Soon I had her blouse open and was playing with her nipples through her bra. I knew I was winning as she started to moan softly and kissed me harder. ... slid a hand up under her bra and started to play with her nipples, which were already hard. While my one hand was doing this, the other was working its way up over her knee and under her skirt. Again there was slight resistance but again not much and I knew she was weakening. I carried on up her thigh and was soon stroking her pussy through her. His dark brown hair was cut short, and flecked with grey at the temples. He brushed indifferently past her, smelling of coffee and some kind of cinnamon-y scent she couldn’t quite place. He set his suitcase down on the worn green carpet, turned around, and finally seemed to take notice of her presence. His eyes appraised her as if for a purchase, carefully considering her outfit, her now-irregular breathing pattern, her dilated pupils, the betrayal of want by her own body. He stepped closer to. That was not a fantasy. Thinking about her running her fingers through his hair as he kissed her naked body was still a fantasy, but it was a fantasy that I could not keep myself from craving desperately. So, I stepped away.I had been at my wife's side since we got to the party, but as Gordie approached, I simply stepped away toward the small table of hors d'ouevres to leave her to her own defenses. I watched him approach slowly, and watched her turn, her face suddenly aglow, as if she had just. I’d never felt such joy before. Break me! Make me your slave!I could feel the orgasm ballooning inside of me, the pain mixing with the pleasure, the carnal mixing with the primal. My belly shadowed with lines of muscles as my hips rolled in their climactic dance, a motion so sinuous and lecherous it seemed to come from a different woman than I. I, the whore who loved her rapists. I, the slut who was losing her mind. I felt the cocks inside of me pulsating and throbbing against my fluttering.
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