Chapter 4: The Hot Tub Party

Hello readers, Kate Muggleton with you again. I guess if you’re still reading after three chapters, you must be enjoying my adventures, so let me remind you how chapter 3 ended, and I’ll describe what happened next.

My son’s friend Frank had blackmailed me into attending a sex club with him and his friends. Unknown to me, I was to be the main attraction in the stage show hosted by the Dominatrix, Mistress Siobhan. Although I was naked before the crowd, other than suspenders, stockings and heels, I didn’t need to fear someone recognising me because Siobhan had covered my eyes and upper face with a miked, eyeless masquerade ball mask.

In part one of the show, Siobhan tied me to a viewing platform and bent me over at ninety degrees with my ass and pussy facing the audience. Then a remote-controlled arm with a magic wand vibrator attached was placed under my sexily displayed ass and pussy and moved against my clitoris and vulva. Using the wand and moving arm to stimulate my clit and pussy, Siobhan forced a massive orgasm from me for the audience’s viewing pleasure.

Keeping me willing to proceed by threatening to allow Frank to take me immediately and using her lips, tongue and fingers to stimulate me sexually, Mistress Siobhan convinced me to lie on a fetish gynaecological chair. Then, after securing me to the chair, she used its functions to spread the chair’s legs, leaving my pussy and ass salaciously exposed.

Once she had me presented as she wanted, Siobhan rotated the stage until we faced the crowd again. After the stage stopped turning, I was obscenely displayed with my sweet little pussy and tight little ass visible to anyone before me. Someone wheeled another contraption between my thighs, and I felt a cock positioned at my dripping entrance.

Fearing someone was about to penetrate me, I protested loudly, but Siobhan assured me it was ‘only a dildo on a fucking machine’. Siobhan used the machine to torment me by keeping me on the cusp of an orgasm until my mind almost melted. Then, instead of allowing me to climax, she removed the cock from my pussy, and added another for my ass. By now, I was so aroused that my ass gobbled the cock like a fat man does a pie. Now that I had a cock in both love holes, I immediately teetered on the edge of orgasm’s cliff again.

After another mind-warping period, Mistress Siobhan finally allowed me to orgasm, ending the show and my exposure to the audience. Honestly, I’m not sure what relieved me more —my screamed orgasm or no longer displaying my luscious assets to the adoring crowd. Back in the performer’s room, Mistress Siobhan penetrated me with the largest strap-on imaginable. Surprisingly, my increasing sluttishness allowed me to accept the intruder readily, and I soon crashed through into a fantastic climax.

Siobhan then abandoned me to my fate with Frank and his cohorts. In despair, I lay there, tied helplessly, knowing that Frank and his three mates would use my body continuously despite my objections. What was worse was that Frank knew the effect calling me a slut had, and he would use that effect to give me many orgasms even though they raped me.

However, just as all seemed lost, like a hero in a Hollywood movie, my big, strong, handsome son, Tommy, miraculously strode into the room, and he and his two friends rescued me from under Frank’s nose. The best part of my rescue was that I could confess my interlude with Frank. Tommy immediately forgave me and agreed to find a way to get the images deleted. Then, when we got home, Tommy and I made love before I slept in his strong arms.

Readers, now that we’re up to date, I’ll tell you what happened next.

Saturday morning, I woke feeling the best I’d felt since coming under Edgar’s spell. Making love with my son had relieved my seemingly continuous arousal, and even though I could feel his delicious spend leaking from me, my pussy felt normal, not continually aching for stimulation as it had been for the last two-plus weeks.

‘Damn, I want a smoke,’ I thought. Looking in my bedside table, I pulled out a packet, extracted a fag, and reflexively lit it up. Taking a huge drag as I lay back on my pillow, I had time to think, ’No, please! Not again,’ When... Flicker: image: Then, satisfied I was ready, Liz stood and positioned a thick strap-on cock at my entrance, and I moaned as she slowly forced it deep inside me... Screaming silently in my mind... Flicker: image: Moaning as the receptionist’s huge cock split me apart,... I pleaded, ‘Please, Edgar, no. I swear I’ll never... Flicker: image: ... I lift my spread knees and wrap them around Liz’s hips... smoke another cigarette!

