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" The assistants put Roselyn down and begin to strip her down. Two of them work the tops while the others worked her bottoms. Quickly her shirt, bra, pants, and panties came off. While they were doing that Roselyn was yelling "HEYYY!!! HEYYY!!!! ¿Qué carajo?!?! They throw her onto the table and begin restraining her limbs. Roselyn nashes her teeth them but they continue their work. She is now strapped in. Megan walks over to Roselyn with the massager but before she did anything she shows it to the observers and explains its purpose. Megan says "I am now going to tie this to Roselyn's clitoris and massage her nerve endings to orgasm in 1/3 time of manual masturbation. Roselyn picks her head up and yells "Usted es un hijo de puta loca. Espero que sepas que!!" Megan smiles and calmly starts tying the massager to Roselyn's crotch. Roselyn screams out "STOP IT!!! STOP IT!!!!" Megan tests the tightness of the device and says "Lemme now tell you what to do in words you'll understand. Es hora. “You really are my sex slave, aren’t you?” I taunted Allie as I buggered her some more, reveling in her tightest hole.“Totally!” Allie confirmed, biting her lower lip some more as I ravaged her booty good and hard from the back.“Want me to slap your ass, too?” I asked her as I stopped buggering her just long enough to start recording us.“Yes, sir, but this isn’t my ass anymore, Master. It’s yours! Your ass! It belongs to you now!” Allie gasped as I drove deeper up her tush.“Well, well, I’ve opened up the Pandora’s box to your true sexual nature, haven’t I? You’re a natural-born subbie, an abject slave to your Master’s will, aren’t you? You’d do anything that I asked of you, wouldn’t you? You’d pose nude, do amateur porn, any and all of it, wouldn’t you? I want my name inked on your buns, both of your cheeks ... and on your lower back. It should read ‘Property of Jack Phelps’ in all three places, and maybe right above your twat, too, as that’s mine as well, isn’t it? The same with your.
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Yeah he had a place. It wasn’t exactly a real place, an apartment condominium near the beach, about a half a block in. He could go there. It was November, there were still people, but the huge crowds of summer were all long gone. He’d always loved the ocean, the cold grey waters of the Atlantic, the rough choppy sea, the steady drone of the waves lapping against the sand. He could lose himself there, get away. He had friends there, not great friends, but people he knew, people a lot like him, people who worked hard, people who still valued honesty and frank, straight forward, manly conversation. Yeah he had to get away. He’d get Max to buy him out. He’d sell everything. No he’d keep the penthouse. He liked the penthouse. It was his. She’d never been there. She’d never contaminated it. She almost had, but dumb luck had prevented it. He’d go to the beach, he’d make a fresh start. Peter pulled to the side of the road. He’d have to sell his truck, it smelled too much like her, that.

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