All I could think about was sucking those tits. I looked up from her boobs to see her looking right into my eyes, smiling. "Like what you see?" she ...sked. Oh oh...busted. I tried to muster an apology, but she just laughed and told me not to worry about it. "It happens all the time. Men love my tits." she said. "Would you like to see them?" she asked. I nodded yes, mouth slightly agape, cock fully hard. She told me to follow her down a smaller trail that ran off the main trail. It was. Repeated applications of the leather did not make any difference. The cure for her, according to Mrs. Olsen, was that she was given a thorough stropping, forced to take a number of tablespoons of castor oil, thank Mrs. Olsen for each one, stropped some more, and then given a large mouthful of Mrs. Olsen's shit to eat, a tablespoonful at a time. I overheard this and never forgot it. And, I am sure, I masturbated about it a thousand times. That was my fantasy. I wanted to be taken over by. More

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