He started walking towards the bathroom. I quickly walked back to my room and shut the door. I ran to my bed and got under the covers. I turned off...my bedside lamp. I heard the faucet running on the bathroom sink. When it turned off I waited. I heard my door open. He walked over to me. I pretended to be asleep. He kissed me on the head. "I love you Ali. Your my inspiration." With that he walked out of my room, shutting the door behind him. I thought about him cumming. My vagina was. I asked for a glass of tea. "No sugar and a wedge of lemon if possible," I said."No problem," she said.Bob didn't open the subject of the meeting while Angela retrieved our drinks. He talked about the outstanding success of the presentation. He was an interesting man. Short, thin and wiry, he was a dapper dresser, close to sixty years old, I guessed. He wore his still thick but pure white hair long, but it wasn't shaggy. He was the managing partner for the firm but was not charismatic. He led. It sounds like that special way a friend of mine talks to her cat. And Jonathan is taking less notice of my reply than she does of the cat's purrs and meows. Am I still human? Have I become some sort of "other"? Is that what being a slave does to you? That you adapt to the way you are treated and your status as a slave hardens around you like a new skin? Actually, they don't stop my asking what's going on. I do it to myself, I realise. Time to re-assert my humanity, I think. Time to re-engage. I want... I'll let you cum on my breasts."From the way her body moved, she was vastly understating her desire. Her body wanted to feel my cum on her skin. I might have called her on that, but it was time to end her farce."You should listen to your body," I said. "And you're forgetting something." I don't think so," she answered for both charges. She tried to distract me by stroking my cock and then taking it deep into her throat again."Your body can't wait to feel my hot cum on your breasts," I.