I’ll take care of that. You just relax as best you can. You’re my baby and we both own this perfect penis, yours; mine because I made it what it i....” She kissed the tip of it, winked, stuck her tongue out and let the goo dangle from it. Then she put those same lips on the tip of my nose before laughing and sharing a smile with the other attentive ladies. I was shaking like a puppy and they were acting like things were simply just fine.Vivid memories of the milking parlor experience seized me as. There’s no backrest. There’s nothing to keep me from sliding off.He showed me where to put my feet, warned me not to let my leg touch the muffler and he ordered me to put my hands on his waist. Then he told me that under absolutely no circumstance was I to move either of my hands from his waist. Not even for a second. If I did he would stop the motorcycle and spank me on my bare ass wherever we happened to be when it happened.I told him that I understood. Well, I thought I understood. I would. I watch the scene behind the drapes. The man in front now has his cock shoved down the woman's throat, fucking her face hard. The other man is pounding her pussy equally hard. She looks ecstatic, like she's in seventh heaven. Here, behind the drapes I feel the mystery man's warmth behind me, his strong body close to my back, his fingers slipping, teasing, working me towards a climax. I moan. "Hush, quiet, don’t make them see you," he hisses as he slips he finger inside my cunt curling it to. I don’t know if I was shuddering or what noises I made – I love to embellish this story normally and imagine what I might have been doing, but the truth is it’s a blur, and the intensity of my perv ecstasy blots everything out, and I’m on autopilot, learned over decades of pants-spunking, so as not to give the game away. But imagine – I’m a few feet from the Goddess who’s made me cum, in my pants and over Her photos, 100s and 100s of times, and I’m pumping spunk into my underpants and trousers.
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