In truth she had no idea what she was doing; two weeks ago she had never even kissed a boy. Then she'd been abducted, tied down with her face obscured... gang raped by her own unknowing father and so many others, and had barely left the house since. Now she sat on the bed, running her hands up her pale, firm young body and through her thick red hair, part of her hoping these boys would make a move while another part screamed silently for her to stop. She reached out to the nearest boy, grabbing. * * * * * She was alone, that was the first thing that I noticed when I answered the doorbell, and she carried a sports bag with her – white, frilly, with a pink logo and no doubt incredibly expensive. Her blond hair sparkled in the summer sun. “Please come in,” I offered, and she passed me with a smile, setting her bag down on the coffee table and slipping off her thin blazer. I almost gasped when I saw the deliciously tiny white bikini top she was wearing, small triangles of nothing that. I was finally hers. My long hours of felatio and constantly tasting hercrotch and anus were not only normal but had reached the stage ofexpected. My pleasure was no longer an issue and my tears reflectedthat. I whimpered and cried as my Mistress took notice."What's wrong my sissy?" She almost sounded sincere."Mistress," I spoke through my tears, "I feel like I've lost my identityand can't find pleasure on my own." You don't have an identity sissy! You're my fucking whore and that isall you. .The song ends way too soon, as she grabs a large peacock fan and fedora from one of the girls walking around away.She sets the hat on the stage and open the fan while lifting her shirt. The next song comes on, and you make eye contact as she lifts her shirt, hiding her bra beneathe the feather fan.The audience groans, as she bends over, her clevage tempting over the fan.She puts on the hat, turns around and bends over, shaking her ass in your face.The skirt shakes off of her body to the floor,.
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