Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
Mr. Davenport was different. He wasn’t aggressive or demanding, just quietly eccentric, with a glint of mischievousness in his eyes. This was my first session with him, and already, I felt a knot of nervous anticipation in my stomach. “First things first,” he’d said, his voice a low rumble. “The pantyhose.”
I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t object. Black pantyhose were hardly the strangest request I’d received. I slipped them on in the small, cluttered bathroom, the nylon cool against my skin. When I emerged, he was sitting in a plush armchair, a stopwatch in his hand. “And now, my dear, something sticky. From your pantry, anything will do.” My pantry was a chaotic testament to my haphazard cooking habits. I rummaged through jars and cans, finally grabbing a bottle of honey. It felt cliché, but undeniably, honey reeked of stickiness.
Mr. Davenport was different
Back in the living room, another woman, also a seasoned professional in the realm of turning fantasy into reality, was already there. She gave me a knowing smile. This was not her first time playing with this client, albeit mine. I was grateful for her guidance.
“Right then,” Mr. Davenport announced, his eyes twinkling. “Julie, I challenge you not to finish in thirty seconds.” Julie laughed, a throaty sound. “You’re on, Davenport.” He started the stopwatch. Julie closed her eyes, her breathing becoming shallow and rapid. Mr. Davenport focused intently, his gaze sharp. Twenty seconds ticked by. Twenty-five. It was clear she was struggling, her body subtly tense. And then, at twenty-nine seconds, a small gasp escaped her lips and her eyes rolled back in her head as she arched her back.
Mr. Davenport stopped the watch with a triumphant click. “A pity, Madame, a pity. But rules are rules.” He turned to me. “Now, my dear, the honey. Be generous.” My heart pounded. This was novel, to say the least. I unscrewed the lid, the sweet scent filling the air. Kneeling before Julie, I hesitated for a moment, then squeezed the bottle. The honey oozed out, thick and golden, onto the crotch of my pantyhose. The visual alone was intensely arousing.
Julie’s eyes fluttered open, a mixture of embarrassment and something akin to excitement on her face. I stood up, feeling a surprising surge of heat spreading through my body. The honey felt incredible. Sticky, warm, and unbelievably erotic against the nylon. Mr. Davenport cleared his throat. “Now, my dear, for you. Ninety seconds. Can you resist?” Ninety seconds? With that honey clinging to me, whispering promises of sweet surrender?
He started the watch. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation. The sticky sweetness, the light pressure of the nylon, the quiet hum of the room. It was a symphony of sensation, building with each passing second. Thirty seconds in, I bit my lip, clenching my fists. Sixty felt like an eternity. My breath hitched, a desperate need rising within me. Seventy-five. Eighty. The pleasure was almost unbearable.
And then, at eighty-three seconds, a wave crashed over me. A low moan escaped my lips, my pussy squirted, and I knew I’d failed. Mr. Davenport stopped the watch, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “Ah, well. It was a valiant effort. Perhaps next time.” He looked at Julie and laughed. “You know what this means, don’t you?” She groaned and opened the cap to the chocolate syrup bottle she was holding.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
https://phonesexcandy.com/cory