Chapter Eight
Mrs. Fenwick stands and approaches Henry. The height of the hook and inflatable phallus holding his entire weight puts the purple and glistening p***s tip just below the level of Mrs. Fenwick’s shoulders. She reaches out with her right hand, continuing to hold the scrotal cord in her left. She diddles the soft underside of the frenulum. Henry squirms in reaction to the teasing pleasurable caress.
“Impressive, is it not Joan. The male erection...such power...steadfastly prepared to initiate procreation with a simple spurt of essence. So much history has been molded in satiating its perceived needs...battles fought...territories invaded...revolutions fomented.
“Yet in many ways so easily controlled. So willing to be mastered by the assertive woman.”
Her left hand lifts,
