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But I’m going to keep working on her!” Chip explains to his young friend. Just then, the sliding door to the house opens and Chip’s wife Lisa steps out, as if on cue. Lisa is 23 and has been married to the much older Chip for only a year. She is strikingly beautiful, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Since Chip loves to show her off, she is flaunting her gym toned body in a hot pink thong bikini, her bountiful d-cup tips straining the skimpy top. Also at Chip’s direction, the 5’6 beauty is wearing a pair of matching hot pink, closed toe stiletto pumps with 5 inch heels. J.J. drinks in the sight of the luscious beauty. Even though he genuinely likes Chip, he finds himself puzzling over how his somewhat sketchy friend managed to score such a hot young wife. “Hi, J.J!” Lisa gives the young stud a friendly greeting as she clicks her way towards the love seat, positioned across from where the teen and her husband are sitting. “Wait! Stop!” Chip suddenly calls out. “Wha…?” Lisa asks,. I have a laptop bag on my lap and I rested it on my chest. Now, I just embraced the bag such my my left hand on my right shoulder. While I doing this I touched her ass with back of my hand pretending that it happened accidentally. Now, she just moved to front a little but I did not remove my left hand from my right shoulder. After some time she again leaned on my seat and now her ass is touching the back of my hand. I felt the smoothness of her butt and those are irresistible. She is completely resting her butt on my hand when driver is applying brakes. I did not try to hold them but turned my hand such that she is now touching my palms and I am waiting for her reaction. But, she is behaving quite normal like before. Now I did a bold thing, cupped one butt lightly such that my fingers in her ass crack. She just turned to me stared for a moment (does not look serious and not encouraging as well) and again turned that side.I did not understand her intentions but still I rested my hand.
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I see that every pair of eyes are on me, until I remember my orders and quickly lower my gaze submissively down. At the far side of the stage, a man, the auctioneer I assume, stands behind a lectern. A Slaver guard, unshaven, also stands at the back of the stage, armed with a goad. From the middle of the stage, the catwalk extends out between the rows of seats. I must pass very close to the chairs – I will be inches from all these men.But the compulsion from my implant is everything. I begin to walk down the catwalk, stepping gracefully in a way which accents the movement of my hips. There is a cheer from the crowd as I sashay along, accompanied with much taunting. I hear comments and abuse shouted from all directions, almost all of it about my physical appearance. My hands, at my sides, are trembling as I continue up the narrow runway, trying not to burst into tears. “Gentlemen, we present lot thirty-four,” begins the auctioneer. ““Coora” is a particularly fine example of females.

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