#Femdom

Ever since I can remember, I've been wired for submission, drawn to humiliation and shame more than physical pain. It hit me hard when I was about 14, at a local pool, when a friend named Sarah yanked my towel away while I was changing. Two other girls saw my half-hard dick and burst into giggles, pointing and mocking me. That moment stuck with me - fueling my fantasies for months. At 20, I fell head over heels for a girl named Chloe from a nearby town. She was everything I'd dreamed of: sharp-witted and stunning. We dated for about seven months, but our sex life was tame - vanilla to a fault. I craved something darker, though I never dared say it. I could tell Chloe had her own wild streak, but we were too young, too shy, to explore it. Eventually, she met someone else and moved to a city 200 miles away. I was gutted. Now, at 29, I've been with my partner, Lauren, for six years. We dabble in some light kink, which keeps things exciting. But with her blessing, I've also got a Mistress, Vanessa, who takes my humiliation to another level - tormenting me with jealousy and exposure until I'm a wreck of arousal. Lauren and Vanessa even team up sometimes, weaving my submissive urges into their game. They grill me separately, comparing notes to see if I'm baring my soul truthfully. It's intense. For my last birthday, I had no clue what they'd cooked up. They'd already dug out my deepest secrets - like how I still pine for Chloe, imagining her as a cruel domme in my private moments. Once, Vanessa tied me naked to a tree in the woods, blindfolded, and left me there. Lauren showed up soon after, teasing me until I confessed - under her relentless touch - that I picture Chloe slapping me in public, making me wet myself in front of strangers, or edging me with a remote toy while she screws other guys as I watch, helpless. Those fantasies used to be mine alone, but not anymore. Solo jerking's off-limits now - if I'm horny and Lauren's not in the mood, she just says, "Call Vanessa and beg." Their control leaves me drowning in shame and powerlessness, which only fuels me more. I exist to amuse them, and I love it. Anyway, back to that birthday surprise. We'd planned a dinner party at our place - 15 friends, starting at 7 p.m. Around 5: 30, I was soaking in the tub, getting ready, when the doorbell rang. Lauren answered, and I heard muffled voices. Then the bathroom door flew open - Vanessa stood there, eyes glinting. "Open your mouth, " she barked. I knew better than to argue, so I did. She shoved a rag in, gagging me, then blindfolded me. Hauling me out dripping wet, she sat me on the toilet. "Stroke that pathetic little thing, " she ordered. Her mocking laugh echoed as I obeyed, shame and uncertainty making me hard in seconds. Lauren's voice cut in next. She bound my hands behind my back, tying them to the toilet base. I tried to mumble protests - the guests were due soon - but the gag silenced me. Then came the moment that broke me open. Lauren whispered in my left ear, "We're about to rip your heart out, you little pig." Vanessa purred in my right, "You'll feel what it's like to have your slave brain fucked - not just in your head, but for real." My pulse hammered; my cock throbbed. Fear and arousal fried my nerves. A hand - I couldn't tell whose - grazed my aching erection, teasing the tip agonizingly slow. Another scratched lightly at my balls, the kind of touch that unravels me. It was torture - every second felt like I'd explode, but I couldn't, not yet. The buildup was unbearable, a wildfire in my groin, all stoked by their words and the scene they'd trapped me in. I stayed silent, desperate to please, terrified of screwing up with guests so close. Lauren murmured, "Imagine Chloe's here, watching this." Vanessa added, "We told her how you still love her - how you cast her as your twisted domme when you're alone." "Picture her laughing at you, " Lauren said. "We know that wrecks you, you filthy mess." They kept at it, piling on taunts until tears welled up. "Cry, you disgusting perv, " Lauren snapped. "We're squeezing out your tears and your cum together." Vanessa chimed in, "You'll die emotionally for us - melt from lust, choke on shame. It's your gift from your goddesses." "Piss yourself too, " Lauren growled. "We know you're scared enough to - do it now, you vile thing! " I wasn't used to her like this, but I couldn't resist - sobbing, imagining Chloe's mocking stare, I let go. The stench hit fast, and their laughter rang out. Hands returned to my cock, stroking me to the brink. Lauren yelled, "I'm counting down from 10. We'll keep you burning. You cum exactly at zero - smell your mess, cry harder, picture Chloe saying you were never man enough for her. But if you blow early, I'm gone - today." I bawled, wrecked. Vanessa hissed, "When you cum, we'll rip off the blindfold. You'll face your shame in the flesh while your pathetic soul fries." I was losing it, desperate to obey. Lauren started, "Ten... nine... eight..." Vanessa took over, "Seven - six - five, " rapid-fire. I couldn't think. "Four, " Lauren drawled, the stroking turning divine. "Three - two - one, " Vanessa purred. "You know what to do at zero - let it all go, you pig! " Lauren snarled. "Open your eyes and die of shame, " Vanessa roared, yanking my balls hard. At "zero, " the blindfold fell, and I erupted - screaming, cum blasting out as my body convulsed. I forced my eyes open mid-orgasm, still spurting, and froze. My guests - all 15 - stood there, silent, staring. No laughs, just wide eyes. Each gaze stretched my climax, shame and ecstasy twisting together. It lasted forever, a heavenly hell. When I finally crashed back to reality, I knew I'd give my life to these women - every second of my submissive existence theirs to command.

