She stood back in the mirror for a few minutes, looking at herself. I was glad for the churning water to camouflage my own wetness. He saw her glide across the water her head kept carefully above. Her lover? Hope swelled in her breast, her heart beat a little faster. I slowly crept to the half-opened curtains and peeked inside. She stood back in the mirror for a few minutes, looking at herself. Her breathing was ragged now, her lips hung slightly open to suck in what air they could to help her ride this wondrous new sensations along the shoals of utter madness. Her knees brushed the side of the bed and she found herself directed, like some puppet, until she was kneeling on the bed, facing it's foot, her hands still bound behind her, her eyes still robbed of sight, her nipples now throbbing madly with each beat of blood through the sensitive tissures, and the four trecherous monsters vibrating inside her. Then she felt the tugging on her nipples as he gently stretched the chain and she gasped, while at the same instant the phallus slid fully into her and brushed the back of her throat, remaining but an instant, before gently withdrawing, pulling back from her entirely, slipping from between her lips and it was gone. They were lying on the bed, kissing and fondling each other while he looked at pictures in a photo album.
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And a third. She felt her body begin to sag, bending forward until her head was touching the carpeting before her, already conquored. She sighed, beginning to feel relaxed. She wore no brassiere. He bit her tongue and lips, licked at the blood like an animal. And when, a few moments later, the hand pressed on the other thigh and parted her still more, and she felt the other rope being tied around her leg, she realized that she was being genly splayed. My lips, surrounded by her vulva, were embracing the soft petals within. She struggled to relax herself, even as her sex clenched these invaders, causing them to roll slowly against each other inside her, brushing against those sensitive walls, so long untouched. A single desperation. The high cut of her bottoms made her legs look longer, the halter pulled her breasts up showing just a shadow of cleavage.
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One night, she said, bowing her head. He led the way and they went to his home together, never touching until they reached his bedroom. Her eyes never met mine, and they never left the swell of my breasts or the curve of my belly while she prepared me for the bath. It was possible. You could never tell whether they had pants on or not because the cotton kept their secret. That you are, he said. A soft ding announced her arrival, breaking the silence in the car. The cloth floated off forgotten, and her hand traced Big Tits trails below my navel getting ever closer until it played in soft curls. Then he pushed her inside, pushed her until she hit a table and fell down. A single desperation.