by a dozen top female managers of the city, she had been engaged in the building of the first all-female board of the championship.

It had been a bitter and exhausting position battle in the legal field but at the end of the day all the former male managers were sacked or relocated to other jobs.

She not only saved the company from bankruptcy, but also diligently forwarded all the relevant files and names to the investigating authorities.

She didn’t go easy on fraudulent managers, and was particularly harsh with the former president Mr Clitford – and was particularly keen in framing him personally as a “male chauvinist pig”, which didn’t help his standing in the long-fought judicial battle for the control over the Red Blue Strings team and related assets. Her lawyers subtly worked for the media release of some offensive comments on women – and that was the final coup to his chances to win in court.

No surprise than that the local journalist community, and the court as well, mainly headed by freshly rigorous female leaders, have just decreed his ignominious defeat and disbanded his fortune, while State attorney Ms Lonaghan, during the trial, made a great job in representing Ms Reginald as an irreprehensible and financially cunning savior.

That made a great impact on the city opinion, and Ms Reginald was repeatedly interviewed on such issues as gender dignity, women in sport and business and the ascent of a female ruling class emerging in accordance with the severity of laws.

As she contemplated the outcomes of her brilliant career, she felt reassured and relaxed, watching down the Red Blues battling for the value of her company, not in legal and business quarters – where her sophisticated and elegant mind was almost invincible – but in the rough, hard, physical effort that the boys were putting in front of her eyes.

Her black sunglasses reflected the performance, while she diligently followed the game.

She had superiorly shaken her head at all the allegations.

Mr Clitford’s lawyers desperately tried to depict her in unfavourable ways, but it was a last-resort weapon, and proved completely ineffective “broken gun” – as she sardonically said in an interview.

No, she wasn’t a man-hating chauvinist, she thought as she carefully watched the newly purchased midfield Mike Sherringhan falling to the ground after a robust tackle.

She comfortably adjusted on her reserved seat, slightly leaning her head on one side – the luxurious earring clearly visible through her raven-black, elegantly fringed sleek bob – while her manicured polished hands reached for a cigarette in her Gucci pocket.

Mike purchase was advised by a brilliant market manager called Lucy Beckett, a pepper-mint redhead blatantly courting businesses with Ms Reginald and Rebecca Rafferty – the newly appointed enthusiastic managing director of the team.

She remembered the day of his physical and his hurried tour of the laboratory facilities.

Yes, she had found him strikingly beautiful and proportioned on the very day she shook his strong hand.

And knowing smiles and polite comments from other ladies in the board – and the nasty ones of Ms Werner (the corpulent, portly veteran doctor in charge of medicals) – confirmed her that Mike was a nice treat. Yeah she thought, curling her lips to comfortably host the slim cigarette filter tip in her mouth, what a show must had he been there in the dusty, gloomy lab room, spread naked and open on the metal table.

Certainly a show, a mirage for Ms Werner, like a young angel in a semi-lit corner of her graceless world made of specimen bottles, punctures, blood and urine samples. Her reign, the laboratory corner, was the most squalid place of the Red Blues sports facility, and she did enjoy some liberty in that secluded territory.

For one she had two nurses but she’d rather make visits herself beylikbagim.com when the subject was mostly interesting.

And geez did she love to go over the line with the most inexperienced and naive patients, touching more intimately than needed, adding disturbing comments, putting them through humiliating inspections. Most of the unfortunate athletes were shocked by her behavior, as was Mike.

At first he thought that chain-smoking, grey-strained curly-haired doctor was decent, even funny, maybe for her outdated, unfashionable heavily rimmed librarian glasses. But soon he had to reconsider. Standing behind her desk, she made him strip as soon as formalities were done, keeping eye contact and an amused expression.

“I want to see what we have bought” she told him, as he was already in his boxers.

When he nicely smiled back, moving his hand from the waistband to his head, she rudely slapped the desk with her right hand, making him jump.

“I don’t have all time and this is no fun for me!” she yelled. But she inwardly rejoiced at his sudden obedience and made a mental note on his most private organ revealed for her: balls hung quite low and full, nicely proportioned uncut dick, a patch of dark hair around the base of it.

“Please, sunshine” she said staring at his genitals, which confused Mike even more.

“What should I do” he anxiously thought. The medic was now looking behind him, to the examination table with two sinisterly shining (the only shining thing in that room, to tell the truth) stirrups attached.

Then he turned back and heard her saying:

“See that table, honey? Well, you are about to have a one-to-one with him. Why don’t you move your nice ass and go there?”

He was quite dazzled by such extravagant phrasing, gave her a puzzled look but met a defiant raised eyebrow.

So he lowered his eyes and went straight there. She hastily reached him.

“Part your legs wide” she instructed in a softer voice when he had his butt on the brink of the table, palms by his side on the cold surface, which contrasted with her hot radiating body encased in a white coat open over a shocking-pink, soft-looking sweater.

Maybe he was complying too slow, even with an unwanted hint of teasing, anyways she reached within his thighs and gently forced them more open. She wore no rubber gloves on, which was quite disturbing for Mike. Yet he didn’t know this was “standard procedure” in that quarter. She liked to feel what a man had to offer her.

