You still don't understand.", she said halfas though she were thinking out loud. "Tell you what. I'll make you a deal. A little contest. You win and ...ou'refree. You loose you're mine and you wear my collar", she said her voice quickeningwith each word. "Hmmmm what do you think", she queried reaching down to slowly stroke hiscock. "I...I.... ahhh", he stammered only half comprehending what she said. Hismind was consumed by the hand on his cock. Lust welled inside him, his bodyshivered in. “John Singer Sargent's 'Madame X', Madame Gautreau. But he never did a nude of her!”“OH! Not on canvas; just 'painted' on her with that big soft brush while she was naked, thus he 'painted' her nude. But not she, nor he, ever told anyone about that, of course! After all she was a married woman in high French society, the daughter of a Marquis.”“So how do you come by this information, Mr. Know-it-all, Mr Tell-it-all, or did you make it all up?”“As I stated at the start, it is true, though. He also pulled out a par of my electric boyshorts that had a small cock on the inside. Kind of like a butterfly but put into a couple pairs of my panties. Always a size to small to keep a snug fit. With that came the nipple clamp push up bra and the remote to controle them both. Opening another door he walked into a room with tuns of high heels, clit peircings and other jewlery or what not that he wanted me to wear. He grabbed a pair of yellow platform shoes and a yellow and white stripped. Together we ravaged her hot sex. The sounds, ah the sounds of it all! Her whimpers, her mewlings of desire and then her screams as she orgasmed, and the wet, sucking noises of penetration and withdrawl, the sound of his balls slapping against her soft flesh, their grunts and moans, so hot, my cock felt like exploding while watching them. At times her small feet were planted flat on the bed, her hips pumping and swiveling as she worked his cock, and at others they were wrapped around his.