Next was Spice, the cook. Small and wirey, he never felt he got the respect of the men for his difficult labor. This was his chance to excel at someth...ing physical. His fifteen strokes were brutally hard and fast and cruel.After Spice went Leroy, a shrimp of a man, dried up like a wrinkled prune, but hard as petrified wood. His sixteen strokes were all across the backs of her thighs where the skin was fresh and tender. Betsy seemed to appreciate that, moaning and crying out with little gasps of. It felt as though I was in heaven and starting moaning.. “oohh yeassss parveeen you’re so good.. dont stop… keep goin.. thats a really good slut, my personal fucking whore, keep going.”Seeing that an outsider whore was better pleasing her son than she could, mom begged me to let her try again. She did the same thing as Parveen had earlier and within a couple of minutes perfected herself at it. I was now glad that even if Parveen wasn’t around, I could always get a quickie from this whore in my. I picked out James's favorite perfume and gave a few short squirts in all the right places. Just a light touch where James would smell them as he kissed and searched around my body once we got together. I was applying my makeup when my husband walked into the bathroom. He commented on how sexy I looked giving me a kiss on my bare shoulder just above the material of my dress. He told me he thought James would love seeing me in that dress tonight. I did debate weather to bring my husband along. He always made me do things. Despicable things. Degrading acts solely for his own twisted amusement while I was tied up, a helpless pawn in his kinky fantasies. Yet I adored feeling the path that every drop of hot, liquid honey took as it spiralled its way to pool between my spread thighs. Loved being controlled, used and treated as a mere object. An expanse of soft skin and a selection of holes, available and willing to accept whatever he wished. While my magical, red-soled Louboutin heels.