It had been nearly two years since I first started chatting with Ethan. Our conversations were sporadic at first, little sparks of connection flickering across the digital void. Back then, I lived halfway across the world, and meeting in person wasn't even a possibility. But life has a way of shifting plans - six months ago, I relocated to his city, settling into a new rhythm. Over time, our chats grew deeper, more intentional. We explored our desires, tested boundaries, and discovered just how well we clicked in this dance of dominance and submission. The talks were always easy, playful, and often steamy. We exchanged real details - names, photos, little proofs of authenticity - building trust brick by brick. Eventually, we agreed to meet face-to-face, somewhere public for my peace of mind. Coffee turned into hours of conversation, laughter, and a chemistry that hummed between us. He was earnest, kind, and surprisingly grounded. I liked him. A lot. So, we planned our first real session. This was my first plunge into dominance in the flesh. I'd dabbled online - enough to know it set my pulse racing - and Ethan, with his years of experience as a submissive, promised to guide me where he could. "Take your time, " he'd said. "I've got you." His reassurance loosened the knot of nerves in my chest. We skipped the preamble of a public meetup this time, heading straight to a boutique hotel downtown. When I arrived, he was already there, lingering near the entrance, his dark brown hair catching the light. He approached, shy but eager, and I leaned in, brushing a kiss against his cheek. Then, close to his ear, I whispered, "Kneel. Kiss my shoes." His body stiffened, eyes darting around the empty lobby. No one was watching. Slowly, he sank to his knees, pressing his lips to the leather of my ankle boots with a reverence that sent a thrill up my spine. As he moved to lift his head, I planted my foot on it, pinning him down. The pressure was firm, deliberate, and I savored the sight of him humbled beneath me. His breath hitched - nervous, maybe, about being seen - but he softened into it, surrendering bit by bit. "You lift your head when I say so, not before. Got it? " My voice was steady, commanding. "Yes, Mistress, " he murmured. I pressed harder, grinding the sole against his scalp. "This is your punishment for hesitating. When I give an order, you obey. No second-guessing. Understood? " "Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." His tone was thick with remorse. "Up now. Let's go." I released him and strode toward the elevator, not looking back. He scrambled to follow, and when I glanced at him, I caught the flush creeping up his neck, the bulge straining against his jeans. His eyes dropped when they met mine, and I smirked, heat pooling low in my belly. In the room - a sleek space with a plush sofa and a king-sized bed - I didn't waste time. "Strip. Kneel in the center." He moved fast, shedding his clothes and dropping to his knees, gaze fixed on the floor. I paced around him, taking him in. Ethan was striking - broad shoulders from hours at the gym, lean muscle without the bulk, dark hair swept back, and hazel eyes that hinted at a quiet confidence. No one would guess this poised, handsome man craved submission behind closed doors. His arousal was obvious, standing proud, but I wasn't here for that - not yet. "Legs apart, hands behind your back, eyes down, " I instructed. "This is how I want you when you're with me. Clear? " "Yes, Mistress, " he said, adjusting instantly. His voice trembled slightly, desire lacing every syllable. "And no touching yourself or cum without my say so. Your pleasure belongs to me now. Understood? " "Yes, Mistress. At your command." I stepped closer, tilting his chin up with my fingers. His skin was warm, and I traced a slow path across his forehead, down his cheekbones, lingering at his lips. A soft moan escaped him. I slipped a finger into his mouth, and he sucked eagerly, eyes fluttering shut. Two fingers, then three, and I worked them in and out, watching him melt. Then, abruptly, I pulled them free - and slapped him hard across the face. His eyes snapped open, startled. I hit him again, then again, a series of sharp, stinging blows - ten in all, just because I felt like it. "Problem with me slapping you, pup? " I asked, voice cool. "No, Mistress. You're in charge. Do whatever you want with