Mistress Sandra was every inch a Lady who loved the Ballet and was very classy by North American standards. She was a very strict black-haired dominat...ix originally from Russia. She summoned me to Her house whenever She felt like it, to run Her errands and to buy Her groceries. She was deliciously stern and demanding with an impish sense of humour and an engaging smile, but She was a bit of a disappointment in that She never really gave me anything I wanted. She told me how Her father used to. “A part of me wants to read this badly.”“Well ... there it is now. Read away.”“That is what I am going to do.”“Ugh ... so boring.”“Well, you can always play on my computer or the Atari,” she said as she began to read the first few pages of the unlocked chapters.“Nah ... that is alright. I prefer to be next to you, anyway. It feels nice.”She took her hand and gripped onto his as she used her other hand to hold the book open for her to read. He felt her long, rodent ears press to the side.As she. All I wanted now was for my stupid fucking hand to be safe in my own fuckinglap. I had retreated as far as the stocking top when her thighs openedand then closed trapping me between them. "No." Very softly but distinctly, she uttered the only word that hadpassed between us. A long moment passed while that short word echoed inmy panicked mind. " You like this?" I whispered. No answer. Instead her thighs squeezed my hand again and thenfell open in invitation. She wanted this! My already. In desperation, he had picked Moby-Dick off his shelf of books he was supposed to have read to try to distract and console his friend and roommate. They had both readily escaped into the book from the beginning when Ishmael lamented not being able to decide whether to kill himself or someone else. At first, he wasn’t certain she was listening to the story, or just to his voice, but lately she had begun asking questions about obscure words, or asking him to repeat certain sections. These.