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The gods only know how I stood there. The orders were simple, I was not to interact at all. Standing motionless, at a sort of parade rest, wearing only a towel, unable to anything, still drooling around the ball gag, and listening intently to the dance of two women flirting and preparing to fuck. It was unbearably hot, blisteringly so. I knew the tone in her voice so well, it gave me goose bumps, she was turned on. I could imagine from the tone and the way she talked what her body language would look like, how wet she was the type of eye contact she was making. Yes, oh yes my friends, blisteringly flesh boilingly hot. At some point I realized the talk had mostly stopped, and the small sounds I was hearing were the audible ingredients of an intense make-out session happening a room away from where I stood. The padded sounds that came next were bare feet moving from the kitchen to the couch someones flesh brushing my own unexpectedly as they passed and took a seat mere feet from me. It had to have been two hours I stood there all together. Listening to the intensity of their foreplay rise, trying to keep my breathing level my cock straining against the towel, rock hard and throbbing. I never moved. Muscles all over my body began to ache, mostly my abs, feet and calves. I could feel my own drool running over my, down my neck into my chest hair. I could hear their breathing, moving and writhing on the couch, little moans, excited grunts, the sounds of lips meeting and parting clothes being It all stopped suddenly, I could hear whispering but not what was said. They freed themselves from the couch, and silence no discernible movement, no talk nothing. Out of nowhere my towel was snagged off roughly, a hand then grabbed my cock assertively and held it forcefully. “Do it ” A hard slap to my face, unexpected, shocking, drawing my breath from my lungs by sheer surprise. I forced myself to avoid reaction. “See I told you He wont do anything Meet my toy.” San Casciano in Val di Pesa married chatwho made a sensory experience out of all-natural elements. My clothing was picked out for me. Hiking gear rigid canvas material shorts, light jersey cotton tank, tall socks and well-lived boots. Underwear was already present on my person which is why I left it out of the articles put out for me. After I had changed I was blindfolded and a pair of soft satiny gloves were slipped over my hands. To be denied my sense of sight was a nominal aggravation but to be denied touch in what I anticipated would be such a tactile excursion was frustrating enough to make me sit, arms crossed and sullen, in the passenger's seat all the way there. Once at the trailhead he took my hand and swung me around in the seat to where my feet out the open door. My boots and socks were as my brows knit in a perplexed fashion above the blindfold. I was guided, padding through soft duff and underbrush, for what felt like an eternity. I had no concept of space or time. All I could focus on was the textures and surfaces under my feet. Sometimes at footfall would land on a stick which would subsequently snap up and jab me in the most tender spot of an arch and I would hiss out curse. In a futile gesture I kept raising my free gloved hand to feel along surfaces but finding that to be not so helpful with the barrier of fabric between my hand and each surface; mainly the bark of trees. It is amazing how sensitive one area becomes and dulled another when you cover or remove coverings. How times have you trod with bare feet and gloved hands for any length of time? I was walking and stumbling like a drunk. Eventually the terrain under my feet changed to cooler but rough stones and rocks. At one point I felt flesh tear and give in a small scrape as I half-skittered half-blundered over stones. After a minute I heard rushing water, a void of stillness and more rushing water. At the same time I felt cool soft moss carpeting my treacherous steps. discreet relationship
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