me." "Good boy." I delivered three more slaps, hard enough to rock him sideways. His cheeks blazed red, and I was buzzing with excitement. I held my hands to his lips. "Kiss them. Thank the hands that discipline you." "Thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much. It's an honor." He kissed each knuckle with fervor, his breath ragged, a slick puddle forming beneath him. "Sometimes I'll slap you to punish you, sometimes just because I feel like it. And you'll take it because you want to please me, don't you, pup? " "Yes, Mistress. Anything you want. I just want to make you happy." I grinned, ruffling his hair like he was a pet. "Good boy." He beamed, despite the sting. "Follow me to the sofa. Crawl." "Yes, Mistress." I sank into the cushions, watching him shuffle across the floor on all fours. He stopped at my feet, head bowed, waiting. I let the silence stretch, relishing his submission, the power coursing through me. He didn't flinch, didn't question - just waited. "Kiss my shoes again. Then lick them clean. They're a little dirty." "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, thank you! " He dove in, lips brushing the leather before his tongue darted out, lapping at every inch. I leaned back, smug, as he worked. My boots gleamed under his care, and I lifted one, pressing the sole to his mouth. He licked without hesitation, groaning softly. I dragged the tread across his tongue, using him like a rag, then smeared it over his face. His moans grew louder, desperate. "Please, Mistress, " he gasped. "Please let me touch myself. I'm losing it." "No, pup. Not yet. Keep licking." My tone brooked no argument. "Please, I'm begging you..." He licked harder, voice breaking as I pressed my sole against his cheek. "Earn it, and maybe I'll consider it. No promises." "As you command, Mistress, " he said, resigned, moving to the other boot. A small pool of pre-cum glistened on the floor. I stepped in it, smearing it across his face. "Clean it up." He obeyed, tongue sweeping the mess with devotion. I rested my foot on his head as he worked, pinning him down until the floor shone. Then I yanked his hair, spat in his face, and watched him shudder. "Go wash your mouth and face with soap, you filthy mutt. I'm going to use you, and I want you spotless. Move." He bolted to the bathroom, returning damp and kneeling before me. I grabbed his hair, dragging his face between my thighs. He went limp, dazed, utterly mine. I could feel how soaked I was, and it fueled me. "See how wet you've made me, slut? " "Yes, Mistress. Please, let me taste you. Please..." I tugged his hair harder, slapping him repeatedly. "You want it that bad? " I rubbed myself against his face, loving his helpless, adoring expression. "Yes, Mistress. I want it so much. Please." Another slap. "Say it again." "Please, Mistress, let me have the honor of pleasing you. I've dreamed of you for so long. I'm begging." "Humiliate yourself more. Bark." "Woof, woof." "Louder." "Woof, woof! " "Crawl around." He did, clumsily eager. "Give me your paw and stick out your tongue." He complied, panting. I was unraveling. "Now take off my shoes and lick my feet. Beg while you do it." He pried off my boots, tongue tracing my soles, my arches, between my toes, pleading all the while. "Please, Mistress, let me please you..." I touched myself, teetering on the edge, his desperation pushing me closer. I shoved my foot in his mouth, silencing his pleas, and we both moaned. Laughing, I pulled it out, smacking his face with it, then offered it back for more licking. He was a wreck, and I was soaked. Finally, I stood, shoving him back with my foot. I hiked up my skirt, revealing lace panties, and beckoned him closer. "Smell me. Get used to your Mistress's scent. No licking, no kissing - just smell." He inhaled deeply, eyes glazed, trembling with need. I ground against his face, letting him stew in it, then stepped back. He whined, and I laughed, peeling off the panties. His jaw dropped, hunger etched into every line of his face. I sprawled on the sofa, legs spread. "Come here, pup. Your reward - eat me out." "Thank you, Mistress! Thank you a million times, my Queen! " He dove in, tongue everywhere - lips, clit, deeper - driving me wild. I came hard, gripping his hair, smearing my release across his face. I spat on him, slapped him, then shoved him back down for more. "Hands behind you. I'm using your