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Damn that silly bitch.
Dr. Dangerfield sighed. Oh well.
Languorously, she lifted herself up from the sofa and—not before kneeling and sliding her tongue over the leather, licking her pussy juice fro
m the sofa—sauntered over to a barstool positioned in front of the bank of monitors.
Strapped in the center of the stool was a thick black silicone dildo.
Dr. Dangerfield reached for another remote, a longer, much sleeker, one, and then pressed PLAY.
It was the recording of Brenda and Roselle at the waterfall earlier in the day.
Videos were kept for no more than forty-eight hours from the time they were replayed, before they were destroyed. Any evidence of her salacious invasion of privacy erased.
Dr. Dangerfield fast-forwarded to the part where Brenda had finally joined Roselle behind the veil of water. Droplets of water had been splattered on the hidden camera’s lens, but the erotic sight was still worthy of first, second, and third viewings.
Dr. Dangerfield eased up on the stool, positioned her juicy pussy over the protruding phallus, and then lowered her body down on it, its bulbous head sinking its way into the pink, fleshy part of her quaking orifice.
Dr. Dangerfield heard H.E.R professing how she said it, her sultry voice blanketing her like warm silk. She moaned softly and twisted her pelvis, adjusting her position, so that she took the ten-inch dildo all the way in.
“All you gotta do is say yes . . .” Dr. Dangerfield sang softly as she reached for another remote. With the press of a button, she zoomed in on Brenda’s face. Her gaze suddenly drawn to Brenda’s mouth, the tip of her tongue—wet, its tip pressed to the underside of her upper lip.
Dr. Dangerfield watched Brenda’s eyes, the way they swarmed with desire; the way pleasure swirled in her pupils.
Those two seemed to fit perfectly together. They had great sexual chemistry. Dr. Dangerfield had seen it, sensed it, felt it, the moment she’d laid eyes on them.
She studied the way Roselle took Brenda from behind, the back of her cunt capturing his dick in a wet, tight grip.
“Ohhh, yesss,” she murmured as Roselle’s hands reached around and grabbed Brenda’s breasts as he drove himself into her pussy. “Fuck her good.”
Roselle pinched Brenda’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and Dr. Dangerfield cried out for her as if it were her very own nipples being tweaked.
She gripped the sides of the stool; her nails digging into its leather, and rapidly rode the harnessed dildo.
Her cunt clutching, her walls slick with arousal, as she stared into the face of Roselle as he bit the side of Brenda’s neck, his teeth sinking into her skin, marking her.
“Pretty motherfucker.”
Dr. Dangerfield rose up and then slid back down on her dildo, so long, so black, so . . . mmm . . . oh-God-yes thick.
She rotated her hips. Her blood pounded.
She went wild atop the stool, head swinging side-to-side, breasts bouncing, nipples tightening, her orgasm coiling around her uterus.
The scent of her sweet, tangy sex filtered through her nose.
The sound of her wet pussy—sloshing along the length of her dildo as she rode it, bounced on it, swirled on it—filled her ears.
Enjoying the sensuous slide of the dildo in and out of her body, Dr. Dangerfield bit her lip. Her gaze went dreamy, falling from the monitor, from Brenda, from Roselle.
She shuddered.
And came.
And all she saw in that moment were stars glittering behind her lids.
Twenty-One
