The game gets more intense for Martin.
s for information? What is it? Who did the malice and owns the palace?"
"That did cross my mind," he said with a sensual smile. "I mean after all, you are very hot, strikingly good looking and an amazing fuck. We have a history, there was a time."
"Yeah, so, a fuck for information," I offered in a friendly way and slid closer to him. As a matter of getting things done, I'd never hesitate to trade ass for a pass. "Or, what do I get for a hand job? Listen pal, I'm open here to any possibility, because I don't bullshit people." I leaned in to him. "I already got off with Woody once today. Another orgasm would be nice."
"You know what they say, an orgasm a day, good medical advice," he added.
"Oh, fuck me, mistress, fuck me," Woody blurted out loud from the other room. The reverberation ricocheted through my head and sent chills up my spine. "Fuck yeah!"
"That's it, my little fuck toy, you go for it, take my cock," Morticia's domineering tone reverberated through the sound vents. "You like me fucking your mangina pussy."
"Oh my god, that feels good, my mistress," Woody whimpered.
"Wow, I think he's hooked on learning a new language," I muttered to Payne. "I gotta see this, geezus, I need some pictures of this fucking. Come on, you might get lucky." I took the pain in the ass by the hand and pulled him up. "This is a learning curve for my assistant."
"It will expand his consciousness and liberate his mind," Payne advised. "Only the weak fear their sexuality, while the pious deceive as the fleece the flock."
"Well said, my old friend," I let him know, as I relaxed with his presence.
"I'm in, you know me, live in the moment," he whispered sexily in my ear. "You remember that time, oh back in the old days, well you know, the old farm house?"
"Don't," I said flatly and gripped his hand. "That was a long time ago."
"Ah yes, no problem, I am at your service, my dear," he added.
Around a curvature from the main the area, the red room was filled with all manner of ointments, lubricants, sanitary wipes, and every device imaginable. For a second or two, I was taken back how everything seemed refreshed, renewed and ready for immediate application. As though time stood still and someone or something kept the parts of the whole up to date. Maybe in a supernatural sense, if one is prone in that direction, the place had a life of its own.
The air, the walls, the floors, the lights, and the very infrastructure oozed a strong sensual presence of carnality. As though normality, social conformity and so on, all the constraints a so called free society places on people, did not exist here. Over us, the aroma qualities of perfumed enticement filtered from the vents. The scent was that of sandal wood, nag champa and patchouli, mixed with red rosy flavors, and strained to a fine misty salacious allure.
Intoxicating did not fully describe the effect on the senses. This was seductive, hypnotic and dreamlike. Seemingly, the whole nature of this circular enclave had an organic quality of self-perpetuation without pause. I had the feeling more now than before that a ghostly presence lingered nearby. Maybe Drago himself never died but lived within these walls. Then again, who knows? There are things one cannot explain no matter how hard you try to understand. Nonetheless, I tried to remain a skeptic with my cynical perceptions leading the way.
"Oh what the fuck, Woody, geezus," I mumbled next to Payne. Feeling a slight stupor as if intoxicated, I sensed a foggy haze drift over the room. "You go boy," I whispered.
"Please mistress, do me long and hard," Woody moaned, glanced at me, but focused intently on her, as the tall stern faced domina poked his ass with his legs spread wide. His heels on her muscular naked shoulders, her perfectly formed breasts jiggled slightly with each forward thrust. "Thank you, mistress for fucking me." He stared at her large dark brown areola that encircled large stiffened nipples, and begged, "I want your cock mistress, fuck me, fuck me."
"Yeah, slave boy, butt bitch, you're mine, baby," Morticia deman