admin
16 Nisan 2023, 19:15
Gwen, dressed in just her charcoal sweater, knelt on Domenique's living room rug, her sweet round ass up, her smooth brown legs spread apart and her head nestled in her folded arms. She watched Domenique, still fully clothed, sitting on her chaise, sipping her spiced white wine, and roving her eyes covetously over Gwen's lovely contours. Gwen, her ass open and waiting; , a sumptuous money shot of smooth creamy brown buttocks, smiling pink anus, trimmed black mons and a narrow width of glistening pink promise, was in three quarter profile to Domenique's vantage.
Her face betrayed nothing of her desires or intentions concerning Gwen and her luminous, supple flesh. Domenique, as much a fetishist for shapely feet as she was for delectable pussy, eyed Gwen's expertly pedicured toes, smooth slopes and healthy arches. Like a painter that was in love with her subject, Domenique led her eyes along the composition of Gwen's image; from the soft pastry puff pads of her toes, up to her lusciously shining sex, down to her sly hazel eyes and lazy smile and back again to those gently sloping soles. Over and over, Domenique's eyes roved, perusing revolutions, her eyes circling and circling, her pussy pulsing, warming.
"Well," said Gwen, breaking the silence, "What are you going to do to me?"
It occurred to Domenique that she'd been enjoying the picture perfection of Gwen's position for at least fifteen minutes.
"Are you getting uncomfortable?" inquired Domenique as she reached to take another mouthful of wine.
"Oh no." Gwen purred, "Seriously? After that amazing foot rub; God, it's like you snuck something into my drink."
"Maybe I did." Domenique teased.
Gwen laughed a soft laugh; sedate and euphoric.
"Now, now," she said, "We both know there's no need for that."
They'd met over a week before, in the shoe store that Domenique managed. It was busy, but there were plenty of floor staff available. But, inspired by first sight, Domenique decided to find her way closer and closer to one particularly magnetic customer she'd spotted entering the store. Gwen, tall, tanned, bright hazel eyed and luxuriously black haired, met Domenique's gaze and smiled a warm, welcoming grin. In that instant, she realized the potential was there.
Pairs and trios of mostly female shoppers, young and old, obliviously chattered, chose shoes, milled about or test walked around Domenique and Gwen as they discussed their own trivialities.
A size eight, open toed; of course I'd be happy to help you with that. But, to start off, let's size you. Please have a seat. Those are lovely shoes you came in with. You're welcome. Oh, I see you don't have your own hosiery. No, it's not a problem. My, but you have the loveliest feet I've seen in a very long time. Of course I mean it. Where do you get them done? Seriously? You treat them yourself? I'm impressed. I'm very impressed.
"What did I tell you I am?" asked Domenique as she placed her wine on the coaster she'd placed on her end table.
"A dirty girl," replied Gwen through a wide smile, still in her odd, submissive position, "A very dirty girl."
"And what exactly does dirty mean to you?"
"Now that we've gotten the formality of testing out of the way," answered Gwen, swaying her upturned ass lazily to and fro, her smile fading into a straight line of sobriety, "Dirty; means everything to me, Domenique."
From her position on the floor, Gwen assessed her seductress, eyeing her compact yet lean frame and luminous face. She recalled the first sight of her, her deep, knowing amber eyes, her oval face, creamy olive complexion and artfully bound lustrous auburn highlighted brown hair. Gwen thought fondly on how Domenique had literally shown, like a star, between the mundane, oblivious other customers and assistants passing among them. Before Gwen realized what was happening, Domenique had begun to handle her bare feet, cradling them, subtly stroking them and taking it upon herself to fit them into each of three pairs of the most comfortable shoes she'd ever bought.
