‘Madame orders you to masturbate on the bench,’ she said with all deliberateness. ‘Rub your breasts with oil, slave, they’re really quite dama...ed at present.’ Although my breasts were red from being pressed to the glass for so long and bore marks from several lovers, they were hardly damaged. In fact, they felt quite wonderfully sensitive. I straddled the bench, directly behind the mounted phallus and began to rub oils into my breasts. Madame nodded her satisfaction, watching me. I tipped my. She had even at one pointin her life contemplated finishing a degree in the culinary arts andopening a restaurant, but in the end decided that she just didn't wantthe hassle of running a business and even thought that it might ruin herenjoyment of the act itself.As I went inside I noticed that something was different. The house wasstrangely quiet. Wendy was not in the kitchen making something with oneof those late afternoon daytime talk shows on the television in thebackground. Almost always. More

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