They let her put on a tee-shirt, no bra, and then put on nipple clamps over the shirt. From each clamp hung a weight. ?Get your bike and follow us.?... Barefoot, Brenda followed them across the street and into the commercial district. A railroad track extended past a number of buildings. They adjusted the bicycle seat until Brenda's feet could barely reach the pedals in their lowest position, and they had to hold the bike upright as Brenda mounted, as her feet were far from the ground.. It doesn't want to end the I way I ended it.So I write another 7K. The story seems happy, but if I wait muchlonger it'll probably decide it wants more.The story has just reminded me to tell those people who archivestories they can do so, provided they don't charge for it (it's afraidthat makes it a whore) or change any words in it (its become quitevain of late). It also wants you to notify me where you archive it.I have no idea why, but I don't want to argue with it anymore.Any way, as. What a wonder for you that she is incontrovertibly bisexual now, and that is forever your hope and expectation as long as the two of you are lovers.You know that her understanding of her passions gave her pride in her own queerness. It is no longer important to her to be any particular sort of identity. She calls herself fluid and lucky. But you are the lucky one now. She is living out her love for you while you maintain a CIS status as a straight man. You give her all you can give just as she. At least she had an idea what Master K was like. Mixed up in all the thoughts pummeling her was that she didn't want to disappoint him. How fucked up was that? She was about to get tortured and she was concerned she'd disappoint him, fuck that, that was crazy! So much for knowing her own mind, it was a muddled mess. On top of that the fingers stimulating her were increasing her need to use the bathroom.Master K looked at the clock, "fifty strokes", he stated calmly. "Nick, what are you going.