Sex With The Indian Wife Of A Friend

The current stabs Lillian’s feet. The arrow of electricity sends her leaping from the pallet. She nearly falls backwards but the tope grabs her tits. It keeps her standing, stretching her swollen breasts away from her chest. I can’t tell if she’s screaming from the electricity or the fearsome tug on her bound tits, though it doesn’t matter. She’s being assaulted from both ends and her reaction, her confusion, is priceless. So pretty and strong, Lillian shrieks and dances against the current, doing a toe dance she can’t win. Her ballooning, darkening tits bob upon her chest, squeezed impossibly tight by the wire bra. Her feet dance and skip. Her eyes spill fresh tears down her cheeks and still she’s howling miserably, pleading – screaming – for us to stop.Lillian’s feet leave the ground when the current hits again. Her tits stretch away from her body. I imagine them tearing from her chest, her pride and joy, the assets she uses at the club to extract money from men like me. She. Not wanting her to think that I’m some kind of pervert, I tried to keep my voyeurism to a minimum. We searched back, and found that the computerized images only went back ten years. Not far enough. ‘We will have to look at the old microfiche. But we will have to order it from the records department. I can get it here tomorrow by noon. Can you come back then?’ Diane asked. ‘Microfiche?’ ‘Yes David, they are small sheets of film, about four inches’ square and contain dozens of images—newspaper pages, you view them in a special viewer. It is more tedious, but look at the upside … we get to spend more time together.’ ‘Oh, well, yeah, I guess so. Sure. Noon.’ I said. ‘You can call me first to check, if you want.’ Then she smoothed back an errant lock of hair, and said with a little nervousness in her voice, ‘You can use the other number too … if you would like … I am home most nights!’ ‘Thanks, Diane, but I have a girlfriend!’ I said a little apologetically. ‘Well, keep the card.
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