She pretended to be a perfect, Christian wife, but she had kinky desires. She tried to destroy the massage parlor I worked at because we provided extr... delights for our all-female clientèle.Delights the bitch claimed to hate but secretly craved.“Has she had an orgasm all week?” Clint asked, his voice strong. Melody was pressed against him, her hand idly stroking his cock, her hazel eyes bright. “No,” Mr. Armstrong said. “Right, slave?”“Right, dear,” Mrs. Armstrong said, her hands already. I felt it. You could smell it. Dried on sperm trails on the walls and the back of the cubicle doors. Sometimes, if you entered at the right point, a deposit of sperm slowly oozing down the piss channel, knowing you had just missed someone wanking off (or being wanked off) between the timed flushes. Peepholes crudely covered by crumpled up toilet roll. Occasionally, a used condom and a small discarded bottle of Vasoline left in one of the stalls. Suffice to say, this only fuelled my desire to. More

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