She was pretty,and young. Judging from her clothing, she came from a peasant family."Aren't you hot? Surely you can take off the gloves and your big c...p. Itis summer after all"I didn't say anything. She must have wondered whether or not I was amute. She smiled and continued: "I love your suit, it fits your broadframe, but you should take it off really, it's too hot and even if youhave boyish good looks, with that, you look like a stuffy old man".She laughed a girly little laugh.I excused. She wanted him. She needed himThe wetness she felt trail down her inner thigh was proof that she was ready for him to take whatever he wanted from her. She felt a slight adrenaline surge when she realized she was willing to give him more of herself than he would even ask. Once her head rested on the bed, he reached up and gently touched her eyelids. She obediently closed them as a new wave of bumps surfed across her skin.They had played with blindfolds, ropes, clamps, and toys before. Slowly you inhale the sweet aroma and know that this is the smell that has permeated your house. You begin to head towards the back of the house. Slowly, while still carrying the gardenia and sniffing it, you glance down and notice the tender white petals that have been strewn across the floor. They form a path that beckons to you to follow. Haphazard thoughts begin to race through your mind. Who has done this? How did the person get into my home? A smile begins to slowly spread across your. Of course, I thought, as the words sunk in. I was a slave girl. The mansion, the lessons, the trainers, the routine of submission and rape - this was only a way station, a training course. At the end of it, I would be released to my fate, which was to be an unconditional, helpless, absolutely perfect pleasure slave. I could be owned by anyone - anyone, that is, with the money to buy me - and would have to obey immediately and enthusiastically the least of his or her commands. And the majority.
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