Stubbing the cigarette out, I lifted and spread my knees before shoving two fingers into my cunt (Yes, I used that word in my mind. Part of my recalled memory reminded me of being told that as a submissive Mommie slut, I didn’t have a pussy or vagina. I had a cunt, cock hole, or cum receptacle. Three cum receptacles in total. Mouth, cunt, arse or rear fuck hole.). Sliding my fingers squishily back in forth in my cum filled pussy, I circled my button (cum switch), then arched off the bed as I, barely suppressing a scream, climaxed.

I looked for my son, hoping that he had slept through my orgasm or at least that it had excited him. But, unfortunately, the other side of my bed was empty. Sighing, I opened my phone and saw Tommy had used the ‘Note’ app to leave me a message. “Hey, Mom,” it read. “It’s 4.00 am as I write this. I heard Krissy come home, and rather than have her catch us sleeping together naked, I slipped off to my bed. See you at breakfast, my beautiful Mommie slut.”

Of course, that meant I had to return my fingers to my squishy pussy. This time, rather than try and stifle my scream, I rolled onto my tummy and screamed into my pillow.

After recovering from my twin climaxes, I showered, douched, then did my hair and makeup. Although I wasn’t going anywhere today, nor expecting visitors, I still dressed as if I were. My mother often paraphrased the old saying, explaining that a woman should be a lady in public, a wife and mother in the home, and a whore for her husband in the bedroom. Even though my mother is a largish woman (Over 90 kg), she has shape. Her breasts and hips are wider than her waist, and she always dresses appropriately sexily for her age and size.

Opening my closet, I took out my midnight blue Zima skort and put it on. I love Zima Skorts and have four in differing colours. Midnight blue, dark green, white and black. What I love about them is that, on the surface, they look like the world’s tiniest micro mini but have a thin gusset barely wide enough to cover my vulva built in.

I chose a bright yellow Privé plunging neck puff sleeve ruched crop tee to go with that. The plunging neckline on my top left most of my décolletage and the inner mounds of my large, gorgeously firm breasts exposed. Because the top showed my toned but curvy tummy, I changed the belly button ring I currently wore for another star-shaped one—this time with a sapphire as the centrepiece.

I turned away from the mirror after giving myself the final once over and headed for the kitchen. But as I turned, I remembered Krissy had complained about my ashtray breath, so I returned to the bathroom to brush and gargle a second time to ensure she’d have nothing to complain about.

However, it was all to no avail because when I got to the kitchen, I discovered I was home alone. Shrugging because being alone wasn’t unusual, I got breakfast. I made a bowl with frozen acai puree, banana, raspberries and blueberries, thickened cream, and almond butter. After mixing the ingredients in the blender, I made coffee and sat at the breakfast bar, looking out into the gorgeous morning sun. ‘Just about nice enough to sunbake nude,’ I thought. However, I knew, given it was late June, outside would be a lot cooler than it appeared.

I idly wondered what to do for the day. Two days ago, I’d done the house from top to bottom, and it wasn’t time to prepare my garden for spring. My mind drifted, and I recalled being on the stage with Siobhan and the two machines. Although I remember being acutely embarrassed, I marvelled at how easily Siobhan’s deft handling of my arousal had overcome my objections and inhibitions. Though not being able to see the crowd helped.

Feeling that old familiar tingle grow between my legs, I whispered, “Do you dare do that again, Kate? Would you go back there of your own accord and volunteer to be the main show again?” I would. I knew that now. The orgasms were as intense as any I remember having. The feeling of power I had over the crowd and their overt sexual response to my sexily writhing, luscious body had, underneath my embarrassment, turned me on so much that I wanted to do more. I wanted them to orgasm from watching and hearing me orgasm.

’But what could you do to top your last performance, Kate?’ I wondered. Let Mistress Siobhan fuck you onstage, my subconscious answered. ’I wouldn’t dare,’ I replied to myself. But I knew the seed had been planted, and I’d fantasise about doing it every time I masturbated until I’d done it for real or the fantasy finally faded.

I forced my mind to think about more mundane things because if I hadn’t, I’d have pulled my knees up and apart and masturbated. However, before I could concentrate on anything else, another even more salacious thought reared up from my subconscious. “You’ve fantasised about being a slut for several sexily dominant men at once, many times, Kate. Imagine doing that onstage for the crowd!”