From there, the conversation deepening to a healthy shade of blue, they'd shared lunch at a nearby sub shop. Then, after night fall, Gwen had met Domenique for a second time. They strolled together along a public stretch of beach, the black night tempered by the light of a full moon and the city lights beyond the boardwalk. It was Gwen that suggested that they walk shoeless, and it was she that knelt first to remove Domenique's sandals, caring to touch them with the same gentle longing that Domenique had touched hers in the store. Not long after, slowly making their way between the lazy sea and a private, shadowy mountainous break of boulders, the women stopped to share their first kiss. Their faces remaining very close, Domenique and Gwen breathed each other in, and exchanged shy smiles before engaging in their second kiss. After the third passing of their hungry lips, their appetite slick, swollen and mutually ravenous, Elvankent Escort (http://arabaankara.com/ad-category/elvankent-escort/) Gwen and Domenique agreed to slow it down. And so they did, returning to their cars and driving to the nearest theatre and buying tickets to something worth their time.
Domenique chose something loud and full of action and Gwen, bedazzled putty in her hands, agreed. Other than the cool yet brief stare of a handsome black girl seated two rows ahead, her hair beautifully braided, her eyes glimmering cat like as they reflected the colors on the screen, , no one noticed them continue their kissing, smell the further whetting of their appetites or hear their cryptic conversing over Gwen's longing for true love or the sweet nothing allusions of the dirty things Domenique wanted to do to her. The movie, guns fired, cars crashed and bombs exploded, blurred quickly to an end. From there, the budding lovers returned to the beach, sat in the sand and constructed a mutual foundation of psychological intimacies.
As the night darkened dawnward, they wanted nothing more than to ravage each other, but Gwen insisted that they play it safe. She clarified that she couldn't truly be comfortable with giving herself to a beautiful stranger until the worst possible potentiality, namely any STD, was eliminated. Ultimately, maddened with lust for her, her panties saturated with postponed gratification, Domenique robbed Gwen of her keys. Gwen's options were to either come along for a ride to an undisclosed location or remain stranded.
By three in the morning, Gwen found herself strolling with Domenique into the busy waiting room of a twenty-four hour clinic in the deepest depth of the city. A variety of victims, beaten, bitten, stabbed, burned, anxiety rattled or too drunk to stay awake, waited to be seen. Domenique winked at Gwen before they approached the in-take nurse's desk. She was pretty; tired blue eyes, red haired, healthy complexion and muscle toned. Beside the desk, sat a very, very old looking lump of a man, who was holding a bag of ice on his crotch.
"Yes ladies," said the nurse, "Which of you needs to be seen?"
"Uh, both of us." Domenique announced.
"What's the problem?" sighed the nurse, turning her gaze to her computer screen and giving her mouse a click.
"Well you see," answered Domenique, "My friend and I would really like to have amazingly dirty sex as soon as possible, but she won't let me get my mouth on her most flavorful places until we both get tested for the presence of any negative consequences of having indulged ourselves in the delicacies of others."
"How poetic." Gwen remarked.
"How responsible." The nurse intoned, raising a quizzical brow at Gwen.
"How romantic." Croaked the little old man, a lurid smile brightening his face.
"Now Mr. Sullivan," said the nurse, "You've had enough excitement for tonight. Think cool thoughts my friend."
The nurse rolled her eyes away from the old man, and looked Domenique in the eye.
"Have a seat ladies." She said, "It'll be a while."
As they waited, Domenique and Gwen riffled through magazine after magazine while clearing the air about past lovers and other risky business. Yeah, but did he wear a rubber? No. How about you; did she use a dental dam? God Gwen; who the fuck wears dental dams? Ultimately, Gwen confessed to a fair number of bad choices and regrets, as did Domenique, and they had both vowed to themselves that enough was enough. There, at nearly five in the morning, flanked by a hooker in hand cuffs and a zit faced teen-ager with a fairly large iguana attached to his finger, Domenique and Gwen promised one another that they'd would be each other's clean slate, no pretences, no games; just good clean dirty fun.
