Cynthia had for some town been having sex with slaves. She hated herself and hoped no one would ever find out. When she finished working on it's back ...she ordered it to turn over. It whimpered that it didn't have any wounds but on it;s back. "Are you questioning me?" Cynthia yelled. At the same moment she got up and grabbed the weakened slave by it's hair and foot flipping it over violently. The thing tried to cover it's breast and sex with it's hands. Cynthia grabbed it's arms and placed them. We both seemed to be nearing the end based on our shortened breaths that we took. With each thrust in her, her perky little tits bounced just a little. God Damn. She was a gift from God, perfect in every way imaginable. I played with her nipples while I thrust myself ever nearer to the end. I rubbed them with my thumbs and other fingers bringing them erect again and hearing those porn star moans escape her mouth. I couldn’t take much more but she pushed my limits. She started kissing and biting. ” “pm?” “Yes, pm.” “Oh well…” “Ah I have it!” Mr Cavatorre pulled out a manilla-coloured file and held it up, waving it triumphantly. He sat on the sofa opposite and flopped the file onto the table. “So let us see,” he said, examining the folder. It contained a wad of aged documents and he proceeded to sift through the papers. He read the headers on each one, mumbling in Italian. “Ah!” “What?” He smiled and raised a finger, carefully comparing our letter with a particular sheet. “Yes,. My tits fully exposed in the intricate knotted rope configuration he had me in. “What if someone comes walking up here?” I asked. “Like one of your neighbors coming over to borrow a rake or a cup of sugar?” “I guess we’ll have to deal with that if it that happens,” he said as if my concern was just over me strutting around in a bathing suit that was a tad immodest. I thought he was joking, but after a while, we got into a very pleasant and ordinary conversation about thing that had nothing to.