She was in her early 30’s.And in great shape. Her slender curves appeared distinctly below the tight salwar she used to wear on most days. Her boobs...were lush, not too big but hugged perfectly to her salwar. I often got a hard on staring at her through my balcony when she’d sit in their front yard on that swaying chair. I wanted to fuck her. Tear that salwar off her lustful body, feel her beneath me, her rhythmic breaths and moans on my ears. Of course it was all a fantasy and I never expected. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. The weights add to my discomfort, and I moan as more tears begin to flow… while the dreaded Mentor studies me… too intensely. His eyes seem to burn into my soul. I see in his eyes the danger of which he is capable. But he also seems to be drawing energy from my fear. He seems addicted to it, and cannot draw his attention from me. Eventually, he returns back to his chair, so that they can further observe my torture together. I don’t know how long I have been. More

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