HOW WE SERVE MASTER

Hey.

I’m back.

And back to the narrative proper we go.

When I sent Hannah back to get all sexy for me, she should have said …

“Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am.”

What she said was …

“Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am.”

Sure, the words were right, but there was a slight pause.

A hesitation.

A beat.

It was short, but it was definitely defiant.

And I understood why. Her nipples were sore and were about to get worse. Well, boo hoo.

I should have corrected her right there with clamps and my cane.

Instead, I forgave her. She put on what I wanted and I chewed those nips.

OK, so I only mostly forgave her.

But then she really crossed the line.

The next morning after her shower, she was getting dressed. The first thing she always must put on is a bra.

After she slipped into it but before she could close the front clasp, I came playfully up behind her and reached my hands toward her chest.

She flinched away from me.

Flinched. Away.

From.

Me.

---

So here I am days later watching from the bedroom chair.

He’s pounding Cunt. Deep and hard.

“Whose pussy is this?”

Whimpering. Whimpering.

“Your pussy, sir.”

Of course, we all know that pussy belongs to me.

Not him.

Or the other three equally long and hard studs sitting naked along the edges of the bed.

Waiting their turns.