<strong>Susan Cochrane<br/>In a Bar's booth<br/>Getting Done</strong><br/><br/>A moment of raw panic - it was hard to breathe, then Susan gripped the far end of the table, gritting her teeth.  She wasn't quite ready for this.   "Mara!'  Not ready at all.  Swallowed against the whip, swallowed again and damn it was ahrd to breathe that hand at her folds, those fingers in her tunnel weren't gentle at all, the fingers hooked slightly, nails scraping at her inner walls - "Stop, sTOP!"  The scream the Domme wanted.  Susan shuddered, swallowed again.  Or tried to.  She could still breathe but not it was with a rasp, couldn't swallow, had to keep her airway as clear as she could.<br/><br/>So she pushed some saliva out of her mouth with her tongue, drooling onto the table.<br/><br/>Part of her, the small still rational part thinking this was one hell of a bad position to be in.<br/><br/>A larger part just digging in, hardening her grip on the table edge, getting set for the ride.  And she gave her Domme what she wanted again,  "Pleeeeaagghhhk!"