Alma had been just about to pour a new set of pancakes. Alma pressed her butt against me when I moved my hands down and slid them under her t-shirt an... back up to her breasts. Alma wasn't wearing a bra, none of the women, Emily, my mom, Alma, wore a bra around the house, much to the delight of me, Dad and Joseph. Her heavy breasts were a warm weight in my hands, smooth, soft and yet firm when I lifted them, her nipples beginning to harden as I fingered them while I continued to kiss Alma's. He would know this as well, and she would be strangely happy in her further humiliation, which her Master would also know, and yet again, her burning need would only grow stronger, her pussy only wetter.On and on it would go, until it would seem as if she existed only to be on some kind of a perpetually sadistic and erotic Merry-Go-Round of humiliation, shame, and intense need.Yes, all of this was reflected in her voice, never mind the words. However, her tone also carried another hidden note,. More

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