The Snake Lady was at least giving it the old college try and backed it out then again wedged it back into my wife’s pussy lips, trying in vain t... get her pussy to open more for the dildo to go inside her. Again she backed it out as the now cries of what had to be pain subsided from my wife. Again the Snake Lady drove it forward and wedged it right into her cunt lips as they were now stretched beyond what their swollen capabilities. The Snake Lady worked the head of it around as best. And I got out of the car with my bag to go with him. I tottered on my heels, so nervous, as he led me, his hand starting on my ass, and moving up to the back of my neck and squeezing just a little, directing me towards his van parked about 50 ft away. He opened the side and got a small backpack of his own, and said 'Give me your bag, Stacey'. Setting it into the van and reaching in, he pulled out the leather cuffs and collar I brought, and a coil of rope. 'Turn around' he said, and I did. “Jack, ah, I, I think I hear someone coming,” said Charlotte. “I don't,” said Jack, stroking her insides with each word. “But I will.” He slid one arm under her across her breasts and the other hand palm up between her legs, preventing her body from sliding across the floor as he pushed his iron-hard cock in and out of her warm wetness enthusiastically. He put his third finger directly on her clit, letting it slide back and forth over it with their movements as he continued to pound her faster. Even Beatrice the crone—as she’s called by many of the executives, but not to her face—was laying down complements and flirting with me, and she never flirts with anyone. Beatrice wasn’t old, maybe five years my senior, but she dressed old. She always sported a bee-hive hairdo and cats-eye reading glasses, the kind popular with matrons in the 1950’s. She was thin, flat-chested, dour and sour in looks and spirit. Looks and mean-spiritedness aside, she was very protective of ‘her girls,’ as she.