The doctor on call eventually met with Domenique and Gwen separately. In the debriefing, the two women giddily conferred that Dr. Glasscock (yes, Glasscock) had made it perfectly clear that he was from the Hampton Glasscocks and not the Worchester Glasscocks, as if they'd been aware that there had ever been of any clashing between any two Glasscocks. He, the good doctor, ultimately ordered their tests for the top menaces of sexual health: Chlamydia, gonorrhea, hepatitis B, hepatitis C, herpes I
Her face betrayed nothing of her desires or intentions concerning Gwen and her luminous, supple flesh. Domenique, as much a fetishist for shapely feet as she was for delectable pussy, eyed Gwen's expertly pedicured toes, smooth slopes and healthy arches. Like a painter that was in love with her subject, Domenique led her eyes along the composition of Gwen's image; from the soft pastry puff pads of her toes, up to her lusciously shining sex, down to her sly hazel eyes and lazy smile and back again to those gently sloping soles. Over and over, Domenique's eyes roved, perusing revolutions, her eyes circling and circling, her pussy pulsing, warming.
"Well," said Gwen, breaking the silence, "What are you going to do to me?"
It occurred to Domenique that she'd been enjoying the picture perfection of Gwen's position for at least fifteen minutes.
"Are you getting uncomfortable?" inquired Domenique as she reached to take another mouthful of wine.
"Oh no." Gwen purred, "Seriously? After that amazing foot rub; God, it's like you snuck something into my drink."
"Maybe I did." Domenique teased.
Gwen laughed a soft laugh; sedate and euphoric.
"Now, now," she said, "We both know there's no need for that."
They'd met over a week before, in the shoe store that Domenique managed. It was busy, but there were plenty of floor staff available. But, inspired by first sight, Domenique decided to find her way closer and closer to one particularly magnetic customer she'd spotted entering the store. Gwen, tall, tanned, bright hazel eyed and luxuriously black haired, met Domenique's gaze and smiled a warm, welcoming grin. In that instant, she realized the potential was there.
Pairs and trios of mostly female shoppers, young and old, obliviously chattered, chose shoes, milled about or test walked around Domenique and Gwen as they discussed their own trivialities.
A size eight, open toed; of course I'd be happy to help you with that. But, to start off, let's size you. Please have a seat. Those are lovely shoes you came in with. You're welcome. Oh, I see you don't have your own hosiery. No, it's not a problem. My, but you have the loveliest feet I've seen in a very long time. Of course I mean it. Where do you get them done? Seriously? You treat them yourself? I'm impressed. I'm very impressed.
"What did I tell you I am?" asked Domenique as she placed her wine on the coaster she'd placed on her end table.
"A dirty girl," replied Gwen through a wide smile, still in her odd, submissive position, "A very dirty girl."
"And what exactly does dirty mean to you?"
"Now that we've gotten the formality of testing out of the way," answered Gwen, swaying her upturned ass lazily to and fro, her smile fading into a straight line of sobriety, "Dirty; means everything to me, Domenique."
From her position on the floor, Gwen assessed her seductress, eyeing her compact yet lean frame and luminous face. She recalled the first sight of her, her deep, knowing amber eyes, her oval face, creamy olive complexion and artfully bound lustrous auburn highlighted brown hair. Gwen thought fondly on how Domenique had literally shown, like a star, between the mundane, oblivious other customers and assistants passing among them. Before Gwen realized what was happening, Domenique had begun to handle her bare feet, cradling them, subtly stroking them and taking it upon herself to fit them into each of three pairs of the most comfortable shoes she'd ever bought.
From there, the conversation deepening to a healthy shade of blue, they'd shared lunch at a nearby sub shop. Then, after night fall, Gwen had met Domenique for a second time. They strolled together along a public stretch of beach, the black night tempered by the light of a full moon and the city lights beyond the boardwalk. It was Gwen that suggested that they walk shoeless, and it was she that knelt first to remove Domenique's sandals, caring to touch them with the same gentle longing that Domenique had touched hers in the store. Not long after, slowly making their way between the lazy sea and a private, shadowy mountainous break of boulders, the women stopped to share their first kiss. Their faces remaining very close, Domenique and Gwen breathed each other in, and exchanged shy smiles before engaging in their second kiss. After the third passing of their hungry lips, their appetite slick, swollen and mutually ravenous, Elvankent Escort (http://arabaankara.com/ad-category/elvankent-escort/) Gwen and Domenique agreed to slow it down. And so they did, returning to their cars and driving to the nearest theatre and buying tickets to something worth their time.
