"Jim Mitchell," he croaked in a voice that didn't seem used to speaking. "Is this a rescue? Is this finally over?"Matthew looked over his shoulder to Rob. Rob had also pulled his own hood back and nodded emphatically. "We can get you out of here." Were you being held prisoner?" Matthew asked.The second man, who had stood idly by spoke up. "Involuntary servitude is what I would call it," he said with disgust. "In other words, slavery." Well we can ask the hard questions later," Meredith said. She took to the new assignment well and soon was becoming very good at her job. I had developed a real attraction for her too. Loved to watch her walk away and check that little bubble ass out. Caught myself fantasizing about fucking her. I had never been with a black woman but always wanted to very much. I grew up in the 50's and 60's so never got the chance to be around any black people. I'll call her Denise for namesake. Denise was always dressed to the max, wore spike heels, long skirts,. I had reached for my cup, but I abandoned the effort, afraid that I’d end up spilling it. My tender nipples brushed against the pajama top with each breath. I was being skillfully masturbated at the breakfast table, under the eyes of my dad’s girlfriend, and while it felt incredibly wrong, I was wax under Becky’s naughty ministrations. “You have beautiful breasts,” Becky declared, staring unabashedly at Clare’s exposed tit. I tried to grasp what was going on here, but the fingers moved faster. She mewled with exhilarated humiliation, face flushed with heat. She wrestled, but Vegas left the shirt tangled about her arms, acting as impromptu bondage. She only managed to writhe and send jiggles through her chest. Vegas continued downwards, kisses warming Erica’s throat and clavicle, passing her breasts and heading along her navel, while she slid inside the sleeping bag. Vegas peeled away the boyshort panties – the last significant clothing on any body in the room. At least the sleeping.
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