No....ohhh ooow oooowwwch!"She stayed calm, carried on scrubbing, pausing to lift a piece of gauze and use it to wipe away spots of blood. Then she ca...ried on scrubbing, making my cunt feel on fire, as if it was being skinned on the outside. I cried out and groaned as she rubbed me red raw, but she carried on briskly, emotionless."How does it feel?" Her hand scrubbed harder."OOOOOOhhhhhh nnooooo ow ow ah ah ooooooH!"She swiped my cunt with the final piece of gauze, then took off the drapes and. I ran it up her leg. I discovered that she was wearing a pair of stockings with a garter belt and no panties! I didn't even know that she knew what stockings were, since she had always worn pantyhose. She had never gone without panties even in private except during sex or when she was bathing.She handed me a camera. "Take my picture." She never wanted her picture to be taken when she dressed up for me before. "Walk down the hall towards me." She did that and I took a photo. I took another of. She knew what she was doing.Her soft, young lips slid tenderly down his shaft and he couldn’t but help himself gasp to the sudden pleasure. The intense pleasure that all men crave. Better than any drug. Better than anything else in the whole world. He shuddered when he felt her tongue lap against him and then felt the briefest of teasing suctions when she slid back up to his crown, licking and kissing him, and then descending once more, this time with more suction, more pleasure. He cupped her. She’d been in the modeling industry herself for a time a few years back, but she’d abandoned it because she was tired of not being taken seriously for her skills, and for her brain. Degrading women by valuing their beauty over their capability was a big pet peeve of hers. ‘Oh easy, that’s… um…’ Shit, who was it? Mr. Sinclaire had been the manager before Desiree’s cleansweep of the old folks and the men (and Sinclaire had been both). After… was there a manager? ‘…that’s nobody, really. We have.
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