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I was in no mood for this. My stomache was lurching, and the room was still spinning wildly, so I deployed my secret weapon: the loudest, meanest bellow I could muster. "You SLUT! Who the fuck do you think I am?!" Her response surprised me: "master, she whispered, don't hurt me. I'll do anything." My muddled brain was too fuzzy to respond, and I stood there with my mouth hanging open. Marsha moved toward me and fumbled for my cock, and I watched with amazement as an appendage I could barely feel, much less focus on, sprang to life in her hand. Still cowering on the bed like a submissive puppy, Marsha sucked my stiff rod into her mouth, shoving it all the way back and down her throat, tickling my balls with her long, polished nails, deep-throating me for all she was worth. I wish I could say it felt great, because it probably did from the perspective of my cock, but my brain seemed completely disconnected, and I have no recollection of any physical sensation until my balls started to spasm, and I began to see cum oozing out from around my disembodied tool as Marsha vainly struggled to contain my explosive orgasm in her mouth.

Still confused, I yanked my semi-stiff cock out of her mouth, slapped Marsha across the face and screamed, "Whore!" Wasn't Frank good enough for you, yesterday? Suddenly, Marsha's mood changed. Her brow furrowed, and she pulled the sheets up around her neck, scooting back against the head of the bed, and when her mouth opened, her scream was flecked with spittle mixed with sticky cum: "What the FUCK are you talking about, you FUCKING bastard?" Those "F's" and "T's" were really ...

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