Spit Roast Her

Emilia did not know how long the two men took turns in her mouth and she began to wonder, no, to fear, that her ordeal would never end. She had no aversion to fellatio. Ever since that first boy so long ago back in Italy had persuaded her to suck his cock, blowjobs had become part of her sexual activity. Not that she had needed much persuasion. She had been in love with him, or so she thought, and wanted to make him happy. Plus, like most young females, she had heard about it and was curious to experience it herself.

However, this was different. She could not breathe. She was constantly on the verge of gagging. She did not know how much longer this would last. Only her pride in being submissive, of being able to bend herself to the will of her master, her lover, her owner, enabled her to carry on. This is what Adolfo had wanted, so she had to do it. She could not disappoint the man.

And then it stopped. She did not see that Marcel had held up his hand, palm outward, to signal Pierre to cease. But she could feel Marcel behind her, unlocking one of the cuffs. The other remained secure, leaving the manacles dangling from one arm. When she tried to bring her hands around in front of her to rub her wrists, the two men grabbed her biceps. Yanking her to her feet, they half walked, half dragged her over to a high stool. Like the type of stool one might encounter in a bar, it had a thick square leather covered seat. Her five-inch heels caused her to stagger as she was manhandled like a piece of meat.

When they slammed her down across the seat, her full breasts pressed against the seat and her head dangled over the side. Pierre once more grabbed her head, one hand in back, the other gripping her chin, and resumed fucking her in the mouth. That warm, receptive, never refusing mouth.

Meanwhile, Marcel busied himself securing the unlocked cuff to the lower rung of the barstool and fetched another set to restrain her other arm. Throughout all of that, Emilia was squirming around, her knees buckling as she tried to maintain her balance on her perch. The woman’s thin, loose pleated skirt covered her ass, which both men knew to be bare. The sight of that butt wiggling around, the skirt waving, was an invitation.

Marcel flipped her hem up and patted the underside of one buttock, encouraging her to lift her hips higher. Naturally, she complied. Not just in obedience, but the way she was being treated, or mistreated to be more precise, was a huge turn-on for her. She did not understand why; she never had. But Adolfo seemed to understand her special needs. Which is why they had been together for six years now.

A muffled gasp followed by a long groan escaped Emilia’s mouth when Marcel entered her. Muffled due to the hard cock being shoved in and out of her mouth.

The two men fell into a synchronized rhythm, thrusting back and forth within her two holes. As her excitement mounted, her groans became louder and louder, and she thrashed about on the stool, her arms tugging on the restraints. On the few occasions that Pierre’s dick slipped from between her lips, she would scream in ecstasy, yelling incoherent phrases like, “Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!”