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You are my property, my slave. Do you understand?’ A tiny intake of breath was the only indication of the shock she must have felt. ‘I understand,’ she replied quietly and without the least suggestion of resistance. ‘I am your master and you must address me as such,’ I said sternly. ‘Yes, Master. Sorry, Master.’ ‘Good,’ I said more kindly. ‘This lady,’ I indicated Wendy, ‘is my wife and you shall treat her with the greatest of respect, but she is not your mistress because you belong to me alone.’ ‘Yes, Master.’ ‘Hello, Florence,’ said Wendy pleasantly. ‘Hello, madam,’ she respectfully replied. ‘Florence,’ I told her, ‘give me an account of yourself.’ So Florence told her story. She was Nigerian and her family had sent her to England to study, which she had been doing diligently but without much enthusiasm. For the last five or six years — she was twenty now — her life had been dominated by her breasts. Even in a tribe in which large breasts were usual and highly valued, the women in. She was wearing an outfit similar to mine, but she had chosen a pair of heals. Her breasts were smaller than mine, but also more perky. She also had one of those butts that you just want to lay your head on and never move. Her skin was only a few shades darker than mine and looked very smooth. Her long blonde hair hung free around her shoulders and was just begging to be lightly tugged. When she looked up at me, her hazel eyes were so full of lust that I almost wanted to cry. I wanted to rip her clothes off and ravage her then and there, but knew that would just work to freak her out. My husband entered the room and gave Lynn a hug. I watched his hands travel down her back and cup her ass. She gave a very soft moan as he lightly squeezed the soft cheeks. As he pulled away, he lifted her skirt slightly, ensuring I would get a full view of her bubble butt. I smiled, knowing he had done it for me. I walked over to the two of them and said hi to Lynn. I turned to my husband, said my.
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