Reaching out, I cupped them in my hands, lifting them to test their weight, squeezing to test their firmness. When I passed my thumbs over the rubber... nipples, she gasped. She lifted the hem of my t-shirt and I bent over slightly so she could pull it off. Then she came in for a long, tight hug. Damn, those tits had always felt good against my chest, and flesh to flesh, they felt even better. Her head tilted back and her mouth opened, so mine joined hers as our tongues engaged in a sensual. From behind him came a sound and he half turned. It was his mistress, voluptuous, in stilettos, sheer black stockings, maroon basque, a black Victorian cameo choker around her neck. In her hand she held a thin rattan cane. Above her stocking tops, her skin was as white as settled snow. Her raven hair was tied up Hepburn style, and her blue eyes bore a glacial glint. “Get on the table.” The woman instructed in a low husky voice. Richard paused to take a breath, and squealed as the rattan cane. More

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