He makes me call him Master. I’ve heard others refer to him as Pinkman. I’ve never met him in person, but he forces me to answer Skype calls in wh...ch he has me take off my clothes and perform for him. These performances usually involve pain and always humiliation. I thought this was bad enough, but yesterday he raised the stakes higher.My Master leered at me with the glint in his eye he has when I am in pain. He talked to my tits, as he always did. “You fucking whore, hit your tits harder,” he. “Why don’t we take tomorrow off. No studying together, no phone calls, no text messages to each other.”“That’s getting kind of extreme,” Joan said. “I might want you to see something on my private snapchat.” Beca looked at her and grinned.“You know what I miss?” she said. “I miss you coming in dressed to kill on Mondays and sitting across where I could just watch you all through lunch while guy after guy came to hit on you.”“I’ll do it if you come to hit on me, too. Then I won’t have to. A leather belt was placed around my waist and passed through the bottom of the sling, this prevented me slipping forward or backwards in the sling. I was laid there for ages just feeling the clamps doing their work, my clit was swollen and the longer I was left like that the hornier I became with anticipation. The head sling was undone and my head fell backwards and downwards, someone was staggering my mouth, I could smell the musky smell of some woman’s pussy. She pushed that pussy against my. "Peter finished his beer and opened a second can. About half waythrough the second beer he began to feel stomach cramps. He feltbloated. He began to belch which seemed to relieve some of thepressure. He walked back to the kitchen and dumped the rest of hisbeer down the drain. It was not unusual for Peter to have three orfour beers in the evening after work, but it seemed that his tightcorset was going to put a cramp on that.Cynthia returned from shopping with two pair of jeans for Peter to.
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