I come up to you and start playing with my own nipples through the sheer fabric. Looking you in the eyes. Telling you without words how much I want you. You can see my hard little nipples through the fabric. You reach out to grab me but I move away. I turn around and find an empty chair sitting across from you. I slowly open my legs revealing my pussy to you. I slid my hand from my neck down over my nipple. Stopping there to rub and pinch it for a few seconds. I then move down lower. Across my belly. Lower and lower. Until I reach my pussy. I slowly slid my middle finger between my pussy lips dipping into my warm wet hole. I pull my finger out and before I slid it back in you can see my juices glistening on my finger. I take my finger out again and run it up to my clit. Then I slowly bring my finger to my mouth. Sucking on my own juices. You reach for your pants but I tell you no. You quickly do as your told and move your hand away. I can see that you are in need of something. Could. Vicki felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach; she couldn't seem to find her breath, and she stood there gasping, her eyes bulging wide with sheer disbelief.What she saw was a rite as old as time itself being performed in a large marble-lined bathtub directly before her eyes, not five feet away. It was the perverted rite of fellatio, a disgusting practice which Vicki had always held in abhorrence as being something which prostitutes did for money and which sluts did for the satisfaction of degenerate desires; something which pimps allowed upon their flesh, and maladjusted men in dirty hotel rooms.But the two participants in the tableau before her were not of this ilk. They were Christy Kaye--and her husband, Kirk, the man she loved. Christy was kneeling in the tub, amidst a thick coating of bubbles, her head slaving up and down over Kirk's groin, her lips sliding around his huge, erect penis hungrily, as if it woe some obscene peppermint stick. His hands were wrapped in her.
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