Camsoda/Phonehub's Profile

Languages: English

Location: WynterHeat website

Body Decorations: SWAG

Smokes/Drinks: WATER, WINE and WEED

Interested In: Women, Men, Couples

Age: 40

Body Type: Curvalicious 34DD

Camsoda/Phonehub - Watch this hot lesbian action!

Every time I take a breathalyzer, any excitement I think I've been building up disappears. Ok, so it's time for the third part of our meeting. I'm a bit nervous because of the coarseness of the subject, but dare I say, that I actually like this either. Mind you, the reason I'm nervous is that I feel a strong, intense need to give this meeting my undivided attention? Perhaps it's the fact that I know this will happen. I pray it doesn't. I'm here. I see you. Can you see me? From where I'm sitting, I feel a bit dizzy. Striking up into the air like a spanking victim. Looping, descending. My chest is heaving, pushing my skirt up around my thighs like a crucible. Spread them wide. Gliding down my body. Running my fingers around my cunt. Fucking with my swollen clit, I hear you. Announcer.

Yes, Sir, you are here. My knees are up, stretching them to your feet. My ass is aching, bulging. I can feel the heat from your jeans, spreading my cheeks wide. A slight surprised smile. You lean down, filling my thoughts with you. A tent of sorts forms at the edge of the bar, apparently the well-known drag show at the time. I glance down into the murky depths of my crystal clear blue coma. A huge smile plays across my face as I begin to regain some kind of composure. You see the look of terror in my eyes. You smile back in my eyes, subduing me. Yes, Sir, yes, I whisper, before I add, “Yes, Sir.” Holding yourself at the belt. Looking up at my teacher, mentor and master. Slowly backing away from you. Praying you not to give in to the temptations of the moment.

And yes, Sir, I think to myself. My voice thin. I look down again, towards you. My family crest now a familiar sight, on one side a simple crest with a single gold star, on the other a more elaborate logo, probably French or English in origin, with an intricate silver ring system, reflective of my golden accessor. Our eyes meet in a pair, for a moment, of frozen cuddles. Unexpectedly, you take me in your arms, climbing into the driver's seat, with a warm loving kiss on my forehead, whispered words of comfort and caresses. I laps at you, more at you, until we are quiet for a while. You turn slowly to face me, lips approaching to my ears. The silence is unsettling. Ever so often, you are tempted to kiss me then, to taste me, to pin me to the steering wheel, but I insist we not. I am tempted to throw you out, beaten and naked, a broken piece of furniture to be placed on a curb, but that is not your style. I cannot go there. We continue our slow dance. I can feel my skin rippling, nearing its climax. I arch up to you, seeking to press myself against you. Instead, you stand and I cut through the dance of kisses..

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