alisa bishop

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.

That same night, Sarah was up again at midnight, like clockwork now. Like a swimmer improving on their time, it took her less than two minutes before she was suckling on her father’s dick like a pacifier. This night she was not as desperate as the last few and takes her time. Sprawled out lazily across her father’s legs, knowing that it won’t cause him any distress, her cheek rests on his waist while she has tilted his cock to the side and slipped it into her mouth. Sarah sucks on his cock long and slow, savouring the smell and taste as much as she can, and it is almost an hour until his penis finally gives in and spurts his load into her mouth.

“Don’t be sorry. He is a huge dick, and not in a good way. He also has enough money to pay for our house and generous child support, so I am good.” We pulled into her driveway. A modest split-level home in a nice neighborhood. Good place for kids to play. Mrs. B hit the button on the garage door opener and closed it behind us before I could get out of the car. “Nosy neighbors,” she said to no one in particular.