She remarked that no one made a fuss like this for her. I got the hint and she thanked me when I tucked her chair in too.“So would madam care for s...me wine?”She giggled, “You call me mistress tonight, slave, I’m not old enough to be a madam.”I could beg to differ; she drove a hard bargain, “Of course, yes mistress.”“Better.”Serving the lasagne with some broccoli, the conversation stuttered at first but after a glass of wine, it flowed easily. Chatting away, my gaze never wavered from hers. I. Horrified,she gazed at her reflection. Who was this woman in the mirror, she thought,for she could hardly recognise herself. The slender waist, large, firm breasts,and face were familiar, but the woman looking at her was obviously a whoreand a slave girl, mutilated with rings and with the thick steel bands thereto allow her to be tied up. As she looked at herself, Ruth felt her clit andnipples swelling, and could not stop herself from rubbing her clit and makingherself come. As she did so, the. More

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