She always wears the same thing–a cotton dress, sandals. Her hair, undone and loose, the waves cascading down her shoulder blades, caressing her ski..., just a hint of sweat. Everything just the same as it was the day she saw Rowan. Five years ago now, hard to believe. She was younger then, just a few years out of college. Back then, nearly every day she wore a cotton dress and sandals. It was pretty much her uniform. Five years ago, the day had come to her as a gift–all her work appointments. Before I pull my hand away, I gently massage your pussy. “Master says, play with your tits,” I say. Your free hand reaches up, massaging one breast then the other, gently pulls on your pierced nipples, as you struggle to move your tied hand to help out of instinct. “Master says, sit down on the floor, knees up, legs spread open.” You struggle to sit on the ground with only on hand, but you finally make it. “Finger yourself,” I demand, you hesitate at first, but the tone of my voice makes. More

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