My front had been painted white, with a red circle around each areola, and a red X across each nipple. Across each of my breasts were the words, "Don'... touch." Just above my mound was, "Ask me nicely first." That did explain the odd tickling sensations.Across my back were lines of writing."This slut is Owned... cannot come without permission of her Owner... is highly responsive... Show her a unique experience."I looked up into her eyes that flame of pure lust was flaring from her eyes; I could. They had cast a spell over me in their speaking that I will never forget. Me, Jeff, the so-very ordinary looking ‘setting creator.’ The silence that followed them was deafening as the entire gaggle, excuse me, group, realized she was right. They were trying to arrange an outing where she would be seen by all the ‘right people’, and her regular escort, one she’d selected all so carefully, that had met the approval of her very wealthy, protective parents, was out tonight… would you believe it,. I laid there silent and motionless as Ross continued stroking. Butterflies welled up in my gut as the tingling feeling built into a powerful, pulsing squirting orgasm.I reached over to return the favor. Ross helped me remove the pair of shorts he borrowed from me to sleep in. I grabbed his bone. It was smaller than mine but just as hard. I hadn't gone flaccid after I came as this experience was so incredibly exciting. As he lay on his back, I jacked him off. I wanted to suck him, but didn't. Nor did she find it strange that she was telling him much more about her life than she had intended. All she knew was that when she looked in his eyes, she felt like she belonged here. She wanted to belong here.The man's name was not George. Or Mr. Smith. His name was Damon Arquette, though few, if any people in this country were aware of his real name. He answered to 'Mr. Smith.' He had no idea who George was, nor did he care beyond the fact that there was no one named George who worked at the.