The smaller of the guy's is starting to stroke his penis. Since I'm back down on the floor in front of them, his eruption will hose me down. I watch it nervously as I continue, "Let me sip it and tell you how it tastes, how I love it. Please, let me have 'some of that drink you've seasoned."

He holds it to my lips and I suck the foamy stuff in.. All of the sugar masks the acrid taste of sperm. But it's there. I imagine I can tell the difference in the two different loads the guys' deposited. But the coolness and sweetness and the watery ice sooth my mouth and lips. I'll get terribly drunk on this stuff. And as I sit and sip and talk about the tastes, I see that both guys are hard again, both cannons pointed directly at me. Unless something happens, they'll soon be more for me to drink, soon be globs of new green-white cum dribbling all over my face and body.

Here Come The Stocks and Bonds

Super Slut kneels here sipping and whispering and waiting for a gooey shower in her red, white and blue uniform. Her golden cape hiding the single glove that joins her elbows and launches her tits hard against the red 'S' stretched across them. The blond sits upon her six inch heeled boots and perks her wonderful twin globes back and up. Something long and hard vibrates deep within her buns while someone holds the drink she sips on, the cool drink colored to match her costume that sooths her salted taste buds. Actually the great 'S' on her chest represents just how humiliated she's been made to feel by these three, bar hopping, sluts.

Hapless and hopeless, she sips on the third drink and purrs her thanks as girls wheel in the stocks. Stocks with a paddle attached. The drunkening Super Slut's in for a lot more before this night's at an end.

In a while I'm stocked. They changed my shoes. Gone are the boots, replaced by ankle strapped sandals in shiny red that arch my feet six painful inches high and point my ass toward the ceiling. I'm bent and my hands poke through holes on either side of my head. The thing causes me to bend deeply at my hips, almost in half. Even if my curls didn't fall aroung my face to block my vision, I couldn't see much. Only with a painful effort can I look anywhere but straight downward. Gone is all view of my body, hidden behind the yoke that tethers my neck.

(Continued on Page 53)

Society Ball

Society Ball

The thing is, Tim looks great in a skirts. That's his problem. Whoa, is that ever his problem, especially since he looks better than me. Not a good idea to look better than your hot, sexy wife. And I make him pay.

Holloween. We were invited to a party. Nifty. He lost the bet on the Eagles game. He bet against them. Pity. I get to chose the costumes. He's got his on and he's very unhappy.

I'm going as a sexy girl singer for a big band. You know, all slinky and heeled and glittery. So's he, er, she. In that outfit, I call him Candy. Tim's never been out as Candy before. Oh not like this anyway. We've had him out riding at night once, in a terrific pink square dancer's outfit. There were so many crinolines, I thought he was going to suffocate in the front seat. It was all he could do to keep them from popping up and covering his face. But that was after dark and nobocy really got to see him.

Queen of the Crinolines