You can call me Honey, but my real name is Patricia Westminster and for most of my adult life I was addressed as “Lady Patricia” by friends and st...angers alike. I always felt a little foolish being called “Lady” because a lot of the time my thoughts about the males in close proximity to my person were decidedly on the sensual side and in some instances plain downright naughty enough to be censored by competent authority. At such times, I certainly didn’t feel like a lady in either thought or. Her lips lightly touched the tip for fully encircling the head. Mark stared downward as her red head bobbed upon his cock. She used one hand to stroke his cock as she placed the other upon his hip, guiding his thrusts into her mouth. He knew it wasn't right, but her warm, moist mouth felt so good. She pulled breathlessly away from dick; a drop of pre-cum glistened on the side of her mouth."Lay on the bed; I can do this better from there," she softly spoke.Mark loosened his pants, allowing them. I just had a run of luck I suppose, some good, some bad, but I assure you it was mostly good times even in troubled times. I never wanted power because I didn’t like what power seemed to do to people. When I was a young man still living at home I saw routinely the way that the local Lord behaved and wanted none of such things. It was not until much later that I realized that it was more the character of the man that dictated how he reacted to power. A good man might handle power better than. He felt something touch his cock. Something hard and sharp that pressed him rigid. A shoe or a weapon that made him groan as he felt it lacerate him. Damage him, leaving a trace, a mark that could not possibly be explained.?Shall we begin?? asked his Mistress, but there was no answer just the sound of another getting onto the groaning box.There was no sound of heels and soles this time, just a pad of naked feet and then a groan from the wood of the box as the third person moved on the box.?Fuck.