Domenique chose something loud and full of action and Gwen, bedazzled putty in her hands, agreed. Other than the cool yet brief stare of a handsome black girl seated two rows ahead, her hair beautifully braided, her eyes glimmering cat like as they reflected the colors on the screen, , no one noticed them continue their kissing, smell the further whetting of their appetites or hear their cryptic conversing over Gwen's longing for true love or the sweet nothing allusions of the dirty things Domenique wanted to do to her. The movie, guns fired, cars crashed and bombs exploded, blurred quickly to an end. From there, the budding lovers returned to the beach, sat in the sand and constructed a mutual foundation of psychological intimacies.
As the night darkened dawnward, they wanted nothing more than to ravage each other, but Gwen insisted that they play it safe. She clarified that she couldn't truly be comfortable with giving herself to a beautiful stranger until the worst possible potentiality, namely any STD, was eliminated. Ultimately, maddened with lust for her, her panties saturated with postponed gratification, Domenique robbed Gwen of her keys. Gwen's options were to either come along for a ride to an undisclosed location or remain stranded.
By three in the morning, Gwen found herself strolling with Domenique into the busy waiting room of a twenty-four hour clinic in the deepest depth of the city. A variety of victims, beaten, bitten, stabbed, burned, anxiety rattled or too drunk to stay awake, waited to be seen. Domenique winked at Gwen before they approached the in-take nurse's desk. She was pretty; tired blue eyes, red haired, healthy complexion and muscle toned. Beside the desk, sat a very, very old looking lump of a man, who was holding a bag of ice on his crotch.
"Yes ladies," said the nurse, "Which of you needs to be seen?"
"Uh, both of us." Domenique announced.
"What's the problem?" sighed the nurse, turning her gaze to her computer screen and giving her mouse a click.
"Well you see," answered Domenique, "My friend and I would really like to have amazingly dirty sex as soon as possible, but she won't let me get my mouth on her most flavorful places until we both get tested for the presence of any negative consequences of having indulged ourselves in the delicacies of others."
"How poetic." Gwen remarked.
"How responsible." The nurse intoned, raising a quizzical brow at Gwen.
"How romantic." Croaked the little old man, a lurid smile brightening his face.
"Now Mr. Sullivan," said the nurse, "You've had enough excitement for tonight. Think cool thoughts my friend."
The nurse rolled her eyes away from the old man, and looked Domenique in the eye.
"Have a seat ladies." She said, "It'll be a while."
As they waited, Domenique and Gwen riffled through magazine after magazine while clearing the air about past lovers and other risky business. Yeah, but did he wear a rubber? No. How about you; did she use a dental dam? God Gwen; who the fuck wears dental dams? Ultimately, Gwen confessed to a fair number of bad choices and regrets, as did Domenique, and they had both vowed to themselves that enough was enough. There, at nearly five in the morning, flanked by a hooker in hand cuffs and a zit faced teen-ager with a fairly large iguana attached to his finger, Domenique and Gwen promised one another that they'd would be each other's clean slate, no pretences, no games; just good clean dirty fun.
The doctor on call eventually met with Domenique and Gwen separately. In the debriefing, the two women giddily conferred that Dr. Glasscock (yes, Glasscock) had made it perfectly clear that he was from the Hampton Glasscocks and not the Worchester Glasscocks, as if they'd been aware that there had ever been of any clashing between any two Glasscocks. He, the good doctor, ultimately ordered their tests for the top menaces of sexual health: Chlamydia, gonorrhea, hepatitis B, hepatitis C, herpes I