mouth, your tongue - they're mine now." "Yes, Mistress. All yours. Use me however you want." I rode his face, controlling every move, climaxing again and again - four, maybe five times. He begged to cum, and I denied him, slapping him harder, relishing his frantic devotion. "Lick my feet and thank me for using you." "Thank you, Mistress, for letting me taste you, for using me." He lapped at my feet as I reclined, sated. "Get me wine and a snack, " I ordered. He fetched a bottle of red and some cheese, setting it up neatly. "Now, head on the chair. You're my throne." He positioned himself, face up on the seat, and I settled onto him, eating casually. His breathing was ragged beneath me, and I lifted occasionally to let him gasp, then sank back down. I came twice more, ignoring his muffled pleas. "Please, Mistress, let me cum, " he whimpered. "Beg again." "Please, I'm begging -" I smothered him mid-sentence, laughing. "No. Focus on my pleasure. That's all that matters." "Yes, Mistress." A pause. "Thank you? " I sat harder, grinning. When I finished eating, I sipped wine, scrolling my phone, treating him like furniture. Eventually, I stood. He kissed my feet, murmuring, "Thank you, thank you, " and I softened, stroking his back. Then I kissed him - soft, surprising him. He lit up. "Eat my ass now." He attacked with gusto, tongue relentless, my grip on his hair unyielding. I lost count of my orgasms. When he begged again, I dragged him to the sofa, sat on his face, and said, "Make me come more, and I'll let you." "Thank you, Mistress! " he cried, diving back in. I rode him hard, and when I was ready, I growled, "Come for me, slut." He erupted, and so did I, collapsing onto him. I stayed there, catching my breath, then stood. He dropped to the floor, kissing my feet, thanking me endlessly. I knew then - he was mine.

This story is part of The Queen's Throne series. The city skyline glittered through the penthouse window, a constellation of lights bowing to the night. Inside, the air was thick with anticipation, the faint scent of leather and jasmine curling around the room like a whispered promise. Evelyn stood by the glass, her silhouette framed against the urban sprawl, a queen surveying her dominion. She wore a tailored black blazer over a crimson corset, her thigh-high boots gleaming like polished obsidian. Her auburn hair cascaded in loose waves, catching the dim glow of the chandelier. At thirty-four, she was a woman who commanded attention - not through volume, but through the quiet, unyielding force of her presence. On his knees before her was Marcus, a man who, in daylight, ran boardrooms and bent markets to his will. Here, though, he was stripped of his suits and titles, clad only in a pair of black briefs that clung to his muscular frame. His head was bowed, dark hair damp with sweat, hands clasped behind his back. The silver collar around his neck glinted faintly, a subtle chain dangling from it, its other end resting loosely in Evelyn's manicured hand. "Do you know why you're here, Marcus? " Her voice was velvet over steel, each word deliberate, sinking into the silence. "Yes, Mistress, " he replied, his baritone hushed but steady. "To serve you." She tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Good. But serving isn't enough tonight. I want surrender." Marcus swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the collar. Evelyn stepped closer, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor a metronome to his racing pulse. She tugged the chain lightly, forcing his chin up. His hazel eyes met hers - nervous, eager, and utterly enthralled. "Stand, " she commanded. He obeyed instantly, rising to his full six-foot height, though his posture remained deferential, shoulders slightly hunched. She circled him like a predator sizing up prey, her fingers brushing his bare shoulders, trailing down his spine. His skin prickled under her touch, a shiver betraying his composure. "You've been good this week, " she mused, stopping in front of him. "Reports filed on time, meetings handled with precision. A perfect little soldier in that corporate battlefield of yours." Her tone dipped, teasing. "But perfection bores me, Marcus. I want to see you unravel." His breath hitched, but he said nothing. He knew better than to speak without permission. Evelyn stepped back and gestured to a sleek, cushioned chair in the corner - a