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"Once robert fills your mouth with his cum, you can forget about ever fucking my pussy," she said, taunting him.
"In fact once he comes in your mouth, there will never be pussy for you again."
Chloe returned to the sofa, sitting herself down next to robert, gently sucking on his nipples, her tongue lazily snaking its way down her slave's chest until it converged with the frenzied mouth of her reluctant houseguest.
Her left hand tugged michael by the leash and coaxed him ever deeper and ever more forcefully down robert's engorged cock while her right hand slid up from the base of that cock to meet michael's greedy lips wrapped around the very instrument of his ultimate enslavement.
As for robert, he was lost in his own world of sensation. Moments like this were Chloe's way of rewarding him for learning to accept his submission to her. He knew that once he came in the other man's mouth, that poor wretched excuse for a "Friday night date" would be relegated to her stable to learn lessons of his own.
Finally, robert could take no more, bucking his hips, clenching his fists, closing his eyes, he began to shout, "Chloe, I'm coming! I'm coming!" thrusting the wellspring of his slave essence deep into michael's throat.
Chloe lived for moments like this. Having had already recruited one victim, inexorably leading him by the leash into a life of slavery, she had succeeded in using him to ensnare and enslave another.
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Every spring there is a conference on homoerotic photography and live art performance at the AstroHall Convention Center.
The main attraction this year was a particularly remarkable threesome posing for the pleasure of the studio photographers orchestrating today's featured photo shoot.
Chloe, had been inducted as the "Queen of the Ball", dressed regally in a southwestern denim dress textured in sequins and pearl embroidery, accented by an over-sized silver and turquoise concho belt complete with a "rodeo champion bull rider" belt buckle.
The Queen was posing proudly for the cameras, wearing as her crown a white "Texas Proud" ten gallon hat, occasionally waving it in the air, holding two leashes in her other hand, her alligator leather boots literally standing head and shoulders above two lost souls who had toiled long and hard to provide her with hours of cheap entertainment.
Beneath her boots for all the world to see were two very naked men with tattooed buttocks, kneeling side by side on all fours, straining under her weight. The exhibit signs identified them as robert and michael. No one would ever know their last names.
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Your comments, criticisms, votes are greatly appreciated. Feel free to e-mail me.--Oti
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