I lived on their farm in a small apartment at one end of the barn. There was also a 38-year-old woman named Christine who was tall and beautiful, with...big tits under her work clothes. She wore short shorts and showed off her long brown legs. Christine was strict and guided me firmly through the work day.I used to wear a singlet and my denim shorts. It was hot in the greenhouse.A few minutes walk from the farm, there was a little undisturbed lake you could swim in. I went out there as often as I. “Well, it looks like you are still on restriction,” Betty told Hayden.“Yes Mistress Betty,” Hayden smiled at her and at me excitedly. That puzzled me.“If she had scared you off then she would have been off restriction,” Betty explained to me that was the deal. It was sort of an incentive to be as rough on me as they possibly could. Waverly hadn’t needed an incentive. She just liked being an asshole and making men cry. Betty asked Hayden if she went soft on me because she thought I’d be a push. I doubted they tattooed their eyebrows into a perpetual frown, either. Without waiting for further instruction, she unfastened the bikini bottoms, slid them down her skinny-looking thighs and onto the floor, then stood with her arms folded glaring at me, as if challenging me to say something.“Sweet,” I said, staring right at her hairless crotch. It looked super smooth – maybe waxed rather than shaved. Or maybe just more recently maintained than Lauren’s fuzzy little triangle. Unlike Lauren,. I tentatively reach a hand forward, feeling a stool or something in front of me and I drag myself up using my arms and then I am tugged forward again onto an even higher surface, this one feeling like a table with a mattress on it. Sure enough that seems to be what it is and hands reach to my collar, unsnapping the leash as two other things are secured to either side of it instead, effectively holding my head exactly where it is. My wrists are grabbed and dragged out to either side in front of.