Sans titre

It’s a view of your sweet wifey you never imagined before. Yet here she is, on her hands and knees, crawling to another man at his beck and call, not just pleasing him orally, but worshipping him the way a real man demands to be worshipped. Yes, worshipping.

And all the while, you sit there, helplessly watching, unable to speak with your mouth stiffed with both her panties and his briefs. The fight you put up is just a distant memory now, with only the red hotness of your cheeks to remind you of the stinging repeated slaps he brutally applied one after another after another for so long you were bawling until you nearly passed out. All while she looked on, giggling nervously and subtly but clearly writhing with wetness down below. Your pain and humiliation at his strong, capable hands, clearly a source sexual excitement for her. Clearly transforming her attraction towards him to need.

As is often the case, I found my Lady President already up and dressed, her feet poised and ready for my attention. She rarely even speaks as she knows that I know what is expected of me when she is in this position. I crawled to where she was, head obediently lowered, and extended my tongue to gently lick the very soles of her feet, making sure to cover every square inch of skin. When I finished sucking each of her toes carefully and cleaning in between, my President simply pushed me away to send me off to do her weekly laundry.