The welt fascinates me. I trace the line of the raised flesh with my fingers,sending conflicting messages racing through my body. Pain, yes, but also,...shockingly,absolute arousal. I continue to caress the line, and the pain gradually fades.The arousal doesn't, quite the opposite. As I stand there, caressing the welt across my forearm, my mind picturesother welts on other parts of my body, more sensitive parts. But to obtainthose welts requires the pain. Imagine that pain, imagine how much worse. She looked Japanese, or maybe Korean, with long, jet black hair framing her brown eyes, but all I really cared about was how hot she looked. I grinned a bit thinking of how much hotter she’d be painted white.I was surprised to find out that she was actually the mother. She invited us in with no problems, walking us into the kitchen and pouring a cup of tea for Daddy. Her breasts were tiny in comparison to Mommy’s, but the handful they presented was more than enough for me. Her waist was thin,. More

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