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She only realised when stretched over the edge, lain across Clementine and mouth-to-mouth, what was going on. She was backed onto the audience, thighs split in a wide V, as her partner reached under and teased her clit. Their mouths remained locked, Clementine’s arm embracing her neck as those fingers went strumming. Clarissa’s sense of exhibitionism magnified. She was bent over as her lover rubbed her to frenzy−ass, vulva, interior folds all on display. The realisation only heightened her excitement. She peaked in the knowledge that her clenching rump was watched by all. Including the shitheel whose voice oozed in her ear as she came. “Clarissa, you filthy bitch. This is fucking outstanding.” The words stayed in her head as her body spasmed, cunt squirting hard all over the exterior of the bowl. He had put her here and it felt so good she couldn’t even hate him. The stage went to black, music blaring, audience rowdy with appreciation. As the stage-motion wheeled them backstage,. "Thank you, Master," I said, automatically, as soon as the bottle left my lips. Then, a second later, "Master, slave begs to speak." "Speak, slave," his reply. Again I was following protocol as I spoke, "Master, slave thanks Master for being allowed to drink. Slave begs Master to be allowed to renew Masters taste in slaves mouth." A condition of my slavery was that at all times the last taste in my mouth was to be the taste of my Master, either his cock or his cum. So every time I was allowed to eat or drink I was required to beg to renew that taste. It was his rule and I could not remember his ever having failed to oblige me in that plea, even when, as now, he had just had his cock in my mouth moments ago. The taste that I was begging for however could be his cock or his cum, and I now learned what he had been about while I had knelt open-mouthed and waiting. He walked back to the counter and returned immediately, without the water bottle, but holding instead a ball gag. It was a.
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