So he could sense her thick and plump fingers weighing one testicle, than the other, while carefully sliding his foreskin back down the pole of his soft cock.

Sensing his flinching, she retreated her hands onto the divaricator frames.

“We must use these, to keep your legs steady so that I can have a nice and accountable view” she then told him with pouting lips, feigning disappointment. Then, flexing latex into her right hand for the inspection, she left the other hand ungloved.

He was frustrated and puzzled, confusion mounting in him, but complied.

He knew he had to, because without Ms Werner’s go-ahead there would be no enrolling in the team!

He was on his nerves, so when she accidentally touched the inner delicate flesh of his anal ring with a callous finger, while accommodating room for the inspection light bulb, he jerked

“That shouldn’t have happened!” he let out in an acute humiliation squeal

Maybe he was misinterpreting or was too impressed by the latest news story of a female head doctor abusing his patients in a State prison.

Ms Werner immediately tried to calm him, placing her palm flat on his chest to bring him down in position, then pushing his belly and quite casually but rudely rubbing the naked head of his semisoft penis, which was resting in the way and still had foreskin drawn back.

She was mildly apologetic at first, but when he didn’t stop complaining for that accidental touches and accused her of taking excessive liberties, she doubled her efforts to keep him down with his back on the table. She was the doctor, and she was in charge of the medical operations. She just had to make this very clear, and furiously cut his protests.

“You don’t respect my job, maybe because I am old you think you can say whatever you please!! Ah!!!? You know I could be your grandmother?”

Full of confused feelings, with dry mouth and watering eyes, he gulped and retreated under the effect of both her words and her strong arm restraining him in place.

He tried to keep eye contact with her, but he suddenly felt his head heavy and couldn’t but flop down on the table, as if exhausted by a long, lost, emotional battle.

In the meantime Ms Werner, once sure that he was again prone to uphold her medical authority, had again knelt down between his widely parted legs, to observe him better. While she was in that position, she heard him swallowing and clearing his throat.

“Sorry maam” he whispered sweetly, just when her gloved index finger started to probe inside his parted ass cheeks.

Was she just inspecting her prostate gland?

Was she only medical at this?

No, she couldn’t deny she was adoring every moment of it, in awe of such a young male specimen and of his inner, most intimate secrets, waiting to see later what tarots will tell about him – she deeply trusted tarots when it came to men.

She was deeply breathing now, almost gasping as her finger moved up and down, not even feigning to massage his prostate.

She couldn’t deny it: she was finger-fucking him. And his posture added to the shameless reality of this development.

And he was on the verge of quitting all resistance, physical and emotional.

He felt unable to react, aroused at her insistent, rhythmic touch, and more so at her mysterious, hot breath on his most sensitive and unprotected parts, so near and cozy that he suspected she could eat them in one single motion.

His arms were thrown above his head, which was tilted on one side, eyes half closed, cheeks red from the effusion of his corporal reactions. She riveted in this show, fascinated by the very outcome of her ministrations and of her successful drive to have him right where she wanted him.

Another generous amount of lube was taken swiftly, and she came back with two oiled and gloved fingers, pushing further into him, entirely focused on the mechanics of it.

She was panting yet

“Have you a gf?” she asked with a sharp hiss in between gasps.

“No maam” he immediately replied, like a good boy, noticing his voice slightly chocked by the bumping movement he was subject. Then he arched back a little, almost facilitating her intrusion.

This further gesture of invitation got her over the edge: her breathing increased together with her pressure, while with a sensual whisper she issued the standard reply

“Why a big hunk like you”

Her voice trailed off as she became transfixed on his body displayed and naked and his shaft turning rigid above his neatly defined abdomen, his penis hovering up inflated again. That was clearly a fuck, not a massage anymore, excitement and sexual tension was all that was about. Both the medic and the patient were abandoning any pretence.

Forcibly pressed on by her lustful invasion of his intimacy, he revived their conversation, unconsciously trying to establish at least an amicable bond with her, to escape the shameful impression of being used as a mere object of her lust, under the cover of professional care.

“She dumped me two weeks ago” Mike confessed humbly, and suddenly regretted it, as though he was giving away his deep feelings to a perfect stranger.

It was her ministrations, her assault that were extracting out all of his deepest fears and frustrations.

He was so confused!

The pleasure and the shame of being a clinical object mixed in his heart, made him blush profusely of all the pleasurable unwanted sensations she was stimulating within his depths, and thrash his head from side to side with sheer abandonment.

But the medic wasn’t in for a nice idle conversation.

She exuded sexual vindictiveness over the male species, more over those muscular hard-bodied footballers that flashed in her laboratory some here and then, without paying her any attention at all.

Arrogant brats, she only hoped the new chairwomen would put them in place.

For now, she was determined to extract boy’s juices from Mike, all focused on his semi-erect member, while she leaned on him and almost casually posed her free ungloved hand over his hip.

From time to time she curled her index finger upward to trace his prostate, which made him shudder and even tense his arms forward seemingly to stop her repeat the process.

“No please, don’t do this again” he uttered in a trembling murmur, not loud enough to be an order, or at least that’s how she decided to interpret it.

