Then his voice, glorious and rich like whiskey and fine resin grown in the southern valleys, “Arianna? Is that you? I was dreaming you came home.”...Nothing has changed. “It’s me,” I say, surprising myself with how girlish and vulnerable my voice sounds, the mask I have worn for three years, discarded in an instant as I see his silhouette on the stairs, “I’m home… I did it.” “It’s really you,” he says disbelievingly as he surges towards me, “Christ, what have they done to you?” My eyes thirst for. "Ooh, she's already got a tongue stud! I'd want to add more, of course, but this way I wouldn't have to wait to really enjoy her." Their hands leave my mouth, and drift lower, hers cupping my tits through my corset, his pushing my g-string aside and parting my pussy lips."Oh my god, feel this," he says to her. "I don't think I've ever felt one this wet before the auction before. Talk about a natural slave." She reaches down and plunges two fingers into me without warning. My whole body. More

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