How could she finger herself to la petit mort while she was in close proximity with two strangers? Somehow the horror of her situation only turned the...crank up on her loin heat. She sat on the commode, after having pulled down the complicated mechanism of her black outfit. The skirt that it came with landed unceremoniously around her ankles, which was uncharacteristically unhygienic for her. Her gray panties had turned a darker shade of gray for the most part, soaked in her juices. She left. It now seemed very likely that she’d be using the hot outfit. Under her favorite pin-stripe business suit, she wore a very hot bustier. It was satin, with lace at the top, black and tight. Her breasts were pushed high and accentuated, it pinched, but it was a delightful ache that made her lust after her man. Her man. The thought brought a brief smile to her lips as she turned back to Brad. ‘Shayna, hon, don’t you know how special you are to me?,’ Brad asked her. She responded, with a sniffle. More

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