Indian Kitchen
I was now their slave, their sex object. I knew that whenever they called, I would be there and would have to subject myself to this and more. I would probably be subject to new and even more extreme humiliation if that was possible. Brian’s finally withdrew and the prick which I had been sucking quickly took its place in my mouth. I don’t know hoe, but my throat was temporarily dry and I struggled to do this prick justice, until within a couple of stokes he erupted in my face. With Winston now upping the tempo as his giant prick ploughed my guts and with Brian and whoever assaulting my nipples, the next half an hour became of blur as I sucked and was face fucked by the gang of men in the room. One after the other they used my face to dump their spunk. Some a dribble, some erupted what seemed like a pint of the thick creamy liquid. One after the other they spewed their spunk in and on my face, wiping their wilting pricks on my hair and my uniform shirt. Some of those that had use me. If she was going to go she had to wear what she had on! The trip to the mall was heart stopping, Pamela could barely concentrate on the road and missed her turn off to the mall twice. Once inside she walked slower and slower toward the food court, “what am I doing, this is so wrong, so damn sexy,” As she gazed across the food court she could see the crowed areas around the perimeter, mostly teenagers, the younger girls cruising in packs with the boys watching from the sidelines. Pamela also noticed men watching her, “Damn I must look like a hooker in this outfit!” As she stood looking for the girl Pamela almost felt naked, “I should have worn my panties, and a damn jogging suit” As that thought passed her mind she sighted the girl, sitting alone in a booth, about as private a location as the mall food court provided. Pamela started to turn and go, maybe she hadn’t seen her and this craziness could stop before it had a chance to start! But the girl caught Pamela’s eyes and she went.
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