Making a Married Woman Brush Her Cunt in the Car
And so the mother-daughter cunt-juice yogurt tasting — Jeong Sangmi and Lee Jueun, sampling each other by the spoonful — came to a thoroughly successful close.
Once the tasting was over they sat down to dinner right away, or so I was told. The two of them ate their rice and soup and side dishes with each other's cunt juice still thick across their tongues, along with whatever residue had come off their sex organs and their assholes, and the clinging aftertaste of piss.
After the meal Jueun went to her own room and called me. Sangmi was still out in the living room, so she kept her voice low while she reported the results of the tasting.
She told me she'd eaten the Yoplait and the yogurt and then gone straight to scooping up rice without even rinsing her mouth with water.
When I asked how it had tasted, she said it was incredibly strange — like she could taste her own and her mom's down there in the rice and the side dishes too. Especially when she said it felt like she'd sprinkled her own piss over the rice, the banchan, and the soup, I couldn't help bursting out laughing.
I asked her how her mother had looked through all of it.
She sounded startled by the part of herself that wanted her mother's ruin, and a little sick with herself for it. But wasn't this exactly the kind of growing pain she needed if she was going to bloom into a proper female?
She couldn't manage an actual answer — just those strange little nasal whines. Conflicted, no question. Buried somewhere in her was the hunger to become a sex slave herself, the same as her mother, and be used without restraint. That hidden want was wrestling her reason to the floor; I could hear it in every breath. I could have simply pushed and she would have come along without a fight — but I wanted Jueun stained a different way than Sangmi. Slower. Deeper.
The call ended on that adorable little confession.
I hung up with Jueun and lay there resting for a while. About fifteen minutes later, Jeong Sangmi called.
Jueun was still in the house, so Sangmi had waited until she was sitting in the car in the parking garage before she dared to phone me.
The mother's instinct was still in there. And I liked her better this way.
Which was another way of saying she would do anything — anything at all — if I told her to. A complaint and a shameful confession, both at once.
Sangmi started to protest, then gave up and admitted it. It was true, so what else could she do. Heh.
For a moment there was the sound of a seatbelt unclicking inside the car, then fabric sliding down. After the rustling faded, Sangmi's voice came back.
The second she hooked her panties aside and opened her legs, juice started leaking from her cunt.
And then it came through the speaker — the thick, wet sound of a finger working a hole already slathered in mucus, squelching and dragging with every stroke.
Rush hour. An apartment underground parking garage packed with cars and people. And sitting in the middle of it, a married woman with her pants off and her legs spread, fingering her own cunt loud enough to hear — and holding the phone against it so her Master could listen to every humiliating sound.
A pretty wretched, pitiful situation, all things considered. But the sex slave herself had already forgotten how to feel sorry for herself. The pleasure spreading out from her sex had burned that away. If anything, she wanted me to toy with her harder.
The squelching sped up. I could hear her climbing toward a climax — squelch, squelch, squelch, squelch — then faster, wetter, a filthy slap of soaked flesh — schlick schlick schlick schlick—
"Ahah! Hn! Euh! Euuuuhn!"
Only after Sangmi's breath broke and spilled over did I stop her cunt-brushing.
"Haah... haah... haah..."
The moment I cut off the masturbation, her ragged breathing filled the line again.
And that was the end of Jeong Sangmi's training for the night.
She would go work out in panties soaked through with sticky slime, reeking of sex. And with every movement she made, she would feel it — that raw, overheated cunt of hers, still buzzing — and she would wait, and wait, for the next time I trained her.