He has never even cursed or lost his temper before in my presence. Seven. Indian sex Master always lights the fireplace when we play here. It is covered in large veins and ripples. More tears. This is so unlike him. When I return, he still has a raging hard-on. The Mentor pauses briefly, as he is now breathing heavily from this strenuous beating, to wipe the sweat from his brow, and to have a generous sip of brandy. It is pointing straight up. Wait ‘til I get my fucking hands on you! I decide it is much too good of an opportunity to waste, and climb up on top of him straddling him. I am begging and pleading with him in my terror, which is now out of control… “please, please have mercy on me…”
My heart is pounding in my chest, and I am so terrified that I can hardly breath.
