Estella, A New Slave darling

What was once a noisy gym went dead silent when I came onto the mat?Ruined was possibly and understatement but it is what it is. I was madly in love at the time.I thought about everything that had happened tonight and the last week and wondered what was going to happen next.My wife is not for sale, and I’m insulted that you would think so.It was in this alley that I had my second experience, and I was desperate to make it a better one than the first.I said well only fetish my good girls get that.Becky?In she went again, a little faster than before, then back, and she worked to pick up a rhythm as she edged toward BDSM a climax.I groaned, defeated, and sunk into the cushions.

If you decide to read other of my stories make sure that you read the disclosures and warnings at the beginning of each story.All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and fetish move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden. = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = * * * * * * * * * * * * It was a crisp, but not cold, end of October evening in the middle ground just north of Vidalia, Louisiana, when Shelly stepped out of the woods and walked across the harvested cotton patch toward a small square of grass and weeds that stuck out almost like an island into the empty field. If you looked closely at that square, you could see the remnants of a brick foundation sticking slightly out of the grass just inside where the weeds gave way to a cultivated field. In the middle of that foundation was a more modern piece of brickwork. Modern, of course, is relative. These bricks had been exposed to the elements for at least a hundred years, but they were machine-made, kiln-fired bricks BDSM rather than the hand-made, sun-dried bricks that had once been the foundation of the house.

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