It smelled of cunt; her cunt, she knew instinctively. The same finger that had invaded her in the middle of the bustling club. Without hesitation, she took it, sucking it into her mouth, swallowing the taste of her own pussy, not caring that her bra was being unfastened, that its straps were sliding down her arms, that her exposed tits here being cupped and fondled and bitten and licked, that her skirt was being unzipped from behind. Soon, it too, lay forgotten on the dance floor. In a moment. If you attended as a... well, as a member of the opposite sex, that might sit well with Edgard. I mean, of course, J. Edgard Hoosier, a high muckamuck with the First Royal Countinghouse, who just happens to be one of our major patrons. Contributed five million last year, he did, and his associates raised an additional ten. It's just that..." Just that what, Savant Hawkins?" Well, my good fellow, Edgard seems, ah, a bit eccentric in certain of his... preferences. His weakness happens to be men. She never use to bother about it. (She may be thinking poor fellow, let him watch it as this is common in that young age). So her silence gave me some braveness to take it further. One day, we all were having lunch in the hall and I got a call from my friend to go out. I finished lunch pretty fast and has to change clothes. Since all were eating, I took the clothes and intentionally went to bhabhi’s room to change clothes. I was in my track and was not wearing underwear. I did not bother to use. She loved to have me helpless and unconscious when She did her worst.I never got used to the slow, groggy awakenings. It took time to remember where I was, and then within that context, what had been done to me. To help him this time, she had suspended me by my wrists in front of a mirror, though this was confusing at first, because I didn't recognize myself. Trying to breathe deeply confirmed that it was indeed my body squeezed into the form I saw before me by a wickedly laced corset. My legs.
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