Small footsteps approach my cage, and a familiar face passes by the window that lets just enough light in to be infuriatingly far away. Goddess I hate...that window. The slave girl, Mina I've started calling her, opens my cage and shuffles in to kneel, offering a piece of bread and a cup of water to me. I eat the meager meal and whisper my thanks, I know she understands the sentiment at least. She nods to me and begins her daily cleaning of my cage with a rag filthier than the torn "clothes". Brad had his eyes closed. His fist pumped up and down his shaft steadily. She heard him moan. He bent forward a little, bending his knees, and began moving his hips as if he were fucking someone, thrusting his swollen cock through his curled fingers. Kayla was panting, finger-fucking herself in a matched rhythm, pretending she was the one getting fucked. She couldn't resist moaning. Brad's eyes flew open. He looked right at her, eyes wide. For a moment, they both froze. Then he must have. More

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