I wanted Arlen to make my pussy sore, not her rubber cock.Finally, I just collapsed onto my face. She withdrew and gave me a kiss on each cheek, then ...ound my asshole with her tongue while rubbing my clit with her fingers. She got off the bed and retrieved something else from the drawer.“What's that?” I asked.“Anal beads,” she told me. “Don't worry. They're clean. I'll use these graduated beads, so you'll be starting small and work your way up. Now, back on your knees.”She applied a bit of lube. However, this presents another opportunity to mould her thinking. "Vyerka", I begin, using once more the slave's version of her name, the version she applied to herself. "Recently I pointed out that you now wore slavery as a uniform and not as a fancy dress costume. There is a deeper truth. You are a slave. In a previous life, you did not soil your hands with domestic work (as you might put it) but we have now stripped that cloak from you. You stand naked as you really are. Domestic work, any. More

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