I wasn’t born as a slave, but we both know now that that’s what I’m going to be when I die, and I want you to know that I really don’t deserve...to die. It’s not fair at all!Oh shit, shit shit! It’s so unfair. This really is so unfair! Listen and you`ll see. I’ve never been disobedient, I’ve always tried so hard to be a good slave and now I’m going to be dragged out and crucified. You’ve got to understand that it’s so bloody unfair!No! I’ve got to stop this whining. Stop it and pull yourself. Sorry, Sir." he replied. Although he was my subordinate, he was almost a decade older than me, so I had told him to address me by my name. But he was a little old-fashioned and insisted on calling me "sir"."Nothing or sorry? If it was nothing, no need to be sorry. If you are sorry, it can't have been nothing." I said, pointing my finger at him.Shyam looked at me, panic dripping from his face. I saw a couple of beads of sweat appear on his forehead. He stayed silent. I stared at him for a few. " Then an idea occurred to me. "Come with me," I said. I walked her to the room in the inn that I'd commandeered for my art studio. It was next to the design studio.Over the past month, I'd had some successes with watercolor paintings that I had not destroyed—yet. They were matted and pinned to the studio walls. A large, unfinished canvas sat on an easel. It was an acrylic painting of Cathedral Rock at sunset, an artistic cliché in Sedona, perhaps, but a majestic Arizona sunset as the backdrop. Phillip's body was tense, and he sucked harder against Bill's wife's open loins trying to no avail to kill the furious aching desire building in his cock below as he heard his own nakedly spread girlfriend being debauched as she had never been before.He heard her breathe deeply, a sigh escaping from far down inside her still heaving chest. She gave small occasional cries of further sensation as her teasing lover nipped for a moment longer at the still throbbing bud of her tiny erect.