She was bouncing on her feet, full of energy and smiles; altogether, a very happy girl. For the first time, she hadn’t complained about cleaning her...bedroom or doing the laundry.Amazing what a bit of sexual relief can do.I tried to worry about where our relationship might go, but couldn’t. The one doubt I’d had, a worry about how it might affect her, had been washed away by her gasps of pleasure this morning. Selfishly, I wanted to experience more of her sexy climaxes. Could there be anything. The two wives took turns at lapping at and licking one another’s yoni, while Vikram took Rao’s lingam into his mouth, his own now embedded into Dorothy’s anus. They enjoyed the sacred practices of sex as prescribed in the Kama Sutra, oblivious to the presence of their sleeping guest and grateful for the air-conditioning that would otherwise have made such heated exertion impossible for the two hours or so that was appropriate for the observance of such sacred rites. The culmination of their. Being bisexual meant they loved sharing their bodies with each other and were looking forward to sharing with me. This was not a Dom/sub relationship. They were both in charge at one point or the other. At least, that was what they expressed on Lush. Perhaps the reality would be different. But I did, indeed, look forward to having two red heads showering my body with their ecstatic love-making. I was on the phone as I pulled into the college town. The cupcakes were students at the school. Both. Every story needs someone evil, someone heartless, someone to show thecomparative humanity in the hero. Someone who needs to seek power, toavoid kindness, to embrace hunger.I am she.I am death. I am darkness. I am destruction.I am the Mistress.And, frankly, you've got me all wrong.I know the stereotypes. I know how cold we are as described by thesissies among you, the quivering masses with the teeny erections coveredby the wives' panties. We're the evil women who beat you, who humiliateyou, who.