The woman who had managed to scream was stretched out on the littered floor, her right leg pointing towards me, her left leg stretched as far the othe... way as it would go. Her blouse was torn leaving her breasts bare and her skirt was rucked up to her waist. Her stockings were ripped, and the gusset of her panties was in tatters exposing her shaved vulva (funny what you notice in times of stress). The remnants of her brassiere were stuffed in her mouth forming a crude gag. A man was kneeling. I started to look around, but Susan ushered me firmly forwards.There was a comfortable chair, and what appeared to be a computer screen of some sort in front of me. There was no keyboard, however Susan lifted a helmet off the floor and gently fitted it over my head.“Comfortable?” she asked.“Yeah,” I nodded, then wished I hadn’t as the weight of the helmet was uncomfortable when I moved my head.“Good. Lie back and relax, and just be yourself.”I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by ‘be yourself’,. After drinks he walked Anne back to her car and giving her a goodnight kiss which she allowed and returned she wasn't surprised to fell a hardening cock pushing against her. This sort of meeting went on for a couple of weeks resulting according to Anne with him wanting the two of them to have sex, the problem being he lived with his parents and not wanting to take a married woman to a hotel, though I think he was just short of funds. Of course Anne wasn't going suggest our home due to the fact. It still seemed strange to have breasts and a pussy instead of a dick. I was still sitting on my bed, trying to stop myself from masturbating, when Tiffany came in. Immediately, I started to act like a slut. The worst part was, part of me wasn't acting any more. Part of me had taken on the role as reality. That's what really scared me. Tiffany came over to the bed and started to fondle one of my breasts. I was in heaven. I arched my back and thrust my tit out into her hand, aching for her.
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