I start to get a bit nervous, but turned on, as he caresses my silk tie (which is knotted perfectly in a Windsor against my button-down collar). Sudd...enly, there is a knock on the door. He gives me a sinister looking smirk, and asks me if I am sure that I'm ready. All I can do is nod my head, and quietly ask "who's at the door?" My question is ignored, and he tosses the bottom end of my tie over my shoulder. The door opens to two guys, both resembling the typical frat boy persona, nicely. ? I lower my body as far as the chains allow. My bondsare just long enough to allow my lips to touch the shiny black leather ofSister Ruth?s boots. I begin to cover her boots with gentle, delicate kisses. Ifeel the weight of my guilt begin to slip away as I lose myself in the rhythmof kissing. Each month for six years I have been visiting thissmall room to kneel in confession before Sister Ruth. She offers spiritualinstruction to males who suffer from the afflictions of fetishism, masochismand. A week ago, I would have been horrified to discover that.Now it made me happy.So there I was. Standing there in my bra and panties, answering to thename of Francesca. My male clothes lay in a heap, discarded, along withmy masculinity. "Stockings or tights?" she asked."Stockings," I said in a fraction of a second."Stay-up, or do you want a garter belt?" Garter belt, of course," I said. "I thought we were supposed to benaughty schoolgirls." You might want to take it slowly," she said. "You've. In my gut, not my brain. "Thanks."Suddenly she said, "Stop! Baby, stop for a second. Aaaahhhh!" What? What? Is something wrong?" I want to see your face."Quickly we moved into deeper water, till we were up to our shoulders. Then I moved her up against a handy ladder, where she sat and spread her legs wide, and looked into my eyes. She slipped her arms around my neck as I slipped inside her again and started moving. Just as quickly she dug her nails in my back."Oooohhh, shit. Shit! Ooohhh, shit!.