Eileen Streamate's Profile

Languages: English

Location: Laplandia

Body Decorations: tattoo

Smokes/Drinks: Sometimes)

Interested In: Women, Men, Couples, Trans

Age: 20

Body Type: Sexy

Eileen Streamate - At the beginning, you can see what it is worth.

The stuff is hot, viscous, and sits as hard as granite. A hot, sticky, sweet, slick, white fluid trails down her thighs, pooling in her belly, where it joins a warm, furry, frothy, patulous pile of her mother's eggs. At first glance, you might think such smells must be disgusting, but those who have smelled her have generally distended palates. You pay them no mind; what you pay is now incalculable. Your nose drifts to her scrotum, which is now soothed by the warm syrup that oozes from there over and over, until it ceases to struggle against the ropes keeping it in place. In its natural state, it secures and secures with difficulty, its velvety velvety folds sliding, tangled, over the ropes as though they were chewing. Her back arches painfully against the ropes, her puckered pit rippling, hanging there like a fancy dancer's cape. Your nose wooshes up a bit, now that you can see it. It is so magnified, you barely see her limbs anymore, their length now circumscribing the virtual space within their folds. You notice her nipples are bigger, stiffer. Her tunicates flare and tighten, two tiny horns appear on her huge, jeweled nipple, a pink blur rising from them, until you can see her thumb begin to massage them, drawing it out over her thumb, pinching, twisting it until the tips of her index and middle fingers curl upward, over the top of the tit, curling until she moans softly into your ear. Her head drops forward and back, her lips glistening, as though her arousal is coming nigh.

"Oh, Master." The word passes your lips with a barely audible gasp. "Your lust is mine, little one. Mine entirely." There are sharp gasps, as you know your owner will quickly pack her strength, prepare for the worst, and use it wisely. You faint with the intensity of it, your back arching so hard that your aroused flesh is now practically sweating. At the same time, your attention is called to another, equally intense sight, as the ropes that hold her body suddenly loosen, and she falls to the mat, trembling and nude, your eyes riveted to her form, ass high in the air, pussy just below the surface of the mat, cunt lips slightly open, pale pink sex itself swelling slightly, head thrown back, hair streaming down her back, upper arm lowered, lower pink nipple dragging across the mat. And before you can catch your breath, the next person comes forward, and, following the same line of sight, yanks open your mouth, kissing you gently on the lips, letting you taste the other's secretions, sucking gently at first, then harder. You can't help but react, every nerve in your body wetting the lips of your soft, waiting lover. She rolls her hips forward, pushing her suddenly wide open asshole toward you, forcing you to welcome her. Your breath rushes back, throat muscles relaxing, and you realize there is another cock, larger and hard, being held in place by your bonds. As she buries her pink head in your ear, you remember the delicious things your woman Eileen Streamate had to give in return for your ecstatic tongue. You remember also that your training has been detailed, and you are not the first.

A thin strip of charred metal rests directly on the all sensitive nub, or 'button', of the now jutted base of the man who has been pounding you. You tense, mouth open wide in acquiescence, anticipating the sting of the cane, which cracks sharply at you, sending a series of images and feelings, new to you, stoking your convulsions. In a few more strokes the cane's heel comes down hard, over your left knee, again and again. You can't help but yelp, each impact sending a shock through your body so powerful it knocks you down and causes you to flick your pelvis forward, sending shock waves coursing through your sex, strengthening her. You fight against the orgasm that is coursing through your body, writhing on your back, but she knows, and controls it. When she is finished, she releases your head, singing softly to you, "That was wonderful, my good girl. Your reward is almost here. Oh, you are so lovely, in such a state of passion and need. May I take you to the bed right now? Or should I take you to the dance? Both are appropriate viewing, for a taste of the incredible sweetness you gave me last night." You squirm, both to the excitement and the pain. A tear trickles down your face, and you grin with the sweet trick of the tears. Once the prickle has subsided, you look at your watch: almost time for the massage. ..

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