The Look Of Indian Lust While Feeling Differently

The confident smirk has departed, replaced by an expression rawer to our gaze, uncertain & downright apprehensive, fearful even. Great sagging bags appear under formerly bright blue peepers, purplish & pregnant looking, adding years to a youthful mug. Finally a last jaunt, picking up to find our man in question out for the count, in bed with the sheet clutched tightly to his chest. The Spark, wide-eyed fresh faced gleam glimpsed before is long disappeared, replaced by a fathomless stare that takes in everything, all filters of boundless idealism ruthlessly stripped away to reveal a barely beating heart, terminally fatigued, heavily shell-shocked spirit, all that’s occupying that mind now is the blissful thought of rest, sitting sidelined nursing an empty tank, wondering where it all went wrong, not a smidgeon of will left to rejoin the rat race, go go go GONE. I’m sure you can deduce this lost soul is the very personification of our endpoint, walking wounded times a billion, wrung. There we stood in a cinderblock building.It was empty, but looked like a small warehouse/garage.It was February, so there was quite a bitter chill.The place had a large old fashioned wood burning stove heater.Near it was blastingly hot, but further away it was increasinglycold. Brandi and I stood there, she in a red cocktaildress, me in denim skirt and blouse, very sexy. I shivered.I could feel my nipples hard under the blouse, and I couldsee Brandi’s standing out. “Her highbeams on”, asan old boyfriend once described it. The room was fairly dimly lit, a few dim naked lightbulbs.The red glow from the stove flickered, causing weird shadows.There was about eight big muscular guys there. Two of themblack. Two white women. And our Mistress, and Master.About a dozen witnessing this. “There’s the door.” said Master. “Your choice.”I looked at Brandi. She licked her lips nervously, andlocked eyes with.
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