A pair of hands was stroking my round ass cheeks through my tight skirt. I should normally be offended, but that soft contact felt so good…It was no... an aggressive groping. Those hands were exploring the contours of my firm butt as though it was a masterpiece of art. Stifling a low moan, I pushed slightly back into the hands and I was rewarded with more vigorous stroking. Because of the crowd in the elevator, I could not turn my head to see who was feeling me up. The hands started to become. . something. I think that Little One sent more than she intended. When I thought of that, a large group of memories suddenly unfolded in my mind. It's ... hell, they're obviously Jill's memories. I see men doing things to me/her, I feel pain, humiliation. Oh, shit, Baby, she was a slave, a true sex slave. She couldn't stop herself, and I can feel her trying. I see men laughing, and I see one face over and over. He raped her, ordered her to do things, humiliated her, took her to other men. I see. More

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