My mother was this woman's sex slave. The reality was really, really hitting me as the dominatrix strolled to us, her hips rolling. Pussy juices gleam...d on her shaved flesh.My futa-cock twitched and throbbed in my panties, fighting to get out.“Slave, strip,” the dominatrix said, her Russian accent thick and exotic. It gave her an even more of an icy edge. A natural bitchiness that demanded obedience.“Yes, Ms. Petrov,” my mother said and attacked the buttons of her blouse.My head swiveled as Ms.. She picked up her dress, "I only have the one. I shall have to make another." That it is your only one makes it rare and more valuable and that it is yours she will know."Helena waited and when it became clear that he would not give the garment back, put on the wool frock without it. "Will she wear such a thing?"He laughed, "No!" then he kissed her, "but she will cherish it, no doubt. You gave her much pleasure. Few have done that."Helena was able to remain collected through the serving of. More

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