My side of the lot was in relative darkness by comparison.I was about half through my coffee when I saw two women approaching me. They were obviously ...ell-off, judging by their outfits. They were in their thirties or forties, I think. Both of them had blonde hair that hung past their shoulders. Their hairstylist was obviously very well paid. The skirts and tops they wore made them look like runway models.They looked down their noses at me as they got into the Mercedes in front of me. I grinned. "That's a good little slave girl," he said, breaking the kiss, slipping his fingers from inside her, his lips finding her neck, his breath hot and thrilling against her flesh, "nice and wet for me."Shame filled her at his words--she was wet. She had been ever since she had put on her costume, wet with the excitement of exposing herself, of showing the world her darkest desires. She was shaking now, trembling as she felt him working on his pants, sliding them down his legs, his lips sending. More

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