throne of sorts, upholstered in deep burgundy velvet. "Sit." He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then complied, settling into the chair. She approached, the chain still in hand, and straddled his lap with a grace that belied the power she wielded. Her corset pressed against his chest, the boning digging into his skin as she leaned in, her lips hovering just above his. "Hands on the armrests, " she instructed. "Don't move them unless I tell you." "Yes, Mistress, " he murmured, gripping the wood tightly. She reached behind her, retrieving a small riding crop from the table nearby. Its leather tip gleamed as she traced it along his jaw, down his throat, pausing at the collar. "You wear this so well, " she said, almost to herself. "A king in chains. My king." The crop slid lower, teasing the edge of his briefs. Marcus tensed, his knuckles whitening on the armrests. Evelyn's smirk widened. "Already struggling? We've barely begun." She shifted her weight, grinding against him deliberately, the friction igniting a low groan from his throat. The sound pleased her - she could tell by the way her eyes darkened, pupils dilating with intent. She raised the crop and brought it down lightly on his thigh, a sharp sting that made him flinch. "Quiet, " she warned. "You'll make noise when I allow it." "Yes, Mistress, " he gasped, biting his lip to stifle himself. Evelyn leaned back, studying him. His chest heaved, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. She loved this - the control, the way he bent to her will without breaking. It wasn't about pain, though she wielded it like an artist with a brush. It was about trust, about him giving her everything he hid from the world. She set the crop aside and unhooked the chain from his collar, letting it clatter to the floor. "Stand again, " she said, rising from his lap. He followed, legs trembling slightly, and she pointed to the floor. "Back on your knees." Marcus sank down, his gaze fixed on her boots. She stepped forward, lifting one foot and resting it lightly on his shoulder. The heel pressed into his flesh, not cruelly, but firmly - a reminder of where he belonged. "Look at me, " she said. He did, and the intensity in her green eyes pinned him more effectively than any chain. "You're mine tonight, " she continued. "Every thought, every breath. Do you understand? " "Yes, Mistress, " he whispered, voice thick with devotion. She removed her foot and turned, walking toward a low table adorned with an array of items - silk ties, a blindfold, a candle flickering in its holder. She picked up the blindfold, a strip of black satin, and returned to him. "Close your eyes." He complied, and she tied the fabric around his head, knotting it securely. Darkness enveloped him, heightening every sound - the rustle of her clothing, the soft creak of the floor, the faint hum of the city beyond the glass. His world shrank to her. "Hands out, " she said. He extended them, and she bound his wrists with the silk ties, the knots tight but not painful. She guided him to his feet and led him across the room, her grip firm on his arm. He stumbled once, disoriented, but she steadied him with a hand on his chest. "Trust me, " she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. "Always, " he replied. She positioned him against the wall, his back pressing into the cool surface. He heard the faint clink of metal, then felt her attach something to his collar - a leash, hooked to an anchor above him. His arms were raised, the silk ties looped through a hidden ring, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Evelyn stepped back, admiring her work. Marcus was a canvas of muscle and submission, his body taut with anticipation. She picked up the candle, tilting it so a drop of wax fell onto his chest. He hissed, the heat a sharp contrast to the chill of the wall. "Too much? " she asked, a rare softness in her tone. "No, Mistress, " he said quickly. "More." Her laugh was low, approving. She dripped another bead of wax, then another, painting a constellation of red across his skin. Each drop drew a gasp, a shudder, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't - not that he wanted to. She set the candle down and closed the distance between them, her fingers tracing the wax trails. "You're beautiful like this, " she said, her voice a caress. "Helpless, but strong. Mine." "Yours, " he