She wore a soft white clinging dress that revealed most of her physical assets. Marie, who was petite and much shorter than Amy, wore a white tee shir... two sizes too small that advertised her large breasts, and jean shorts that hugged her thighs. She carried a zippered sports bag. The widower invited them into the den and they all talked for a while until he finally asked, “Marie, what’s in the bag? You’ve been guarding it like a valuable treasure.” She slipped forward to the edge of her. ”“Make sure that you do.”“Yes Master.”Did we lay it on a little thick? Yes.Was it really necessary? Maybe. Maybe not.Was it being unjustly cruel? Absolutely not.You see, I wasn’t playing to Becky, The Queen Bitch, at all.I WAS playing to the little slave girl that lives deep down inside of The Queen Bitch. The one that very much needed to feel what she was feeling right at that moment.I will get into this a bit deeper when I explain to her the very real differences between how her boyfriend. More

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