She had no idea how many times she was bought to orgasm, of how many hands slid inside her or stroked across her clitoris. By the end of the evening ...hen the last of the guests departed leaving only her master standing over her smiling she could barely remember anything accept the constant rush and pound of orgasm. Her sex and the table below it were soaked with her juices; she seemed to have produced litres of it.As she came down from the high she noticed a heavy ache coming from her sex,. “Have you considered a career in comedy?” she shot back. “Details, Jeans. You have five unaccounted hours from when you left the party to when you went to bed. You say you didn’t boff him. Or are you using the Clinton definition? Don’t make me run that red dress under a black-light?” “There are no details,” I laughed in spite of myself. “And no, there are no cum-stains on my dress, thank you so much for the imagery,” and then in a pretty bad Texan drawl: “Ah did naht have sex with they-at. More

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