Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
Mr. Harrison, a client I’d only heard whispers about, watched me with an unnerving intensity. He was older, distinguished, with eyes that held a mixture of boredom and simmering amusement. This was my first session with him, and already, I felt like I’d stepped into a different dimension.
“Honey,” he’d instructed, his voice a low rumble. “Something undeniably, gloriously sticky.” My pantry offered few options at that hour. I grabbed the honey, the golden liquid thick and viscous in the bottle. Its sweetness suddenly felt cloying, almost threatening. The air in the room crackled with anticipation. Another woman, Julie, stood across from me, her face a mask of professional detachment. “Mr. Harrison has a challenge for you, Julie,” he announced, his gaze shifting between us.
Sticky Sweet
“Resist for thirty seconds. Should you fail, our lovely newcomer here,” he gestured towards me with a nod, “will have the pleasure of applying a generous amount of honey to her nether regions.” Julie smirked, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Thirty seconds? That’s easy as pie!” But the tension was palpable. Mr. Harrison’s methods were unorthodox, I realized, designed to push boundaries, to exploit vulnerabilities. Julie, despite her practiced composure, was visibly affected.
Twenty seconds. Her breathing quickened. Twenty-five. A muscle twitched in her jaw. Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… A soft moan escaped her lips, a surrender. Mr. Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. It seems our newcomer has a task to perform.” My heart pounded, followed by a strange, unsettling curiosity. I uncapped the honey, the scent filling the air. The bottle felt heavy in my hand. I approached the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling slightly. With a deep breath, I squeezed.
The honey oozed out, thick and golden, soaking into the crotch of the black nylons I was instructed to wear that evening. The sensation was unexpected. Sticky, yes, but also strangely warm and erotic. Mr. Harrison’s gaze intensified. “Now, my dear,” he said, turning his attention to me. “Let’s see how you fare. Ninety seconds. With that delightful honey already in place, I imagine the challenge will be considerable.”
Ninety seconds? With that thick, sweet warmth blossoming between my legs? The air hummed with a new intensity. I closed my eyes, trying to focus, to distance myself. But the sensation was overwhelming. The honey, the pantyhose, the weight of Mr. Harrison’s gaze, it was too much! Thirty seconds. My breath hitched. Sixty. My body began to tremble. Seventy-five… eighty… A soft gasp escaped my lips, a sound of both despair and surrender.
“Time,” Mr. Harrison announced, a hint of triumph in his voice. “It seems Julie has a sweet treat in store.” I opened my eyes, a strange mix of embarrassment and exhilaration swirling within me. Julie stepped forward, a bottle of chocolate syrup in her hand. As she began to drizzle the dark, decadent liquid over herself, I couldn’t help but wonder what Mr. Harrison would orchestrate next.
Cory 1-844-332-2639 ext 407
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