blarret msm

“Rachel?” I asked. Yes, that was right. The amazing blonde who I'd watched sitting at the bar, turning away attempts to chat her up all night. But when I'd gone over to refresh my drink, she'd asked my name, had wanted me to sit with her. To give her a break from the guys trying to hit on her, she'd said. “You... you spiked my drink! What did you give me?”

“Oh, God!” I gasped, her thick, pounding cock finally pushing me past the edge, jet after jet of hot, sticky cum flying up with so much force it splattered my face and upper chest! Oh, fuck, that felt so good! That amazing, powerful prostate orgasm, so, so much longer and more powerful than anything I could achieve with my dick alone!

Something was wrong. I struggled to open my eyes, blearily forcing myself to focus. I was in a red-panelled room, dimly lit, one I'd never been in before, with... things, on the walls. Whips, floggers, toys of all descr*ptions, most of which I couldn't even name. It was only then that I realized I was naked, bound on my back to a table with my legs spread into a slight V in the air, wrists above my head, a belt around my waist holding me down. I lifted my head, and saw that my six-inch dick was hard and straining, twitching without my command. Why the fuck was I hard? Arousal was the last thing I was feeling! Confusion, fear, panic, yes. But not arousal.