Every time I moved, the rough fibers rasped against my labia and clit. My legs were bound at he knees and ankles and my wrist tied behind my back.The ...itual of our Saturdays started shortly after that wonderful evening when I became my husband's sex slave. Back then, we both worked weekdays: he worked at his office job and I was a bank teller. Last August, we both quit our jobs and devoted ourselves to missionary work, spreading the Living God's messages.Rose and Daisy Cunningham ordained us. I could almost see the top part of her areolas; her nipple protruding out just a little bit. “Good view?” I raised my eyes to see Wendy was inches away from me. “Oops! My bad.” “You’re as bad as the boys in school,” she said in a wise-ass tone. Wendy stood straight and drank a few gulps from her beer. Her perfume was still hovering around, her tanned legs within inches of me. I decided to play a bit and tickled the back of her knee closest to me. With a. More

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