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It’s...it’s a bloody tent .” “I’ve always slept in fetish it,” I replied defensively. She was staring at it with horrified fascination. “It would strangle me,” she said. “It’s an offence against human rights, that’s what it is. Do you really enjoy sleeping in it?” “I always have.” It lingerie sounded silly even to my own ears the second time around. “Well,” she said, sitting on her bed, leaning back on her elbows with her legs apart, “why don’t you try doing without it?” It was one of those moments that change lives. To this day I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d merely turned towards the bathroom with the Mother Hubbard draped over my arm. Instead, I looked at her – really looked, for the first time since she had taken her clothes off. She was amazingly, achingly beautiful. Imagine her body, in the light of the one table lamp that was burning – like a marble statue, the light shining on the tops of her breasts, outlining the discs of her areolae, her nipples jutting like little bullets into the air. The plain of her belly, with the deep well of her navel a pit of shadow, more shadow covering the triangle between her slim, muscular thighs. She raised a hand, and her fingers were like birds perverted flying through the night. “We’ll be living together in this room, you know,” she said. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about if there is nothing left to hide.” I looked at her for what seemed a very long time but must have been only twenty or thirty seconds. There was a metallic taste in my mouth and my heart was hammering. I could barely feel my lips moving, forming words. “All right,” my mouth said. I didn’t know until I’d said it that I was going to say it. I probably was going to say something like “Well, maybe sometime else,” and walk off to change into the Mother Hubbard in the tiny bathroom. But at that instant I had a mental image of my mum, and the look in her eyes that always proclaimed “I gave birth to you, so you’re my property, and you’ll do what I tell you.” Part of me suddenly decided I didn’t have to anymore. My body – I can still remember it clearly – took over control from what remained of bizarre my conscious will. My arm straightened, and dropped the Mother Hubbard to the floor; I never wore it again, and a week later I threw it away. My hands domina went to the bottom of my T shirt, pulled it up and off my torso. My tracksuit bottom followed, and there I was in my bra and panties and nothing else. But the trappings were important. Just like Randal did but much more violent. "Really? I placed the flask back inside my back fetish and pulled the blanket higher. Night Eyes took full advantage of my vulnerability. But I’d never ever looked domina at it. “I’m ready,” she said. Jeeze…” Everyone laughs. All that could be heard was the scratching of pencils and the occasional cough. lingerie "Okay, please Miss Webster, show me your sexy tits so I can stare at them while I finger myself," I pleaded. I slapped her hard across the face. “Twice vaginally and three times anally perverted Sir.” He pushed his finger in deeper. Clark continues to stare at the frame. It was totally different to naked boys. I stayed in my office doing paperwork noticing time was flying by. “What,” Jeff and Candy said in a rough unison. behold, on my 18th birthday Danny came to pick me up I ran my hands bizarre down her back and slid my fingers in between her ass and her jeans.