I could imagine doing that all too clearly! I’d be naked except for the most ridiculously tall, strappy high heels you could conceive, with a dog collar and leash around my long, slender neck. The men, all handsome and muscly with huge cocks, would stand naked in a row facing the crowd with their hands behind their backs. Some of the cocks would be achingly erect, others at half-mast, and still more would be limp, hanging, and begging for my talented mouth to bring them to life.

Mistress Siobhan would hold my leash and, with me on all fours, lead me across the stage to the men. First, she’d lead me to the men with soft cocks, and using my exquisite oral and deep-throating skills, I’d perform mouth to cock’s eye on them and feel their warmth and hardness swiftly increase as my talented mouth brought them to turgid stiffness.

From there, Siobhan would lead me to the men at half-mast. They would be the work of mere seconds to bring completely erect. Then the competition would start. I’d have sixty seconds with each man, in turn, to make him cum using only my mouth. I could use my hands for balance but not to touch their cocks or balls. Each man that orgasmed was eliminated until only two were left.

I was their prize. On stage, one would take my willing mouth as the other took my sweet little pussy. The man in my pussy would pull out at the last second and cum on my back so the crowd could see. The other would cum on my face, of course. And then, they’d swap.

As you’ve read, I was entirely into that fantasy by then and decided to return to my room to masturbate. However, as I stood, the doorbell rang. Thrown roughly out of my sexual fantasy and with my pussy dripping, I frowned and considered not answering. But my ingrained good manners (there’s nothing like receiving an old-school caning on your naked breasts and ass to ensure you behave) made me straighten my skort, check that my breasts weren’t displayed inappropriately, and answer the door.

Phil and Freddy stood there smiling when I opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs Muggleton,” they chorused.

A little flustered because I had no idea they were coming over, I mumbled a greeting back to them, then asked, “Are you hear to see Tommy? If you are, I’m not sure where he is.”

“He’s with his girlfriend, Gina,” Freddy explained as they pushed past me inside. “It’s you we came to see, Kate, because we have your earnings from last night,” He handed me an envelope containing fifteen one hundred dollar bills, “and a confession to make.”

“You do?” I answered, looking in the envelope, bewildered by the amount. “Whatever about? I haven’t even thanked you for saving my sorry ass last night.”

“I’ve wanted to kick Frank’s ass for years, Kate,” Phil growled. “Then, when I met Siobhan and discovered what he’d done, I only wanted to kick it more. But that isn’t what we meant.”

“No, it isn’t,” Fred added. “First, we must confess that there is more than one thing to confess about,” he added with a grin.

Phil grinned, too. Then he said, “We confess that at the lumber yard during your shoot, we took many inappropriate pictures of your, umm, parts, Kate. Towards the end there, when you were getting into it, we both lay on the ground and, well, you know. Plus, as you posed, you unawarely exposed your breasts numerous times, and we photographed those, too.”

As I considered what Phil had said, I ushered the boys into the lounge and bade them sit on the couch. I sat opposite them, but I carefully lifted my lower legs and folded my feet under me with my knees to the side, ensuring that there was no way I could inadvertently flash them my gusset-covered slit.

I guess that I should have been angry with them, but instead, they were so sweet and innocent as they confessed, and I knew that I was horny and deliberately showing my pussy and boobs to my son at the time, so I couldn’t blame them for taking advantage of my poses, too. So, instead, I smiled, tittered, and widened my eyes into my ‘sweet, pretty, and oh so innocent’ look and coquettishly asked, “So did you look at them, and, you know?” I made my thumb and forefinger into a circle and subtly moved back and forth as if I was pulling on something in the circle.

The guys blushed prettily (can guys blush prettily? You know what I mean), and Freddy admitted he had as Phil nodded.

“What do you plan on doing with them?” I fearfully asked as I remembered Frank’s photos and what he said he’d do with them. “We brought our laptops and cameras with us, Mrs Muggleton,” Freddy explained as he and Phil held up their laptop bags and camera cases. “We’ll show where the photos are on our hard drives and memory cards, and then you can watch us delete them.”

I considered what they said but found that I quite enjoyed thinking that these tall, young, athletic men masturbated over my gorgeous self, so using my inbuilt flirtiness, I blushed, looked away shyly, looked back at them, blushed and looked away again, then using my sweet, little girl innocent voice, I said, “Do you boys like masturbating over little ole me?” They both nodded vigorously. “Would you like to keep them so you still can?” Vigorous nods. “Do you promise never to share them with anyone other than each other?” Vigorous nods. “Then I don’t mind if you keep them, boys. But Tommy must never find out you have them.”

