My hand flew up and covered the red, sensitive area. "Why did you do that?" I hated the way my voice sounded -- all pouty and whiny, but there was no ...elping it. I hurt. And I was genuinely confused. Or at least, I told myself I was confused."Master. You will always address me as such. Just as I will always address you as slut. Unless you are deserving of worse names?" The questioning manner of that last kept me from speaking out again. I finished buckling the collar in place.I stood, quietly. I had just got out of town when my car suddenly died. I managed to getit towed to a garage, call home and get a taxi back to the apartment.On entering the apartment I noticed it was dark as the drapes weredrawn. Sitting on the sofa wrapped up reading a book, was a strangeblonde woman dressed in a pink nightie and robe. I startled her as shestood up. Looking closely it was Steve all dressed up and lookingstunning as a woman. He got really upset and I just went over andhugged him trying to calm. When it was nice and awful, Hortense posted the diatribe before running off to swimming practice or wherever she went that day.Later, an unsuspecting Ms Vanity went back to the story, hoping for more reviews, to encourage the author. Instead, to her horror, she was mocked and subject to relentless insults, along with the abuse heaped on the story! Ms Vanity was a misnomer: she in fact had no vanity at all, and she was hurt by Hortense's furious assault, which was actually fairly routine for. Sex was beautiful, fulfilling, something to savour and enjoy, and to share with others. “Remember Mavis,” Jean said with a soft reverent tone. I continued my probing, exploring every crevice, every nerve ending, fuelling Jean’s sexual thoughts for a longer journey into the past.I looked up at Jean’s face, studied her; her head was tilted back, her eyes seemed to be looking at a scene on the ceiling. She was seeing the past; I kept the fuel coming and she continued to remember. "Tell me what you.
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