By the time Peggy got home it was only seven- o -clock. But I felt like I had been with those guys for days, instead of only two hours. Oddly enough I now wished one of them had fucked me, instead of just humiliating me with their dicks.
I stripped and got into a hot shower. It wasn't easy getting dried cum out of my hair, but the hot water felt good. I wondered if I could go back to work Monday.
What if they told somebody or worse yet they might have taken a video?
Technically they had abused me, but how could I prove it. In the end It was just my word against theirs and I did go to Richards office for drinks.
I put on my favorite sweatpants and a warm shirt; turned off my phone and crawled into bed. I slept fitfully, tossing and turning most of the night. I slept until ten o'clock Saturday morning, waking up with my hand between my legs: feeling guilty and frustrated. I was not the kind of woman to masturbate. After the divorce, a well-intentioned girl friend gave me a penis shaped vibrator. I was too embarrassed to use it. But one Friday night, after a few glasses of wine. I slipped into bed and tried to get in the mood by sucking it and rubbing it all over my face. I was disappointed; it was noisy and cold, and not for me. Nothing worked. I needed a man with a hard cock to put me in my place, not some rigid plastic toy. I missed having a cock dripping with pre cum that I would first have to suck on till it was rock hard and then be pounded doggy style; before he forced me to let him finish on my face. Only then, could I feel like a real woman; with cum dripping off my face and a sore pussy. I made a cup of coffee and decided to stay in my sweats and feel sorry for myself.
About two in the afternoon,I realized my phone was off. As soon as I switched it on it started ringing, startling me. It was Richard, I didn't answer until the fifth ring, my hand trembling.
I chose a black half cup bra trimmed in lace, a waist cincher, matching bikini briefs and of course off black stockings. I looked at myself in the mirror, as I fastened my stockings pulling them high on my legs. I'm dressed like a whore, for some guy young enough to be my son. As I twisted to attach the garters in the rear, I realized my boobs were completely exposed. I struggled to get my girls back into the lace cups. The phone call with Richard had lasted five minutes at the most. He told me what he wanted; what to wear and when to be at his apartment. There was no room for me to object, there was no question in his voice. It was final. I was his to do with whatever he wanted. Never asking me what I wanted. I pulled on a black sweater dress that buttoned up the front, the material clung to my every curve, four-inch spike heels and dark eye shadow plus a black choker with a tiny bell on it. Along with my hair in a French twist, I was every man's jerk off dream.
I had no idea what was in store for me, or who was going to be there. The one thing I did know, my pussy was tingling in anticipation; God knows I wanted to be dominated.
I circled his block twice before parking my car. What's wrong with me? I thought to myself. Look at the way I'm dressed. I should just go home and ignore that creep.
I timidly climbed the steps and walked toward the front door: it was open. I knocked anyway and I heard Richard say "come in."
I stepped inside to a small living room, where Richard was sitting back on a couch. He was alone, I didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed there was no one else.
"Welcome to my house" He said.
" I almost didn't come," I whispered