“He’s already got plenty of his own,” Freddy muttered. “Bastard won’t share, though.”

Relieved, I innocently said, “What was that, Freddy? I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Nothing important, Mrs Muggleton,” Freddy assured me.

“Kate, please.”

“Nothing important, Kate,” Freddy smiled. “But that brings us to our second confession. Phil was the man under the helmet beside the guy that addressed you outside the chateaux last night, Kate. He volunteers to do it if Siobhan and Caoimhe are there so he can ensure their safety. He got me a free ticket, and I was on the floor watching your performance.”

I blushed for real this time, and my spirits dropped into the cellar. ‘So much for no one recognising me,’ I thought despairingly. Then I remembered Tommy’s revelation that the young woman I’d tongued and who had sat on my face was my best friend’s daughter. “Oh, shivers,” I muttered, realising one wrong word from any of them would expose my dirty secret for everyone to know.

Still my favourite, Phil leaned forward, patted my knee and said, “Don’t worry, Kate. None of us will reveal what we know. Mom and Dad would accept that Caoimhe is a lesbian, but they’d freak out if they knew she was my girlfriend’s submissive plaything.”

I hesitatingly said, “Phil, umm, Siobhan seems more, you know, lesbian than straight, you know?”

“She’s bisexual with a preference for women, Kate,” Phil admitted. “However, she says she’s head over heels in love with me and that if I ask her, she’ll quit performing so she doesn’t become an embarrassment to me. But Siobhan likes performing, and I like watching her perform, so fuck-em, I say.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent. But as the silence stretched, I lamely said, “Anyway, guys. Thank you for saving me last night. I shudder to think what Frank and his animalistic mates would have done to me.”

Phil smiled, then winked at Freddy and said, “Allowing us to keep your pics is more than thanks enough, Kate.”

“Speaking of which,” Phil grinned. “Kate, even though I would need to say it every day, I have to say that you look divinely gorgeous today, and the sun is perfect for taking pictures of you sitting on the lounge. Could we plead that you pose for us again?”

“More pics of my pussy?” I snapped, then realised that was very ungracious of me, considering without Tommy and these two men, I’d be a rape victim. “Sorry, Phil,” I apologised. “That fell out before I could think.”

“It was a fair enough comment, Kate,” Phil smiled. “But will you please pose for us?”

So, despite my misgivings, I ended up, down, and all around that sofa as Phil and Freddy happily snapped away. Phil casually got me to reveal more and more. He’d say things like, “Oh, wow, Kate! You look so hot like that! Now, just slip that top a little further off your shoulder. Yea, that’s it. A little more so we can get a little ‘nipple slip’. Oh my God, yes, just like that. Wow, Kate, you are the hottest Mommie on the planet!”

Eventually, they stopped so they could upload their pictures onto their computers. Ignored, I sat there feeling a little abandoned until Phil said, “These are great, Kate. Some of them will make it onto our web page for sure. But they’re all incredibly modest. Do you think we can have some a little more daring? A little more risqué?”

The attention these boys lavished on me this morning, combined with my earlier fantasy, had me quite hot, so I agreed that I would, but nothing that exposed my breasts or genitals. Phil then questioned why my skirt didn’t reveal anything, no matter how he made me twist and turn. Not thinking, I hoisted it up and pulled the gusset away from my pussy, giving them a free flash, “It has an inbuilt panty,” I explained. Then realising what I’d done, I quickly let the material go and lamely added, “It’s called a skort because it’s a combination skirt and shorts.”

Phil turned to Freddy, and they seemed to agree on something before Phil turned back to me. “You have quite an extensive wardrobe, don’t you, Kate?” He asked. “I don’t recall seeing you in the same thing twice.”

I confirmed that I did. Then confessed that I bought so many new clothes that, to create room in my walk-in robe, I regularly made runs to Vinny’s (St Vincent de Paul Society’s charity shops) to donate clothes I’d bought but never worn or maybe I had bought for a special event and would never wear again.

“May I look in your robe and choose an outfit for you?” Nothing too revealing, I demanded. “I’m thinking very revealing, Kate,” Phil smiled. “But if you’ll permit me, I was in the university drama society and learned to do stage makeup. If you let me make you up, I guarantee that not even your mother or husband would recognise you!” Still! I emphasised. No slit, clit or entrance! “If you say so, Kate,” Phil agreed. But I could hear the lie in his voice.

