Do you understand?” I nodded my head quickly in agreement, feeling the juices leak down the insides of my thighs. “I said, do you understand me?�... I answered, “Yes, Sir.” “Good,” he answered before gently tracing his finger up the inside of my thigh, through the leaking juices. I wiggled and squirmed hoping his fingers would reach my burning clit, aching for touch and release. However, this displeased Sir… “You naughty, filthy slut. How dare you disobey me and move without being told?” I was. Everything felt wrong. For Michelle, in every interaction and in every touch, she sensed a deep restraint, a contrivance that even familiarity could not kill. These men did not feel natural to her, every encounter one of extreme self-consciousness. She felt artificial in their gaze. There was no passion, there was no challenge; with sex, stripped of its occult aspect, she never felt endangered, and the more she felt she lacked it, the more profoundly she felt she needed it. And this was the. More

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