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see Hisami's face as it is encased in a leather or rubber mask. Her
pussy has been shaved. You can make out red stripes across her
stomach and breasts where Hisami Asakura has been whipped or caned. He
reaches out and slaps Hisami's crotch. A low moan escapes from the
mask. "This always makes Hisami's hot," he says. He probes her
vagina and Hisami Asakura moans again. "Would anyone care to inspect her?"
A figure rises. It is a tall redhaired woman of about fortyfive
or fifty, dressed in a mans suit. You watch with fascination as
she examines the stripes, handles the girl's breasts, and feels
inside Hisami's pussy. That could be me, you think. Fear stabs your
breast. That will be me, someday! You become aware of your
bonds, of the leather collar and cuffs, the leash, the gag. You
shake your head. No one notices. Your lover watches the scene
before him raptly. You hang your head. What have I gotten
myself in for? you think. How did this happen?
Some time passes before a loud pop makes you look up. The skinny
kid has opened a bottle of champagne. He reaches into the girl's
pussy and extracts two ice cubes. Holding Hisami's twat open with one
hand he pours champagne into it. It froths and runs
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