I'd ask you to give me your panties before we left, and by the time I was done talking they would be soaked. We'd take a cab. First I'd start by tou...hing your neck, your shoulders, working my way to your garters, snapped tight for me. I'd continue talking, now in a whisper, running my fingertips along your inner thighs and cupping your damp sex. I'd stick my pussy stinking fingers in your mouth, and you'd drool onto them for me to lube them up. Then I'd return to your sex, flitting between. Now Tracey was a normal young woman, she had read previous reports of what was going on in Zonga with a degree of interest, and she would be lying to herself if she denied that the more lurid reports and pictures hadn't sent a small tingle of excitement down her body. She knew that deep down every girl at some time fantasied about being a slave girl, somebody's property with no rights or decision making, somebody's plaything to be used how and when they wanted. Tracey was also a realist though. I sat on the desk and put my legs on the chair back and pulled her in close to my wet pussy. She looked nervous. I asked her if it was the first time and she just nodded. I just looked at her and said touch me. Feel me. Put your fingers inside me. She reached out and touched me. both hands pulling apart my lips. exposing my clit. She looked up and said that she never really knew what a pussy looks like apart from looking at herself in the mirror. She rubbed my now hard clit and I felt her start. With my head buried into his shoulder I asked ‘Cum with me’. It was only a matter of seconds before he let out a long moan. I felt his first spasm, His cock throbbing and twitching in my cervix as he shot what I expect were many huge ropes of semen, flooding my uterus and soaking my tubes. This is passionate sex as I remember it fondly. With Rogers first burst of cum my orgasm kicked in. The last thing I recall is almost yelling ‘More More More’. I came to my senses with the feel of a puddle.