When the Black massager started to drive his big cock back and forth inside your wife’s wet vagina, the masseuse told you to keep holding her hand, turned your head to allow you a good vision of what was happening, and started to teasingly caress with her gloved hand your penis, ballsac, and even around your anus; she didn’t allow you to come, she wanted your madly aroused while you watched your wife being fucked, when you saw her come on his cock, and when he filled her vagina with his seed. You booked a massage for every single day of your vacation.
How diminished did you feel afterward, during the 24 hours until the next appointment? All of it had happened before your own eyes, you had allowed it, you even had—no matter how ashamed you felt—liked it. There was no room for pretending. Plainly, booking a new appointment was asking him to fuck your wife again, and telling your wife that you were going to passively consent that another man took her pussy, her body, and that he stole her from you.
It happened again. As soon as you and your wife were lying on the massage beds, you knew that he was going to fuck her. He made her wait and wait; until your wife begged in a whisper, “Aren’t you going to take me like you did yesterday?” Immediately after he said, “I will, if you ask me to,” and your wife asked him to do it, the masseuse asked you, “Aren’t you going to ask your wife to let you watch?”
You and your wife held hands. The masseuse said, “You must not have sex with your wife without his permission.”
There were still several sessions ahead.
prguitarman
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
amandla
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
andulkaphoto
