The man’s fingers were doing a fine job at their task. Soon, Cleopatra’s asshole buzzed with an erotic sense of foreign pleasure as he worked his finger into it and teased the muscle. Combined with her relentless pace upon his lap, her climax neared quickly, and she began to bounce with out reserve. His face was released from her chest for a moment, only to collide with a breast again, or to fall within the crevice.<br/><br/>Her moans intensified as she neared that edge, and as she let herself fall over its edge, she let out a cry of ecstasy. Her cunt exploded with trickling juices onto his clothes as she ripped an orgasm out of herself. As the ancient Queen became lost in the sea of pleasure, things began to imprint upon her mind from her prey.<br/><br/>It wasn’t what she desired, not nearly enough, but it would have to do. Things swirled in her mind which she did not understand, images that made no sense. Familiar words rang in her mind. ‘Michael Wells.’ It was the name the man had spoken, his name.<br/><br/>Cleopatra slowed her hips to a slow grind, milking out the last of her orgasm. She was unsure whether he had climaxed as well underneath her own juices. But that was of no concern.<br/><br/>“You are Michael Wells, are you not?” She demanded through her pants as she pulled his head from her breasts to stare deep into his eyes.