She was going to be fucked by Kathleen's strap-on! "Get on the bed, whore and get ready to be used," he said, pulling his hand away. Vivian moved quic...ly to get on the bed and as Master stepped up he grabbed her by the hair and puled her around so she was on her back with her head hanging over the foot of the bed and her legs towards the head. Attaching a leather cuff to each wrist and ankle, he started by bending her knees and tying her ankles to her thighs. Then he pulled her knees up to her. ‘Hi Cilla, it’s Jazz.’ ‘Oh, I’m pleased to hear from you, have you had a naughty weekend with him?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Well that’s honest of you. That wasn’t your car you drove home in.’ ‘Yes, it’s my new car.’ ‘It looks very sexy but not practical. You try getting out of that in a corset.’ ‘It’s quite practical, a bit too close to the ground. But Cilla, he asked me to shift in with him and I balked.’ ‘Are you sure you want to tell me this?’ Jazz said yes, she had to ask Cilla something. ‘It’s the same. There is a water cooler. Your pour yourself a paper cup, sip it, relishing the cold liquid as it calms you, still avoiding her pleading gaze.Finally you turn in one smooth movement and survey her nakedness, making sure she can see the slight curl of your lip, the amusement in your feral grin. You want her to know, to feel it.Yes - you recognise her.No - you will not help.She is not quite naked. Yet. Your assistants have left her simple white bra and functional cotton panties on. She clearly. The demon thirst, the primal urge to hate-fuck her intensifies, seething inside me, eating into my better intentions.She continues her berating, and the pitch of her voice swells into a shrewish falsetto.“Why don’t you play soccer? Soccer guys are hot.”Since she’s in a chatty, inquisitive mood, I figure two could play at that game, and I decide to hit the cunt with the Socratic Method.“Didn’t you play soccer in high school?” I ask, in a calm, Sam Harris-ish monotone.“I did, yeah,” she replies,.