‘Will you fuck me, master?’ She asked. ‘I will in a moment as soon as you’re ready.’ He pushed another finger in her asshole. ‘I don’... want to rupture your tight little hole, sweety.’ ‘I meant in my pussy, will you fuck me in the pussy, master, please.’ ‘Look at that begging slut.’ He said. ‘Maybe I will although technically I shouldn’t. Since I’m your uncle that would be incest, we have to use your other hole.’ Kim frowned, using the other hole would be just as illegal. Yet she. On most chat lines, women don't have to pay, so anyone calling in on the women's side can talk for free. Hell, even gay men call in on the women's side to try to hook up with a man. But I pressed on, asking her what she was wearing and whether her pussy was wet. "I'm wearing a T-shirt and panties," she replied, and continued with, "yes, my pussy is wet." "And are you playing with your pussy now?" I inquired. "Yes, my fingers are in my pussy now." "BITCH!" I growled, "Did I give you permission. Then left, without so much as a glance.Ten minutes ago? Thirty? Hard to keep track of time.Too long. Not long enough.Her eyes kept glancing to the polished wooden contraption in the centre of the high, bare cell. Glancing, looking away, steeling herself, glancing back. The leather ties that would bind her ankles. Looking away. Looking away. The smooth, dark wood over which they’d have her bend, the ties for her wrists on the opposite side. Looking away. Looking away.She shivered and wrapped her. The blonde woman with her Negro driver and Irish maid was a frequent visitor and regularly went back and forth to the Hudson River for food, wine and supplies. The colonel's table was almost always the most popular dining place during the long, cold, discouraging retreat.We in the rear guard knew her red-wheeled wagon and liveried driver on sight, whether or not the women were aboard, so they were easily passed through the lines. It did cross my mind, briefly, that information about our.