There were dozens of them per breast. “Don’t you? You’re just a naughty slave that loves the pain.”Mrs. Armstrong whimpered and nodded her hea....“Do you see, Daddy?” Stefani said, her hand grabbing another clothespin. She pinched this one on her mother’s stomach between lengths of red rope crisscrossing her torso. “Mommy’s just a submissive whore.”“She is,” groaned her father. “She just needs to be controlled, doesn’t she?”“Yes, I do,” moaned Mrs. Armstrong. “I’ll just be wanton. I want to eat. Fuck. How do I tell mom I’m an owned slave now? I still don’t think I can do it.She finally entered the shower, although she remembered having a better one with two other bodies at the end of the night before Brenda drove her back to the bar. They made out while standing by her car, as ordered, before she got in. Knowing they’d made several onlookers either hard or wet, she drove home with additional satisfaction.I guess I got used to playing with Brenda. Not that I’d play with her without. More

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