The supposed uptight woman was a slave to her lusts. Now she was a slave to ours.I stepped out of the car onto the gravel of the back lot and stretche... my back. I shuddered, my fingers flexing. My hips wiggled back and forth as I closed the door. My lover sauntered around the vehicle, a wicked grin on her face as her mother climbed out, her auburn hair sweeping around her face. Mrs. Armstrong wore her modest dress like usual. You would never know she was a sex slave. Even the choker she wore. The huge Moor warrior was ready for more pleasurable things than his usual killing lust of battle.The big black man moved silently forward, holding the young woman's gaze as if he were a black adder taking its prey. She gasped when his large battle scared hands closed over her delicate white shoulders.She never made a sound when the big black warrior picked her up in his massive arms and carried her to his pallet. Still silent as he pulled her clothing away in loud tearing rips. The fine linen. More

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