echoed, the word a vow. Evelyn unhooked his wrists, letting his arms fall, though she left the ties in place. She guided him to the floor, pushing him onto his back. The blindfold stayed on, keeping him in her thrall. She straddled him again, this time shedding her blazer, the corset's laces brushing his stomach as she moved. "Do you want to please me? " she asked, leaning down until her lips grazed his. "Yes, Mistress, " he breathed. "Please." "Then you will, " she said, and the promise in her voice was a command in itself. The night deepened, a symphony of power and surrender. Evelyn rose from his chest, her movements deliberate as she untied the silk from his wrists, freeing his hands but not his will. She slid off her boots, the sound of zippers slicing through the quiet, and positioned herself above him, knees bracketing his shoulders. The blindfold kept him blind, but he could feel her heat, smell the jasmine on her skin. "Hands on my thighs, " she ordered, her voice low and commanding. "You'll use them to steady me. Nothing more." He obeyed, his palms settling on her smooth skin, fingers trembling with restraint. She lowered herself, guiding his head with a firm grip on his hair. "Your mouth is mine now, " she said. "Show me how well you can serve." Marcus tilted his face upward, lips parting as he pressed them to her, tentative at first, then with growing confidence as her soft moan spurred him on. His tongue moved with precision, tracing her contours, tasting her desire. Evelyn's breath quickened, her fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. She controlled the rhythm, rocking against him, her thighs flexing under his hands as she chased her pleasure. "Yes, " she hissed, her voice a thread of silk unraveling. "Just like that." He redoubled his efforts, his world narrowing to the sounds she made - gasps, sighs, the occasional sharp intake of breath that told him he was pleasing her. His jaw ached, but he didn't falter, driven by the need to obey, to satisfy. Her nails dug into his scalp, a delicious sting that matched the wax still cooling on his chest. Evelyn's movements grew erratic, her control fraying at the edges. She pressed harder against him, her moans rising in pitch, until a shudder ripped through her, her body tensing as she crested. Marcus felt her tremble, tasted the flood of her release, and held steady, his hands gripping her thighs to anchor her through it. She lingered there, breathing heavily, then slid back, resting on his chest. Her fingers loosened in his hair, stroking gently now. "Good boy, " she murmured, the praise washing over him like a balm. But she wasn't done. Evelyn shifted, turning to face his feet, and straddled him again, this time over his hips. She tugged his briefs down, freeing him, and he groaned as her fingers wrapped around him, firm and possessive. "You don't finish until I say, " she warned, her tone brooking no argument. "Yes, Mistress, " he managed, voice strained. She guided him inside her, sinking down slowly, deliberately, until he filled her completely. Marcus bit his lip, the blindfold amplifying every sensation - the heat of her, the tightness, the way she clenched around him. She began to move, a slow grind at first, then faster, her hands braced on his thighs for leverage. Each roll of her hips was a command, a claim, and he fought to please her, to hold back his own release as she rode him with relentless intent. Her breaths grew ragged again, her nails raking his skin as she neared another peak. "Now, " she gasped, the word a gift, and Marcus let go, his own climax crashing through him as she shuddered above him, their cries mingling in the air. Evelyn collapsed onto him, her corset pressing into his chest, her heartbeat a wild drum against his own. She reached up, finally slipping the blindfold off. Marcus blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, and found her gazing down at him, a rare smile softening her features. "Well done, " she said simply, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "Thank you, Mistress, " he replied, exhausted but content. She rose, offering him a hand. He took it, standing on unsteady legs, and she led him to the couch, where a blanket waited. They sat in silence, the power dynamic fading into something gentler, more equal. She draped the blanket over him, her touch lingering. "Rest, " she said. "You've earned it."

