Impromptu, madame.
Added 2021-02-06 03:17:35 +0000 UTCI don't know what's going to happen to you yet, but I already feel sorry for you. And keep in mind that we're all looking at you.
Comments
A wonderful story! The peculiarities of the northern climate helped the main character to get to know herself better. However, the entire sparkling team will leave this store already being other people, their lives will not be the same. But, as I understand it, this will not happen until the arrival of spring.)) A very peculiar long winter vacation.)) Large stocks of hot drinks and the peculiarities of spending joint leisure time in a very close and warm relationship will require good health for all participants of the event.)) And a very cinematic story!
Ozor Nick
2021-02-18 21:00:16 +0000 UTCThe couch will be well stained by the time they are done with her. The photographs will be exquisite, showing the proud, arrogant beauty as she is slowly debauched. The photos will document her descent from repulsion, arrogance to pleasure, to complete lust and abandon. Hair no longer up, but down, disheveled. Her eyes will be glazed over, mouth open as the passion, the hot lust consumes her. They will show her breathing heavily, breasts heaving, nipples so, so tight and stiff. A succession of pictures, from her being forced onto the couch, explored, humiliated, then being teased, and finally, taken. On her back, bent over the couch, on her knees, every way imaginable, as men and women enjoy her. For too long she lorded over these people, directing them, ordering them around. Now that they are snowed in at their store, unable to escape, and knowing she won't be able to inform on them, they exact their revenge in an exquisitely carnal fashion. It was Peter who broke first, who started it. She had been yelling at him, again, when he snapped. He turned to her and told her he knew what was wrong with her, "You need a REAL GOOD FUCKING! STRIP BITCH!" And when she hesitated, he ripped her blazer off her. Soon her clothing began to fall to the floor. Phone camera's recorded, pictures were snapped. She was kissed, passed between them, men and women alike, with the prettier women being the most insistent. She was jealous of them, and had abused them. Now they delighted in twisting her nipples, forcing their tongues into her mouth, letting their fingers play across her tender sex. Soon her makeup was smeared, her mascara running with her tears, her lipstick adorned others mouths. Her arms were held over her head as her breasts were teased, mauled, and then the first man spread her legs and mounted her. She moaned, the first of many moans and cries of pleasure. By the end of the first night, she lay with one leg on the couch, one off, legs wide open, the seed of men running down between her hips to mingle with what was leaking from her anus. Semen was in her hair, on her lips, her cheeks. Finally someone got her up and into the shower. It was a large store, there was furniture, clothing, food, liquor. She thought her ordeal was over. It wasn't. By the beginning of the next evening, the wine flowed again, the pot was pulled from its baggies, and she found herself being dressed in lingerie, stockings, heels, makeup. She was gorgeous, helpless, vulnerable, and it turned her on immensely. The feeling of powerlessness, of being desired, lusted after, and then being taken as she struggled, allowed her to feel no guilt over her complete debauchery.
Uncle John Bulleit
2021-02-16 18:27:12 +0000 UTC
