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With that I started to finger her very wet pussy and she started moaning. I had her sit as I dropped my pants exposing my rock hard 6 inch dick. I pulled her head to my crouch as she stuck my dick into her warm mouth. Almost instantly I saw her look to the right and notice that we were being watched. She stopped and told me that we were being watched and I said yes, on both sides. With that she knew I had set her up and smiled. I lifted her dress up exposing her naked breasts and her thong underwear. We definitely had captivated our audience i thought. She then went back to blowing me putting on a real show. Lots of licking slurping, even letting me gag her a few times. Finally I had her stand, pushed her thong down and bent her over with her hands on either side of the monitor. I then fucked her good and hard from behind. With in seconds she had dropped and hand to her pussy fingering her clit as I fucked her. It did not take long, but she came hard. It was all. When she was down to her bra and panties she stalled for a time by neatly folding the clothes she'd removed. All too soon though, her last scraps of clothing joined the rest and she stood helpless before him, trying futilely to cover herself with her hands. He reached out to cup the back of her neck and forced her to look into his eyes. She felt like a bird facing a snake as he offered her a deal.She could submit, totally and without reservation, while he used her to play out his kinkiest fantasies, or she could resist. Surrender would allow her to have some voice, albeit a small one, in what was done to her. She might even be able to disuade him from one act, by offering to become an active participant in something she'd find less intolerable. Physically at least, she'd be in fairly good shape when he turned her loose. Resistance would only ensure that he used physical force to get what he wanted. Depending on how much of a fight she put up, she might not live long enough for him to.
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She was Warren’s age, forty-seven. He wondered if she and his brother had ever had a more personal relationship. Sometimes when they looked at each other he thought he saw something. Florence had never married. She was no beauty, but he knew she’d had her chances. He was half convinced there was more to her zeal than just a righteous desire to destroy the woman sleeping upstairs. She’d be on hand in the morning. He hoped he’d be ready. He knew Florence’s role required no small amount of cruelty. Sorrel was curling up in another bed, an entirely different one from where she’d been the night before. It was all like some bad dream. Maybe she’d wake up and things would be different. She knew better. That man downstairs hated her. The morning broke with a loud thud. Ms. Henderson was pounding on Fletcher’s front door. Mary, still sleepy from the night before, groggily answered the door, ‘Oh. It’s you.’ Mary responded when she saw who it was. Ms. Henderson announced, ‘Yes. It’s me. I’m.

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