Bongacams?Trackid=Sp-18's Profile

Languages: English

Location: East Europe

Smokes/Drinks: occasionally

Interested In: Women, Men, Couples, Trans

Age: 24

Body Type: Sexy body!

Bongacams?Trackid=Sp-18 - Dont dare miss this one hell of a dirty mouth!

Sit down sluts!" "Thanks!" I manage to grumble, pocket the paddle and the outfit I put on in preparation for our final meeting. Before the bell runs, I call my mom to tell her what I've decided. She grins and says thanks and that her and her husband are enjoying their new found friend. Meanwhile, I decide to give Coach a few more surprises for his birthday. We make our way to the gym and find the specially-constructed bench, a plastic jig saw and a paddle with a dowel at one end. Gently dropping the cash register, I put the paddle on my desk and bring the dowel down hard onto my already-stinging ass. A loud, ridiculous SHOCK echoes my office, and suddenly I feel it. A tear or two isading down my cheek. I reach up to check and see that it's just a bruise, then roll my head sideways to see what Coach is up to. As my head turns up to check the tear, my pussy is on fire. He's standing at the end of the bench wiping the tear from the puss. He approaches me, smiles, "God, you look so beautiful. I just have to give you credit though - you made my birthday completely out of your system." As I step up to walk over to the end of the bench, I can feel Coach's eyes on me - and it sends a thrill down my spine. He walks around me, so fast.

So beautiful. He reaches out and touches my shoulder - high between my breasts. "AHH... yeeessssss!" he hisses, in a voice quite different from the impish he knows I like. He plunges two fingers into my cunt and begins to fuck me hard and deep, feeling my body shiver in response. He slides two of his fingers into my ass and begins to fuck me too, but I am too stimulated to care. Rather than feeling the heat, I feel a wonderful relaxing warmness emanate from my pussy and start to drift off to sleep. A few minutes later, I feel my husband brush against me in the hallway, and a tear or two. "Come on," he says softly, "dress for dinner, and stay in bed all night - you've been a very, very, busy week, and it's been a very, very busy night." "Yes, Master," I reply, shrugging my shoulders and turning off the TV. The next morning, Coach teases me out of my jammies and back to reality as we drive to the airport. "You'll have plenty of time to dress for dinner - your flight is a half hour away." "I will," he promises. We kiss tenderly as we take the domestic flight and he leaves the seat to me. The flight is a mere seven hours later and we are on our way back to our favorite restaurant - the Four Seasons - when the plane starts to make an abrupt turn off towards Boston. As we pass through customs, a familiar, but odd, smirk is painted on my face.

I don't remember ever seeing a more aggressive smirk. My heart is hammering as we rush through immigration, and I feel a little disappointed as we clear the check-in process, but we are PASSED through immigration and without a word or a glance we make our way back to the gate. I fumble at my blouse as it has slipped out of my bra - and in the meantime, my skirt has risen up more than a little in the seat, revealing more cleavage - her blue dress. If my skirt falls away, it's replaced by a more orthodox wedding band, but it's not a wedding band. Instead, it is a reminder that I belong to this man, and that my leg belongs to him, and that my pussy belongs to him. There is something peculiar about this: The customs officer who has scanned our pass through turns to me, and with a very sneering tone tells me that my skirt is nylons, and it is nylons only. He reminds me of how I once looked at a man, and seeing a pair of eyes, steeling himself to come, only to have his stare turned on me again. It is a funny, strange, and beautiful thing. I feel almost degraded as I walk through the airport with my skirt raised, looking at this man again, feeling a little embarrassed. But as we wait for our flight, and before our room, I feel this lingering, mysterious excitement. This excitement where I know something is being planned, or planned but not to have. I don't have to wait to see what it is exactly. I just get to see what is happening around me all the time. In the meantime, my skirt is one more thing hanging in front of my face..

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