The Collaring of Chloe Ch. 27

A single pair of car headlights pierced the mist that lay across the New Forest. They traced a path that was the only evidence of a road in the dark winter night. Even that light became obscured now as the car entered dense woodland then emerged again and came to a stop as they converged with the light that came from what appeared to be a lone cottage's curtained window. A light came on inside the car as the driver's door and the nearside passenger door opened. The driver fetched a large holdall and a bulging rucksack from the boot and there was a short conversation as the passenger paid his fare. The taxi pulled away and the passenger shivered as he walked up the short, paved path and knocked on a painted white door that was dripping with condensation. After a short wait, the door opened, and he could make out the figure of a tall woman silhouetted against the glare of the house lights. "Mr. Davis? Please come in." said the figure. "Pleased to meet you Mrs. Co

"Mmm, he's getting harder," my wife stated while looking at me with lustful eyes. Her hand was casually running up and down his thickening shaft while I stared on from my chair facing them. "Of course he is love, look at you," I responded taking in the scene befor me. She was lazily sitting on the couch beside him topless, her lovely breasts hanging mere inches away from his cock while she toyishly fondled him. In fact, the only thing she was wearing was a dark pair of tight leggings that glorified the curves of her sexy body. "Do you like watching me stroke his cock? It feels real nice in my hand," she said blushing a little. "I do. You look so sexy when you're playing with a cock." "Especially when I'm showing off for you," she continued with a smile, then taking her free hand and gently caressing the gentlman's balls. He quietly moaned and reciprocated by opening his legs more so she had more access to him. "I

When she got closer I had this sensation, it was a deep, instinctive reaction. There was something primal about the pheromones she was emitting. She just reeked of sex. It was when she got closer that I inhaled the heady aroma. It was a mix of her odour and the scent left on her by the men she had been with. She had a cheeky smile as she joined me in the shower. I lathered up and she asked me to scrub her back. She was right there, this incredible sexual being, naked and wet in front of me, lathering her breasts, between her legs. I felt compelled to touch her more intimately but refrained. I scrubbed her back hard, it seemed but this was welcome, apparently to judge by the approving noises she made. She tilted her head left and right as if to undo a rick and exhaled in a kind of exultation. Like she was satisfied with a job well done. I turned around and she returned the favour scrubbing my back in a delightfully thorough manner. I found myself mirroring her head tilt gesture and to

Multiple more parts coming The camera clicks and he tells me to pull the straps higher. I slip my thumbs under the black g-string straps, pull upward, and look back at the camera. I pout my lips. Soft hip-hop plays in the background, the beat mixing with my high to create a quiet pulse in my head. Over the cameraman's shoulder there's a large screen where the pictures he's taking show up for a few seconds. It helps me work the camera. I pull the g-string higher, the thin strap rubbing against my bleached asshole making my dick twitch. It's a glamour shoot, nothing too intense but I'm still anxious. I've never done professional work, only selfies on forums and porn sites. I stare longingly over my shoulder at the camera, trying my best orgasm face, copying what I see on Instagram. "That's it whore, now stroke your ass," says the cameraman. I roll my eyes. "I told you not to call me that," I say. He smirks behind the camera, perpetua

Just A Touch Away Pt.1 Sometimes little things go unnoticed and big opportunities are lost, leaving only questions in the mind that haunt for a lifetime. Janelle had taken to -- as if by some tacit invitation -- touching, holding or patting me on the arms, shoulders or back while talking, or holding onto to me as if for support whenever she was laughing heartily -- it was happening with increasing frequency. I don't know about other cultures, but this is a common peculiarity among West Indian Women; they do this with each other all the time. The thing is, I am not a West Indian woman; I'm a West Indian man, and Janelle was my daughter-in-law. She was also six months pregnant and had been living with us for the past four months, ever since my son foolishly got himself into trouble with the law and would be spending the next four years behind bars. She had immediately asked me and my wife, Audrey to take her in and had given up their apartment days after my son had begun servin