The woman who controls youknows what you need to have done to you. May she have mercy of your poorunmanly soul. And may she see that your bra fits pro...erly.You can't become a woman in that Beauty Salon. You are not worthy. You canbecome, as you are forced to experience all the tortures a man could faceat the hands of women, only a third rate semi-female, not allowed to orcapable of having the title of Miss or Mrs. You may become semi-pretty.Your hair may be curled and your face precisely made. .”Me: “Stripped, spanked, spitted, torn….”Smita bent a bit on the bed with support from her hand “Wow..nice imagination… I would love to be done all that in this bed..”I bend on her and kissed her lips. Then parting “When will your kids be home”Smita kissing me passionately “Not before 6. and hubby is away for entire month”My hands were going all over her body. Her stomach to her boobs, to her thighs, her ass.Me: “So I own you till 6 pm today”Smita: “You can own me anytime… You can stay here. A dark haired Latina beauty who spoke with a Cuban accent. Not my type at all. Not even close.It was 'Salsa Wednesday Night' at a bar on Washington Avenue in South Beach. First time I'd been in a bar in months.She was stunning. An olive skinned beauty with dark, flashing eyes and thick jet black hair that hung all the way down her back. The second I saw her I wanted to fuck her. My cock jumped in my pants. I hadn't had that feeling in over a year."Sorry, you're too white," were the first words. Jackson got to work. The first body he shook into semi-wakefulness wasthat of Jenna Cole."Do you know who you are?" he asked, when she opened her eyes andstared up at him blearily."'m Orson Darabon'..." she slurred. "RJ? You a s..spy? You come t'takethuh...guns?" We couldn't give a rat's ass about your guns," said Jackson, pressingthe syringe to the woman's neck. There was a hiss as he pulled thetrigger and she slumped back into unconsciousness. Taking a ballpointpen from his pocket he drew an.