Whether it was the mixture of nerves and jealousy or the fact that I was fighting off a hard on at the thought of them, I shrugged off his inquiry. So...it started. He edged himself up in his seat and he said to me, "I will have that drink actually if that's okay? A glass of water?" I obliged but as I left the room I couldn't help feeling I shouldn't have. When I came back in with his water and my wife's vod and black, she was sitting between his legs on the sofa with her back against his chest.. And yet he holds the reins tightly, keeping me on a razor's edge of pleasure and bliss. I scream like the wanton slut that I am. I’m not even sure that it's words leaving my mouth, but I beg my master. For what exactly I’m not sure. However, my body has a pretty good idea what it wants, which is everything. “Look at you, you’re a filthy slut, soaking your master’s cock in your office,” he says as he roughly fists my hair, arching my back. I try to make a mental note to have a mirror placed in. More

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