That was something. Even if they were owned by, and were at the mercy of, a brutish pig of a man.No More Madame Vesta . . .No more Miss Judith . . .No...more Ahmed; no more Jason . . .Their relief at escaping those monsters was intense. Yet, of course, Quentin remained. As did his wife Glenda. As yet a virtually unknown quantity. Surely she could not match Madame Vesta for cruelty!No . . . no . . .Then there was the aide of Quentin. Another pig by the look of him. Sweating and balding. Lusting.. I put in first one, then a second finger, leaving my tongue to roam the outside. With my other hand I ran a fingernail around her other hole, feeling it flex with her increasingly insistent thrusts against the fingers inside her. Saliva and her own juices where running down my chin, lubricating my fingers. I turned them upwards drawing the fingertips around the roof of her pussy, drinking her as my fingers grew stickier. My cock was standing to attention again, eager to re-enter the fray. Her. More

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