I walked over to one of the guys, flipped up the skirt, and shoved his hand down the front of my panties. I gave him a torrid hiss, complete with tong...e, a kiss I felt down to my toenails. And as we broke I deliberately moved his other hand from my waist to my boob.That broke the ice. We had our first tradition: the girl makes the move. Guys, I've found, are really okay with this. They're expected to dominate, to take charge, to set the pace, and so on. The girl merely has to show she's open to. . Probably because he knew this, he quickly withdrew his hand, leaving me achingly empty again, needing him in me now more than ever. He laughed. ?Just as I thought. You're soaking wet for me like the desperately horny little bitch you are. Well, you've got me nice and hot now too you slut, so I'll fuck you?on one condition.? ?Anything, I'll do anything, just give me your cock now, please John!? He was laughing at me again, knowing I was completely under his power just like always. ?Ok, I'm. There was shock, surprise, tension all mixed with a spark of the thing I was hoping for. “Aren’t you curious, Jasmine? I thought that was a key personality trait in journalists.”“It’s a theory.”“Cabbage.”“What?”“Cabbage. It’s your safeword.” I moved as I spoke, positioning myself behind Jasmine.She gave a smirk. “Cabbage. Really?”There was nothing to stop her leaving the room now, nothing at all. She only had to put one foot in front of the other. Instead she stayed rooted to the spot. “You. I made her face the mirror, so she could see everything there was to see. She stood, trembling, having no idea what was next. I positioned myself behind her, picked up a scissor. Reaching my arms around her torso, I pulled the center of her bra slightly away from her flesh. I then slid one of the blades of the scissor where the two bra cups met, and sliced it through and through. The cups fell off her tits - drooping slightly, as she is in her 40s. The bra fell to the floor - I picked it up -.
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