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He lifted his head toward me when I re-entered the room and his eyes were filled with begging, misery. He was gasping for breath what he could around the gag, he half coughed and shook his head to try to force it out.
"That won't work," I said as I plopped down on the couch in front of him. His eyes wandered to the vibrator I was holding. I smiled, lifted it, and brought it to my lips. I started simulating oral sex. I went down on it. I even got down on my knees right in front of his chair and did it.
This was not in my game plan, no. But something came over me. I became a whore, a cross between an erotic dancer and a prostitute. I did it because the pain and desire in his eyes drove me to sexual lust. I crawled over and put the vibrator between his legs, up against the latex, against the bulge in his pants, and went down on it as if it was his.
He moaned, he shifted his hips at me, he threw his head back and whimpered for release. But I just went down on it. I went down on my vibrator as if it were his cock, using the other hand to finger myself through the catsuit. I unzipped the crotch and slid my fingers inside, finding my wet sex, coated my fingers then brought them to his nose. I coated his face with my juices, then I licked them off.
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