He was gritting his teeth, grunting in pure humiliation while she steadied the rhythm of penetration, all the while circling his anus with another bit of vaseline and then moving to pinch his rosy nipples with her sharp fingers.

A devilish and knowing smile danced upon her lips as she saw the tip of his dick shining with the first drops of precum.

“Eureka” she whispered, adding to herself “oh yeah what a little slut we have today”

He clenched his fists at the sudden realization that the only noise in the room was the heavy panting of Ms Werner, and the wiggling junctures of the metal stirrups solicited by her vigorous finger fucking.

Tension had risen to an unbearable level. And his body, his organ was at the core of it. He felt objectified and demeaned.

Fresh images of the prison medic scandal came to his mind. Damn those women-friendly media were really doing a job at intimidating guys into suspicion and bashfulness with women, particularly with women of authority and power.

The poor convicts appalled, forced to kneel naked hands on their bald heads, shouted at by intimidating wardresses, the villain doctor (already branded in the media as “Ms Evil”) manacling away one after the other, throwing the captives across the room and disappearing from the camera view.

The night-vision added to the hellish atmosphere, with green infrared bodies thrown here and there amid raunchy laughter, screams and obsessive raucous base insults. There was one devious wardress that threw a massive sweating man on the floor with a sharp cattle prod across his thighs, yelling bitch, motherfucker, and other profanities.

One was wickedly promised he wouldn’t have to feel the prod inside his ass, if he was to make 100 pushups, which was impossible, because guards took turns to pound him to the ground with their boots, ordering he restart the count. Mouths were roughly muffled with tape, while in the background a female voice was heard shouting “Stay still!” or “Do as you are told!” interrupted by painful moans and coughs. While they waited to be manacled away by the evil doctor, the knelt prisoners had to mouth fuck the black prod. They were then taken one by one in a secluded and unseen angle of the room by Ms Evil herself, who, despite the censorship ball applied to her crotch area, was clearly wearing a strap on attached to an harness wrapped around her hips.

He wiped away those images, convincing himself that Ms Werner was not that kind of sadistic woman, though he had to admit his mates were right in describing her appearance as that of a fiendish hag.

He felt uncomfortably defenseless. More, he felt he was going to be undone by her steady manipulation, and he didn’t want her to be a cruel one. He slowly raised his head to look at her, but he just met an indecipherable gaze behind large lens gleaming under the neon light.

She was hotly and overtly panting, almost sweating, bathing in Mike’s sweet and full exposition of all his pale white muscular male flesh. For all the demeaning thoughts she, as a woman, nurtured towards boys, she could not hide her admiration for the boy, the red shade of his face, all the pale white flesh and sultry pink penis of his spread body, open and hypersensitive to her touch.

Head collapsed back to the examination table, Mike desperately wanted to speak with her. He had to know if the woman so thoroughly having her way with him was evil or not.

He hoped with all his heart she was not to prove truculent. He fought back the sensation of being a rag doll in her hands and forced himself to take his watery eyes open wide.

“W – What do you want from me” he asked with a feeble and shaken voice, head turned to one side.

“Right now sunshine, or in general? I mean in life, or here and there? Ehhh what a nice and intelligent question from such a beau. Didn’t know they were so sensible… ” she garrulously replied, well intent at doubling his discomfort.

“What a fuck little slut! See you spurt that cum for me, that’s what I want” she deviously thought while increasing the tempo of her rough invasion, just in case that nice chit chatting was making him forget his place.

But her smooth-tongued answer was designed to be uber-romantic.

“Let’s see. What I want? You babe, you and me hand in hand on a desert shore, in a tropical island. Is that ok? What do you think?” she hissed with a slight smirking innuendo.

Her tone was not sardonic though, neither insincere.

She added emphasis to her affectionate confession, pinching his nipple between first knuckle and thumb of her free hand, and than moving around his chest with her sharp pink index fingernail, down to his flat taut tummy.

Here she circled his navel ever so slowly, then descended to his crotch area, where she tarried a bit, palm down resting just above the junction of thigh and hip bone. A few centimeters from the bobbing and pulsing pink head of his cock, which was shining with pearly drops of fluid at his swollen tip.

Taken away by that her own fantasies, she thought that pink shade of his gland matched perfectly with her own lipstick’s.

She smirked as she saw him shut his eyes again and throw his arms back above his head. Just when she had the sweetest fantasy of pinning him down to the sand and kissing him passionately, a gigantic spray of cum erupted from the rigid penis all over his abdomen and chest.

He had never been touched like this before, never suspected that it would be so overwhelmingly exciting.

She rested her two fingers for a moment inside his canal, then sighing deeply she withdrew them very slowly.

Then she briskly peeled off her latex glove and moved away from the examination table, while he still stood there shocked on his elbows, looking dazzled.

“When you’re ready come to my desk love” the medic told him while moving, without an hint of participation.

She had very efficiently recovered her previous working posture behind the desk, hurriedly compiling forms and lighting another cigarette in her left hand.

He managed to get up and very slowly walked towards the desk, still completely naked and inhaling the heavy scent of his own sex.

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