barbara rayman

“Just so we're perfectly clear, Brianna,” she purred wickedly, extending her long, sinuous tongue and seductively licking a glob of cum from where it had landed on my cheek. “I have video cameras all over this little playroom of mine. I'm going to let you go tonight, but you're going to come back to me, once a week. You should be thankful for that—that's hardly anything, compared to how often you and your friends made me take care of you! But I know you have a wife now, and coming here any more than that would risk her finding out, and ruining it all. So, you're going to come back once a week, and you're going to let me do anything I want to you, and you're going to do everything I say. Because if you don't, I will send the video to your wife, and your boss, and your co-workers... everyone you know, Brianna! And rest assured, it will be a slightly edited version, showing only how eager you were for everything I just did to you, none of the parts explaining how I coerced you into doing it!

Her father turned back to her as the coffee machine started to purr. “Last chance.”

“We’re going to need some of this,” she said, unscrewing the cap. “Lubrication,” she said with a smile, seeing the confused look on my face. She poured a generous handful of oil and slathered it onto my shaft and my balls. She spied the label as she set the bottle down. “Hmm…extra virgin. That’s the only thing in this house tonight that is virgin anything.” I laughed nervously. I remember now my clueless mom never figured out why her bottle of olive oil kept appearing in my bathroom.