When we got to my room, instead of walking to the robe immediately, Phil sat me at my vanity, then shook his head and told me to turn the chair away from the mirror. Opening the various drawers of my vanity, he removed what he wanted and went to work. It took close to thirty minutes, but when he turned me back to the mirror, I gasped. Heck, not only wouldn’t my mother or husband recognise me, I barely recognised myself.

Phil had somehow totally changed my look. My usually quite round face now looked angular with clearly defined cheekbones and a quite square jaw. Phil had shaded my brow to appear heavier and to jut out over my eyes. To put it crudely, I looked like a transvestite version of myself. However, I thought the overall effect was of a staggeringly attractive but masculine-looking Femmeboy. Probably one that stood on a street corner in Sydney’s Kings Cross. Weirdly, as I looked at myself, I felt that tingle rise again, and I bit my bottom lip, imagining myself on that corner waiting for a ‘john’ to pick me.

“What do you think?” Phil asked.

My smile looked bizarre in the mirror because it barely resembled me at all, but I smiled and said, “I think you’re right. No one could possibly guess it’s me!”

“Good,” Phil replied. “Then we can go for as revealing as we want.”

Wondering how on earth I kept getting myself into these situations, I sighed, gestured toward my robe and said, “Choose away, Mister Loughlin. I’m in your capable hands.”

Phil walked in and immediately returned, holding a leather micro-mini with a matching half-cup leather bra. The bra had a collar for my neck with five leather straps that held the bra up and prevented my luscious breasts from popping out. In my lingerie drawer, I had a tiny leather thong with strips barely wide enough to cover my clitoris but left my pussy lips and anus mostly exposed that went with the items Phil held. I had a pair of 7-inch heeled ankle boots in my robe to wear with this ensemble. My boots had D-rings at the ankle where a slave chain could be attached.

The only time I had ever worn this outfit was to a Master and slave themed party. John had attached a leash to my collar and walked me into a costume party for my friend Kath Loughlin’s fortieth birthday. Everyone there was a close personal friend and could be trusted not to touch or leer, which was just as well because John had cuffed my hands behind my back and padlocked a one-metre (3 ft.) slave chain to my ankles. Kath has quite the exhibitionist streak, so she’d banned cameras and phones, and because of that, trust me, mine was amongst the least revealing outfits worn that night.

The only problem I had during the party was that with my hands cuffed behind my back, I couldn’t drink unless someone put a glass with a straw in front of me. During the night, my inhibitions faded as my alcohol consumption increased, and Cath took great delight in placing my glass on lower and lower flat spaces. Her game culminated after she’d placed my glass on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Because I was buzzing from the alcohol, I spread my feet, kept my knees straight, and bent over at my hips to reach the straw instead of kneeling.

Cath thought that me flashing the three guys on the sofa my barely covered pussy was hilarious. Unfortunately, one of the guys’ wives didn’t. She screamed at me, calling me a slut and worse, and then rounded on Cath and blamed her for encouraging my ‘disgusting behaviour’. Of course, my husband, who was out back with some other friends, came in to see what the commotion was about, took one look at where I stood, heard the woman bellow what I’d done, and immediately took me home.

He corrected my behaviour with fifteen firm smacks on my curvy buttocks, which only excited us, so we made love until morning.

If I’m in a playful mood, and John and I are home alone, I’ll put this outfit on, cuff myself behind my back (it’s not difficult. You cuff your hands in front, bend, and then step through the hole your arms make) and walk out in front of him as he watches TV. John has never seen the end of any program he watched when I strutted in front of him in this outfit!

When I saw what Phil carried, I shook my head and said, “No way! That outfit is not decent! I’ve worn it in public once, I will not tell you where, and there is no way I’m wearing it as you take my picture!”

“Yes, way,” Phil insisted. “Kate, I guarantee that Freddy and I will show you all pics we want to use to promote our website, and if you object in any way, we won’t publish them.”

My problem was that my pussy was gushing fluids as I imagined wearing this for these two strapping young men as I strutted, bounced and teased for their cameras. So, giving in, I opened my drawer, took out the leather thong, accepted the outfit from Phil, and walked into my en suite. Taking off my clothes, I checked and then used my lady razor to remove a few stray hairs from my pussy area and put my leather outfit on.

