I wanted to know more. Why did they fake orgasms? How can I tell if her orgasm is fake or real? What is a real orgasm and how do they influence a woma...’s body?Those were all questions I wanted the answers to, which began my journey of a man trying to understand a woman’s orgasm.As a man, I’ll never truly understand a woman’s orgasm, I can only use my research and the descriptions shared to me by the many women I’ve talked to about the subject.Knowing that women fake orgasms, I started paying. ‘Get’ I again said. Once more, my slave retrieved the trodden fries and I kicked it two or three times while it was trying to sc**** up all the remains. This was repeated a few times as I finished my coffee. My slave looked distraught as I got up and walked into the restaurant with the empty paper cup. ‘Stay’ I ordered as I walked, not looking at my slave. When I returned from the toilet, the cup was nearly full. I could see the look of horror on my slave’s down turned face as I sat down. Nice taught tummy. But it was the skin she was wrapped in, so clean, unblemished, not a mark on her, looked so invitingly fuckable.But my eyes were drawn back to her nipples now that they were exposed, not hidden by her clothing or her hands. Fuckin hell they were huge, fuckin huge. I just had to; there was no choice I just had to have my lips around them and my tongue lapping them. I moved forwards pushing Jean flat onto the bed and started to suck on her exquisite nipples. As she had fairly. The feeling would definitely be mutual. Kristin had an aching, a deep throbbing yearning for release. And it was growing, with each touch, with each thought, with each sensation, the ache was growing. She needed a release, desperately. She was becoming more emblazoned with each passing moment. Running a hand over her own breast, down her stomach. Pushing her mound against her case. At Euston station she gave up. She took one long look at the source of her torture and left the train, swallowed.