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chain from my waist. Slowly, he
removed the device that was inside me. He told me to run a shower.
In the shower, he washed me all over, my hair, everywhere. His
fingers probed everywhere, slithering into every crevice. I got
extremely turned on within minutes, and pressed against him, sending
body-language signals at every opportunity. He rinsed me and went over
me again with the conditioner. I don't think I'll ever be able to
smell that conditioner (even unscented, it has a smell) without
getting a little turned on. If you'll forgive the pun, I guess I was
being conditioned. Sorry. Does the name Pavlov ring a bell? Sorry,
sorry.
He deliberately excited me as much as is possible short of
orgasm. He inserted his fingers into both my openings at once, stimu-
lating until my legs gave out and I sank to my knees. He supported me
and sank to the floor with me. When I say I was gasping, it sounds
like cheap pornography, but I was--and rather theatrically, too. Still
he continued, and I collapsed back, sitting on my heels, my pelvis
squirming against his probing hands. I wanted him inside me so much.
"Do you want me to beg?" I said, "I will if you want...." No
answer. "Please stop. I can't stand any more!" No answer. He contin-
ued. Soon I was making animal
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