I examined my genitals in the mirror, but my lips remained visible no matter how I adjusted the tiny thong. If I settled it in the middle, the centre piece mostly covered my large clit, but below that, it parted my pussy lips and sat in my slit. Worse was that when I walked, the thong moved across my clit and stimulated my arousal. Sighing, I opened the door and walked back into my room. Phil had taken my 7-inch black boots out of the closet, and he knelt and helped me into them.

Seven-inch heels are difficult to walk in, even for an experienced wearer like me, so I was grateful for Phil’s strong hand supporting me down the stairs.

When I returned to the lounge on Phil’s arm, Freddy stood and said, “Oh, wow, Kate! You look amazing! Kind of Barbarella meets 10,000 years B.C.!”

Pleased with the compliment, my confidence returned, and I became my typically flirtatious self. Therefore, I did everything I would usually do to titillate the men in my vicinity. I strutted up and down as I added bounce to my step to ensure my large, firm breasts jiggled. I swayed my hips exaggeratedly as I walked. I paused, pulled my hair over my shoulder, and looked back seductively. I kept my legs straight and bent at the waist, flashing my barely covered ass and minimally covered pussy entrance to my two young photographers. I faced them and leaned over so my lush bosom threatened to burst out of the tiny bra encasing them.

Phil and Freddy, with their trouser fronts bulging, eagerly pursued me around the room as they snapped picture after picture. I’d gotten so into playing to their cameras that I hadn’t noticed my daughter returning home. Walking in through the door, Krissy exclaimed, “Mom! What are you doing? Why are you almost naked in front of Phil and Freddy? Dad would freak if he found out!”

Chuckling, Phil picked my daughter up off her feet. Then, swinging her around, he patted her curvy bottom, shoved her towards the stairs and said, “I bet you have something equally as sexy to wear, Krissy. Why don’t you go and put it on and join us?”

I waited for Krissy’s foul-mouthed tirade to follow, but instead, her eyes lowered submissively and walked to her room. Astounded, I opened my mouth, but my daughter caught my eye and shook her head a minuscule amount. An almost imperceptible smile formed on her pouty lips, and I knew she wanted to pose for the camera. Instead of being shocked, my daughter was stimulated by the thought of posing for Phil and Freddy.

“Help her,” I pleaded to Phil.”

He nodded, put his camera down, and followed my daughter upstairs. Thirty minutes later, Phil reappeared with Krissy in tow. Phil had repeated his efforts with me, and my daughter resembled an androgynous version of herself. She wasn’t as masculine as I presented, but it was still unclear from her face if she was a boy or a girl. Her gorgeous C-cups, sexily rounded tummy, and curvy butt screamed that she was all woman, though.

Phil had found my ‘Hollywood movie street prostitute’ outfit in my closet and dressed my daughter similarly to how I was when I returned to Edgar Fontaine’s clinic.

Together, we danced, strutted and posed for Phil and Freddy as they snapped away. Then, feeling sexily daring, I took her hand in mine as my daughter danced past, swung her, and pulled her thigh between mine. Locking my lips to her surprised ones, I ground my pussy against her upper thigh as I cupped and squeezed her luscious ass. Krissy froze for a second but soon returned my kiss as she ground back against me.

Phil and Freddy remained quiet. I’m sure that thought that if they made a sound, it would break the spell, and my daughter and I would break apart. I mean, heck. Lesbian porn is just about every man’s favourite fantasy, isn’t it? Mommie and daughter lesbian porn is the most often favourited in that genre, right?

Breaking from Krissy’s embrace, I strutted across the room and began dancing like I’d seen the strippers on stage do. I’d dance or strut away, pause with my hand on my hip and look coquettishly back over my shoulder before keeping my legs straight and bending over. Then, grabbing my shins, I bounced my upper body from one side of my legs to the other, pausing to look alluringly back at the boys and giving them plenty of time to photograph what they wanted.

Krissy watched my act excitedly, and the next time I danced toward her, she spun, danced and shook her way across to where I’d come from. Then instead of bending over, she put her hands on her hips and swung them in slow, erotic circles, ensuring she pushed her shapely ass out as far as possible, revealing tantalising glimpses of her lower butt cheeks and even a flash of sparse white panty.