This story is about circumstances and feelings mixed with coercion and true love for a woman. In our company in the logistics sector works a beautiful lady Marianne at the age of about 35 years. Marianne looks very inaccessible beauty, but here came the corporate party, and we have already danced with her and drank on a brouderschaft. I give her various silly jokes, at which she laughed without getting into it. Then we stopped in the hallway when I was walking her to the WC and kissed. I kneaded her firm breasts and her awesome ass, but we were scared off by colleagues, and we continued to the women's room, where she asked me to wait for her. After leaving the toilet, Marianne suggested to go to her office for something, for what exactly I did not even hear, but I gladly followed her. And already in the office we again merged in a passionate kiss. I approached her from behind and hugged her shoulders, leaned down and kissed her neck with my lips, she gave in to my caress and turned to me and kissed me passionately on the lips. I started to crush her tits again and unbuttoned her blouse trying to get to her nipples, which, as soon as they were exposed from the bra and blouse immediately plunged into the embrace of my lips, I bit them a little bit with my teeth, on which I put my lips and rubbed them with my tongue, at the same time I crushed her tits and crushed and crushed. Marianne sat down on the desk, or rather she sat on the desk with her ass, and I continued to caress her breasts, and my hand was already under Marianne's skirt and I touched her pussy through her pantyhose and panties, but even through them I felt how her pussy was burning and already wanted passionate sex. At this time I had an irresistible desire to taste Marianne, that is to make her cunnilingus, and then of course fuck her properly and I began to move my kisses lower and lower, here I am already caressing her navel. I lifted her skirt up and, kneeling down, began to pull her tights and panties down her thighs. When I pulled them down to the level below her knees, I took off her shoe from one leg and also took off her pantyhose and panties from this leg, that is, panties and pantyhose remained on one leg and in the shoe. Her vagina was delicious and already, as if calling me, showing me how her slit between her labia glistened, she was flowing and I spread them a little with my fingers to the side and licked with a full and soft tongue licking her secretions, looked at her and smiled and swallowed. Marianne, looking at me, threw her head back and moved her vagina towards me, I once again licked her lips gently and slipped my tongue inside, where I began to drive it up and down penetrating her vagina and licking and swallowing what came into my mouth. There was no odor at all, apparently Marianne had washed up well in the WC and probably expected such a turn. This thought only made me even more excited, and I continued licking Marianne, who had her hands on the table with her pussy stretched out to meet me, rubbing and wiggling in time with my tongue movements. I didn't want to get up and fuck Marianne, as I wanted to do at first, because the way Marianne wriggled on my tongue blew my head off and I continued to lick her wet pussy, it was unclear whether it was from my saliva or her secretions. - Insert a finger - suddenly I heard Marianne's quiet voice asking me to do it. I gladly obeyed and inserted my finger into Marianne's vagina and started to fuck her like a small cock, while continuing to flutter my tongue like a butterfly on Marianne's clitoris. She put her hands on her groin with her ass on the table, in a half-sitting position and pulled her skin up a little, as if to expose her clitoris and put it for my tongue. - Yeah... there you go. don't stop. yeah. ohhhh... - I heard Marianne's voice, who was already looking at me intently, not taking her eyes off the procedure I was doing, and I was doing cunnilingus, which I realized I was doing perfectly, at least it seemed so to me at that moment, and it was confirmed by Marianne's movements and words. - Yeah... ahhh. I'm going to cum! Keep going! Don't stop... - Marianne asked me. I continued to lick her naked clit and finger-fuck her fast and fast. My hand was dripping from Marianne's vagina. I inserted another finger and I guessed, Marianne clamped her mouth with one hand to keep from screaming, and I continued to masturbate her and lick her clit, while with my other hand I was already kneading her breasts. - Yeah... aaahhhh... - Grabbing my head and thrusting hard, Marianne's body shook. I realized that she had squirted, meaning she had discharged and cum. After a couple of seconds she pulled away from me and with a movement of her hand signaled me to stop any manipulation and remove my fingers. I pulled back and was on my knees watching her from below and marveling at how she was getting high and thrusting after cumming. - I'm sorry, I don't want anything else for now - sitting down on the chair said Marianne. - Of course you can rest, I said. I stood up from my knees and sat down on a chair next to her, and began to unzip my fly. I smiled at her. Marianne looked at me and at the fact that I unbuttoned my fly said: - Not now, my little pussy licker... Not now... and now let's go to everyone, because they probably lost us already - she started pulling on her panties and pantyhose, adjusting her skirt, bra and buttoning her blouse. I didn't argue with her for some reason and zipped my fly back up. I thought I'll still have time to fuck her, leaving the office with her and going to my colleagues in the common room, where the table was set. In the cabin by the way she wiped herself with a wet napkin and wiped my face too with the words: - Cool boy - the thing is that I am about 10 years younger than Marianne and I am also younger in position, although she is not my direct boss - good licking! Good experience? - smiling asked me Marianne, to which I did not answer her anything, but only smiled. When we entered the hall, we sat down at the table as if nothing had happened and continued the party, but I did not even notice how Marianne disappeared somewhere. To my question, where is she? My colleagues told me that she called a cab and went home. Thus began my worship of Mistress Marianne.