“oohh babby I love the way you taste I could swallow that allllllll day” she said to me as she licked the last few dips off her lips “stand up b...by” I said looking deep in to her eyesshe stood up in front of me her right hand still firmly on her pussy, I took hold of her right hand and sucked her juices off her fingers tasting her pussy so sweet I needed to taste its again. I kick my pants from around my ankles.She put her arms around my neck we stood there just looking in to each others eyes. Soon we were at my next client. It was another Beverly Hills mansion. A upper class middle aged lady in a slit dress answered my ring. In the living room, we chatted for a few minutes while we sipped white wine. She then laid back on the sofa and spread her legs. I started to kiss her feet and worked my way up her legs. Soon my tongue was at her fur covered treasure trove. She started to purr and carress my head. Her tempo started to increase slowly at first and then faster and faster. Her. Several minutes passed until she felt someone enter the room…but it didn’t feel like it was only Master. How many people were there? What was Master’s plan?Suddenly she heard the crack of a whip, making her pussy clench tightly again. It was the sound of a whip hitting fresh, bare flesh, and it struck again but with an ever so slightly duller sound. It came down three more times, each time sounding ever so slightly different, and a couple of them inducing groans. She recognized the voices of. I denied it. She smirked.Mid-range steakhouse. Neither of us was dressed in evening wear, but in this establishment we fit in quite well.We managed a decent conversation, too, about what she did for a living versus what I did, as Topic One, then onward towards food, which morphed into childhood, adolescence, then adult life.She watched. Noticed, observed life. "You hold your fork in your left hand when you're eating your steak." I know. You're not the first one to call me on it. I don't like.
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