And then pushed me back onto your bed. Laying me out; stroking me in just the right places. Even when you lifted my wrists so gently above my head and...secured them so firmly I was still engrossed in the affection in your touch. I got excited as your touches began to grow more vigorous. I have always been turned on my being called a bitch, feeling like I am being used to provide pleasure to someone else, feeling helpless and....used. I was straining at my bonds to reach you, aching to taste you,. He has red hair, not natural Irish red, but dyed fire engine red hair that might have looked ridiculous on a normal man. Nothing looks stupid on a man of six and half feet who weighs nearly three hundred pounds. Particularly not when he’s glaring at you, he could have dyed his hair pink and worn a pink polka dot sundress and I still would have kept a straight face. ‘Sup man?’ I ask trying to keep my voice steady. My body already flushing with that intoxicating rush of chemicals needed to burst. More

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