For short, my Prison-Anne. I will not let you go! Your insults cost!Suddenly Anne looks shy and timide as she realises she is trapped, Peter will have...his way with her!So do you really think your would-be lover 'thick-neck' would be better in bed, than I can write here?Or were you ironic? As a politician whose words mean the opposite: He writes worse, than I make love?My maiden, whatever your bad intentions, you will suffer severely for your insults of a former friend Every former friend gets a. "Define 'bad'. What do you consider being hurt bad. Clothespins on your breasts? On your nipples? A paddle? Candle wax? Just how bad is 'bad'?" "I want to be whipped! Tortured! I want you to stick needles in my breast! Can you handle that? Can you handle me? Tell me?!" "All right. There is one thing you need to know before we start. When we 'play', you will have two save words. Don't interrupt. The first one is 'yellow'. It is a warning. It means that you are close to your limit, that you are. I look you up and down, my gaze lingering on the curve of your breasts, then come back up to your eyes and catch you watching me. I make it obvious that I don’t care if you catch me as I boldly look you in the eye, then slide my gaze down your body. My eyes travel down between your breasts, looking at your exposed cleavage, straining to see your nipples through your shirt. Then down your belly to your hips, then sliding down your legs to where I can see your bare calf and ankles and your sexy. She had healthy round tits, slim arms, frail body and long hair. Soon I settled in and went about my chores. I used to come back late and directly go to my room, I could hear tv playing loud in their living room. On the terrace they used to hang their clothes for drying, at times I used to find a odd lungi hanging overnight and a nighty hung now and then. Sundays I used to sleep till late and wake up and strolled in the terrace. During one of the Sundays, Sulekha came up to hang the clothes..