Mane didi ka haat halke se pakda or uske saat nadeem kii tarf chal diya. Nadeem ke bagal mai didi ko le ke khada ho gya or bola-Me- ye lijiye malik me...ii jawan khubsoorat pandit bhan ko isse aap aapne mazboot kadak mote lambe lund se jii bhar ke chodiye or aapne jiwan ka anand uthahiye, or aapne musalman hone ka garv kariye.Mere mhus se ye sun ke Nadeem nai merii tarf dheka or halke se muskurate hue merii bhan ka haat pakad ke aapni taraf khinch liya , jisase merii bhan uske uppar gir gayi. He'd been shopping in a short denim skirt, which made him feel like oneof the girls he would ogle, had his ears and his navel pierced (that wasstill a bit sore), bought more pairs of women's footwear than he owned inmen's including his trainers and had almost as many women's clothes as hehad men's, not to mention half a shops-worth of makeup. It all seemed rather a lot since the project wasn't actually finalisedyet and he didn't know whether all this was really necessary. All thataside, he was. To be honest I had not expected this reaction from her. The belt was to make a dog collar for her, my bitch. But seeing this fear in her eyes made me even hornier. I said, “Get on your knees bitch”. She did as commanded. Then I tied the belt around her neck just tight enough for her to start choking if I pulled on it. She said, “Is this safe? Can’t we wait till nightfall?”. She was trying to stall, get out of something that scared her. I had to show her that her nephew was in command here. I. .”“No,” he interrupted. “I thought you were going to massage me.”A flicker of annoyance crossed the doula’s face, but it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived.“Of course,” she said, her voice calm. “Please; take off your shoes.”For the next fifteen minutes, she talked the husband through the art of massage, demonstrating on his feet. By the time she was done, the room smelled like lavender.“Thanks,” he said, and she nodded her head in response. “What else?”“Pardon?”“What else could.