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Why did she keep going back?

We both know that, and now that we've met, I'm going to get to borrow you. I'll punish you eventually. You'll be my whore for a weekend at a time when your Mistress is away, left in my care for a very modest fee, maybe, playing the whore in truth. You'll be tongue deep in-"

And she was.

While Emma was laying out ground rules, I'd been plotting. I had a whole speech prepared. I was going to convince Heather to lick me, to make things even. I'd planned to seduce her into her first punishment of the night. I felt stupid now, having touched her first, thoughtlessly conceding the first victory to her without even getting to second base out of the deal. If I couldn't convince her, I'd wait her out, refusing to touch her at all without her willingly breaking the first rule, taking on a punishment.

Instead, I could barely think. One of the advantages of being a slut is the sexual prowess that goes with it, and the tonguing being delivered by this girl's mouth was the result of years of intense practice, training for cunnilingual performance the way Communist bloc countries train for the Olympics. I felt the edges of my orgasm almost immediately; I had a moment of panic cross me that, somehow, by cumming first, I was letting her win, or that it was the female version of premature ejaculation, an embarrassment in its suddenness, when she stopped just as quickly as she started.

"You talk too much. Hee." She half-said, half-giggled that last, every ounce the pleased little girl who has found a new game. The momentary distraction was enough to chase back the orgasm a bit. It was one of the very few times in my life that I've actually been happy to see an orgasm knocked off its rails, thinking it a point of pride not to instantly orgasm the minute a pretty girl touched me down there.

She returned to her ministrations, more slowly this time, seeming to savor it now that the initial "do I or don't I" question had been resolved, her tongue starting at my opening, just barely dipping into me before softly and steadily dragging up and across my clit. Each of these long laps was punctuated by a soft little kiss, wrapping her full lips around my clit and just barely fluttering her tongue just across the tip before releasing it and licking her way back to where she started.

She was constant, methodical, slowly building an orgasm the way a hunter builds a fire, all meticulous attention and steady movements, feeding the ravenous heat just one tiny morsel at a time, growing incrementally into a thing of power.

"Fuck, slut, that feels incredible. You are a skilled little cuntlapper, aren't you?" Playing with Heather, even online, I'd become familiar with some of her buttons. She enjoyed reveling in her own carnal depravity, wanted to live and relive her moments of pussy-clenching debasement. I was generously providing soundbites.

"No, ma'am." Emma actually tsk-ed at me and continued, "No, we'll not have the pot calling the kettle black. At the moment, you're both my sluts, of equal status. There will be no condescending attempts at taking charge of one another; I am in charge here, you uppity little bitch." The "I" was punctuated by a cane across my ass. I could only assume she'd had it tucked in among the cushions or under the couch or something. Back to her as I was, even craning my neck, I couldn't see her clearly. "I would have let you play your little games if I hadn't had my game ruined, but you spoiled it. Now you've irritated me. She's not the only veteran cuntlapper here. Get busy. I want to see what you can do. If you can get her to make any fun little noises, I might not feel as put out."

Heather's mouth paused, unable to resist a chance to stir the pot, "You heard her.

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