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She showed me the marital bed; it was a four poster king size one.She came over to me, kissing me deeply and as we stood by the bed kissing, she began to remove my clothes. I was soon naked and we moved onto her comfortable marital bed. We continued to kiss and I reached for a handful of her big round ass. It felt so smooth and soft…Then I got between her legs and she lifted her ass as I slid the tiny red thong off of her sweet body. She had a neatly trimmed triangle of thin dark hair and her pussy lips were swollen and glistening as she was already wet. When my tongue touched her clit, Brenda moaned loud, saying that her husband had never licked her down…I began to lick and suck her clit; soon my tongue had worked up inside her, I started to nibble on her clit as I put a finger inside her.I worked up to three fingers inside her very tight pussy as I sucked her clit. Brenda was breathing hard and her thighs were resting on my shoulders, as she began bucking her hips; suddenly she. "Slave Gena explained about the photography?" Yes, Sir." I had initially opposed their plan to shoot photos and video of our evening, but Gena had promised that the video would be kept strictly private and that no photo of my face will be posted to the Internet or shown to any stranger. I began to think of how aroused I had felt when I added several photos to my profile, so I finally agreed with the condition that I would get a copy of everything and of course, I promised to preserve their privacy also."Please, call me Brian. There is only one slave here tonight. You don't have to wear your collar if you would prefer not to."I tried not to show it, but I suddenly recoiled at the thought of removing my new collar for this man I had just met. More even than my wedding ring set, my collar had become the symbol of my bond to my husband. I was also suddenly struck by a fear that I had very badly misunderstood Charles again and that I was jeopardizing my future with him by choosing not to.
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You lunge backward at me, trying to feel more, feel anything, and then I step closer. My hand, gloved now in supple calfskin, cups your right breast. You shudder, moaning loudly at the first hint of contact. I caress the nipple, feeling its hardness straining under my ministrations. Then I place two fingers on either side of your protruding need there on your breast, and I begin to squeeze. Gently, applying more pressure. I see your head begin to move, side to side, my eyes riveted to you watching for the only plea for release to which I can respond. I let go, and the blood flows to it again, hearing you sigh beneath the leather of your silencing. Then I fiercely tweak it, and the hint of pleasure is nearly flooded away by the pain felt, and just as suddenly, my left hand, armed with the crop, descends. The contact of leather with bare, helpless flesh is one I have imagined for quite some time. But your bodys thrashing at the dual impact of both the leather crop and the mangling.

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