Tuesday night, as the week before, my husband asked me if it was ok for him to go and have a few beers with his pals, John and Peter, I told him it wa... ok, that I'd call over to my friend and have a glass of wine or two, he had a shower and dolled himself up, he smelled like a fucking perfume factory when he came out of the shower, this was no few beers with the boys I thought to myself, but said nothing, off he went, and I phoned my friend to come collect me in her car, we were like to private. Cold sweat had begun to bead along her back and brow. She thought back to the morning's events and her reason for being bound up now. Had it really been that bad, what she had done? If Her Mistress would whip her for it, then yes. Very, very bad. Bad, bad slave... Maggie started to cry. Mentally she cursed her clumsiness, her penchant for being so easily distracted. There was no hope for it now. She had displeased her Mistress and would suffer for it. Pain would bring her absolution, her. I lightly flicked the pink pea-like head. "Ahhhhhh," she moaned. "Right THERE! You know what I need, Bill. Giveittome!"I worked her over as she wished, listening to her, feeling her hips buck uncontrollably as she reacted, nearing climax. Her legs closed, heels digging into my back, spurring me, and she came. Squealing. "Ennnnghhhhhh! Yeahhhhhhhh! Ohgod!"I moved up beside her and held her in my arms, stroking her hair, caressing her face. She looked at me, almost breathless, and licked her. "Is this what we told you to get?" Luke never had time to answer. Mr. Monroe stepped between him and Ratcliff, filling the space with his body. He put his hands on Luke's shoulders and steered him to the corner of the room, turning him around when they reached the armchair against the wall. "Sit," he clipped, and Luke did. "Do not move." He was really angry; Luke could hear it in his voice. He sat silently as Mr. Monroe returned to the leather overnight bag and rummaged inside. Over his.
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