Piss Master was holding up the video camera-phone up so Master in South Africa could watch the action.“No, Sir, I replied. I was just leaving, Sir,” I told the guard.He looked me up and down, doubting my innocence. “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the plug.I moved it behind the store bag in the other hand, hemming and hawing about a pet toy for my dog. Before he could reply, I suddenly felt my jock fill with a warm wetness which then leaked down my shaven legs to my flip-flops. I had forgotten about the piss-bag that Master had ordered taped to me under my pink top. He had pressed a button on his phone in South Africa and sent a signal to pierce the bag holding my stale piss. My jock and shorts were soaked; a small puddle had formed under me on the mall stone floor. The guard stepped back, his nose scrunched up in disgust. “All right, you come with me, son,” he ordered, taking my arm and pulling me towards the mall security offices.As I was escorted away by the guard, I saw. God, I need that from you right now.” Alison lay back and slowly spread her legs. As she raised her knees she gently placed a hand on my cheek and blew me a kiss. In a voice thick with desire, lust and passion and spoken in a throaty, husky groan she uttered, “Clean me.” My mind was a swirling vortex of a thousand different emotions. She was asking me to go down on her. She must surely have Joel’s cum in her, still. She must know how utterly humiliating and degrading an act she was asking me to commit, all for her pleasure. But was it all for her pleasure and hers alone? Was I right now not in pain from an erection that was tumescent and throbbing and uncontrollably dribbling fluids? Was I now not almost delirious in anticipation of what she would taste like? Did I not want to feel on my lips and tongue the slippery, velvety mixture I had felt with my fingers just moments ago? Did I not feel humiliated and yet incredibly turned on at the thought of serving my wife in such a.
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