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Wild adventure at the Windward.


This makes me think very hard. I had not considered that a slave owner has obligations and responsibilities. What can I offer?

"Lyle, that makes me feel much better," I state smiling at my webcam. "Very sensible. I have a good job and income. I'm single but own a nice town house with an extra bedroom that could easily be made into a fine sexual torture chamber for her. I would force her to orgasm for hours. That is exquisite torture for a woman. I also think she needs waist training, a corset like mine would be a good start. I'll wager that I can get her waist down to sixteen inches over time. I think she needs to learn to walk with ballet booties locked on her feet. I have an extensive collection of fetish shoes and clothing that I believe she needs. I also have girlfriends that I'm sure she'd enjoy meeting."

Lyle seems lost in thought, silent on the screen.

"One more thing Lyle," I lean toward the camera as if confiding a sensitive matter. "I had a very elaborate sybian custom made for me. I'm sure she would love it. It has two dildos that thrust and a vibrator that presses against the user's clitoris. I can raise or lower how deeply the dildos penetrate. I can make the dildos stroke slowly, like only once every few seconds, or dozens of times a minute. I can regulate the vibrator from a slow hum to a screaming fury. If I hog tie her kneeling over it, she would have the most amazing experiences totally at my control."

"Give me your address Valerie," Lyle states plainly. "When would be a good time for us to bring her to you?"

Saturday the next week 11:00am

The doorbell chimes. Since I'm dressed only in erotic leather, I peer cautiously through the peep hole. I thought I should dress better than when Lyle saw me online. Of course I wear my favorite under bust corset but added a tight miniskirt, bolero jacket, thigh high stiletto boots, and fingerless gloves, all black leather. My boobs are not really covered and I like that.

I recognize Lyle who is sexy in black leather like a biker. I've only seen a photo of Vera on the website but that must be her. Vera has a gorgeous figure for a woman in her late thirties, maybe early forties I judge. She looks fabulous in a cherry red latex gown with oodles of gold jewelry. I've seen that gown online. It's called a mermaid gown. I want one in black. That's a bit much for a Saturday morning but I appreciate that they dressed well to meet me. I notice that an expensive Jaguar E-Pace SUV is parked in the space in front of my town house next to my Acura RDX.

Behind them is a woman in a black burka like strictly religious Muslim women wear. I can not see an inch of skin. Even her eyes are hidden behind almost opaque lace about four inches wide, an inch tall.

There is no one else visible outside so I open my door wide.

"Welcome! I'm so glad you found my home and right on time too. Please come in," I invite cheerfully.

Lyle and Vera both smile. He gallantly takes Vera's hand and escorts her inside. The mass of black shuffles forward and I hear the rather musical clinking of metal.

"Would you like a drink? Snacks?" I ask as I offer the love seat to the couple.

They look around apparently liking my furnishings that are mainly black leather and dark mahogany. Vera seems particularly interested in my lesbian art. I have a framed print of Simeon Solomon's nineteenth century depiction of Sappho. That's my prize possession. But there are many portraits on my walls and statues in my book case or on end tables of women kissing, women entwined in lovemaking. I see Vera's eyes dilate. I'll have to speak to her later.

"Nothing for me thank you.

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