Kenneth rubbed my hands, up my arms — the whir of the vibrator again — this time on my nipples. Rick mounted me, then, and I could feel his cock slide inside me. I shook my head, barely able to speak. Rick raised my skirt — my bare ass was now turned towards the horde — I could feel cocks on my ass, on my thighs. I heard the whirr of the vibrator and felt it against my ass, down my back, down to my ass again.
We walked past the usual suspects — a naked man, carrying a knapsack, masturbating in front of the first television screen — on which a woman, tied face first to a bed, was getting soundly whipped. We grabbed a table and sat — Rick went for two Cokes. He is an artist with his hands and his own special vibrator — I was stunned, the first time I took advantage of his services, to find that his aim was not only — or perhaps not even — to relax, but to stimulate — inevitably to the point of orgasm. I could feel his hands running down my ass, back up — almost too quickly to realize the intent of his movement. By that time, she was trading whip-strikes between him and a willing observer, his back towards her as he clung joyfully to a nearby pole. I groaned, tossed my head back and forth. I lay back, moved my hands along the swollen throng, closed my eyes, and laughed.
There, I wiped myself off — the Club is considerate enough to provide strategically placed rolls of paper towels, and sat down. Towards the back, not quite against the wall, stood a narrow bench. Rick led me over to him, asked if he was willing to give me another massage. Rick bought another round of Cokes and, this time, surreptitiously slipped some rum into one of them. He came inside me, and I could feel cocks and semen on my belly, on my thighs — Rick was coming inside me, men were coming on my belly, on my thighs, in my hair, on my face.
. At some point, I stopped thinking, and knew only that I wanted that lovely cum — that I had to have release, despite — or perhaps because of — the public venue, the watching, hungry men. The vibrator was again thrumming on my ass, then Kenneth was shaking my arms. He worked his way back up to my thighs, then, and bent my knee towards me, so my pussy was now exposed to the horde, currently straining against the rope. I groaned into the leather of the table.
I tried to relax and recover, and Rick returned with the drinks. Rick tossed the underwear to another, younger observer, who immediately put them to his nose, took a deep whiff, and then stuck them in his backpocket. Luckily, Kenneth had hooked up the ropes that surrounded his table, and served to keep the throng back — a crowd was already gathering. Then, the lacy white blouse over my head, and I was naked before the throng. He rubbed my back, my shoulder blades, worked his way, in short order, down to my ass. I laughed again, taking it in, excited, sated, content. That poor guy was still there when we left, some hours later, still hooded, still chained, his genitals pink and swollen.
Getting your girlfriend into it. At some point, Kenneth called Rick over, and Rick laughed as he rubbed my nipples and Kenneth continued to work my clit and my cunt, his vibrator coming so close — so close to my cumming — and then he would withdraw it again, his lovely instrument of torture. Watching her with your dick out. His hands fluttered there, on my lips, then drew back, back up to my thigh and lower back. The man who staffs the door — the one who looks like a leather-clad Santa Claus — looked me up and down.
Grateful, I took it from him and felt it slide all the way down my throat, into my stomach, perhaps down to my thirsting, tired clit. I groaned again — I was spent, and could not cum, but it did not diminish my enjoyment. So, on Saturday, Rick and I took a shopping trip — cotton panties and bobbie sox were relatively easy, the saddle shoes a bit more difficult. We sat and briefly chatted with a couple who had, when I was in the massage table, seated themselves at the other two available chairs. Rick and I began to kiss, and he ran his hands up and down my thighs, then grabbed my neck, and thrust me against him.
We walked down the stairs, into the cellar-like or should I say dungeon-like? Wife Wife Covered in Cum - Cuckold Pics Wife Covered in Cum A happy ending. He began to kiss me as he pulled my shirt off and, again, the crowd began to gather. We made out there, on the threshold of the back room and the front, and — just for that — just for passionate kisses and careful fondling — we were drawing a crowd — more, in fact, then had been attracted to the tormented hooded slave. I leaned heavily on him, feeling woozy and a bit weak. We looked around, and Rick commented on the dearth of schoolgirls. On previous visits, I — who came with a vibrator, usually only in front of Rick, usually only on our bed, in our house, with no noise for distraction — had come on his table, under his expert touch, while a crowd watched, leered, and masturbated.
I laughed and leaned against his shoulder. However, we managed to find a pair of tennis-shoes, black stripes up the side, that — at least in the dark — would look saddle-y enough. So, it was Saturday night, and I was dressed in a short plaid skirt, a lacey, almost see-through white blouse, bobbie sox Tommy Hilfiger with a palm tree print! Well, I was about to discover the answer to that particular question. We had another drink, and I caught my breath. In fact, I not only was bereft of cotton panties, I owned no underwear — some eight years ago, Rick had tossed all of my underthings — cotton briefs included — out his car window.