Priestess From Indian Sacred Ritual
”“Are you telling me what to do?” She was nearly shouting.“No.”“I hope not,” she said leaning close to my ear and speaking in a confidential tone, “In fact I think you are the type who likes to be told what to do, instead of the other way around. Am I right?”“Yes ma’am,” I replied, trying to give her answers she wanted so she wouldn’t prolong the one-sided conversation. I desperately needed to go to the bathroom, but dared not say anything unbidden.“You’re a sissy who wears girl’s panties too aren’t you?”She nodded at the wall hook where my panties were prominently displayed. I nodded—there was no point in denying it.“You WILL cooperate now,” she continued, her voice rising in volume, “so we can clear this up without getting the police involved, won’t you, sissy?” Her threatening tone was implicit.“Yes. . .ma’am. I’ll do anything you want.” The thought of a nasty encounter with the police and the possibility of public embarrassment was an unwelcome one.“Good,” she said decisively. “We. I turned the dial down, so the buzzing couldn’t be detected by the other restaurant patrons, and she settled down somewhat. As we sat back down, she looked at me with convincing eyes: “Sir, I can’t take any more of this vibrating egg right now, I’m sorry.” “Very well then, my dear, remove it,” I commanded. “Right here, Sir?” she asked incredulously. “Of course, love, just reach in and pluck it out, then rest it next to your plate,” I instructed. She looked around at the other diners, then stealthily fished the egg out of her saturated pussy and placed it on the table. “Now that you have so much extra room in your pussy, put these in there, one by one,” I ordered, as I transferred a dozen green olives from my salad plate to hers. Her eyes grew wide in disbelief, until I slapped her inner thigh underneath the table. She put her fork down, and began to slide the olives into her love canal, one by one, until all 12 had disappeared. “Wow, they sting in there!” she whispered, as she.
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