Wilson walked forward, slow and steady and O'Leary leapt forward to meet him. But this time Wilson was prepared. He deflected everything O'Leary threw...at him all the while strode on, like a vengeful glacier. O'Leary darted this way and that, hammering Wilson at every opportunity. Black iron was bloodied and bruised, but his bulk was hemming O'Leary into a corner. Slowly. Surely. Inevitably. Finally O'Leary had nowhere to run and Wilson slammed him with an audible crack. The force of the blow. Even another sex dungeon, which would’ve seemed wholly foreign to me a few weeks ago but would have fit in well in this house, didn’t seem possible. The door felt secretive, magnetic. Whatever was behind it was powerful, whether for good or evil I couldn’t tell, but it was drawing me in. I hadn’t even been aware of moving until I felt the unnaturally cool brass of the door handle against my palm. I was terrified now. Please let it be locked, please, please, please, I’m not ready for what’s in. “It hurt at first,” she said, “but then not so much, and when I was… um… fingering myself with you inside me, it was, I don’t know, pretty intense.” “It was for me, too,” I said. “And I don’t think it was disgusting or perverted. It just was. And it was great, even if you never want to do it again.” She looked puzzled. “Look, sweetie,” I said. “What was great about it was not so much what we did as the way we did it. We didn’t stop to think or discuss or analyze, we just did what felt good.. I just smiled and said I enjoyed what he had done but wanted to take part now, not pretend to be asleep. He threw off his sheet and moved over and I sat on his bed next to him. He told me he was into cock but not kissing guys or fucking asses. I said that was cool by me. He got up and turned the lights on and slipped his shorts off. His cock was as stiff as I was as he walked back to the bed. I took hold of his cock and stroked its length as my other hand cupped his balls. His manly scent added.