They pretended to be dragons, jealously guarding and forever adding to their mountains of gold. They were vultures, one and all, and deep down they kn...w the truth.That was the real reason wealthy men of influence hired women like her to torture their bodies. To flay their backs, drill their asses, kick their cocks and beat their balls. It wasn't just the rush and the dopamine high that followed a session of crippling pain that they were after. The thrill of subspace was not their greatest. I did as I was told,put the heels on, and lay down on my side, which was all my new tittieswould allow. Mistress Ashleigh lay behind me in the classic "spoon"position, with her hands on my titties and her cock resting against myass. That's the last thing I remembered as I fell asleep. I awoke to the feeling of cock in my ass. The sun and breeze were comingin through the open window, and apparently Mistress Ashleigh was feelinghorny. "Slave, thank you for taking care of my morning wood,". But Mrs. Foster was looking at him intensely. They’d be pulling into their hotel in about four hours, but after that they’d all be busy preparing for the parade. Who knows if I’ll get the same seat on the ride back to Florida? This might be my last chance to be really, truly alone with Bitty. He looked at Mrs. Foster, and she smiled at him compassionately. Something in her beautiful doll-like eyes calmed him… gave him courage. She nodded, and silently told him that it was time to man up and. Jen had appeared at my door a little earlier, clearly distraught. She had told me briefly that she was having some personal problems. I had held her as a friendly gesture, which I now realized had been emotionally overwhelming, and had opened the floodgates of her unhappiness.The crying subsides, and she begins to explain her sadness. Jen tells me that her husband has left her. Although this appears to be a sudden move on his part, they have been drifting apart for some time. “He has got some.