Leaning over, more spit....twisted it....and almost all the way out..more spit....I did not hear, slut....."Please...I...please..."The old one looked...around, and his eyes stopped at a butter box (for bread)...he smiled....reached out. It was soft, half melted by the sun. He started to play, again, with your cunt. It was swollen and glistening. No need for butter there, I thought.He was good, this old man. You worked with him, and the younger one did loosen the grip. Your arms fell down to the. Had they been bright multi-coloured ‘talons,’ I’m not sure I would’ve coped with that unpleasant development.I was no longer only comfortably a voyeur, but soon to become an active participant. My greatest worry was that my cock would simply refuse to rise to the occasion. As Mikhail and I stood side by side, surveying the entrance to her sanctum of constricting eroticism, he placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Ironically, it was his touch and not her backside. More

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