It was.Allison hurried home, much-smaller paper bag nestled discreetly in the bottom of her secondhand Vuitton handbag.Alone in her dinky living room,...she reverently unwrapped her prize. It was oddly cool to her touch. This was no toy, like that silly, absurdly pink thing Miranda had given her. This was weighty, solid, serious. The blunt torpedo shape was meant for nothing more, or less, than penetrating her most intimate part.Now that she'd gotten it home, she was oddly hesitant. She stood it. Worshipping her not only felt right, it was almost like a religious experience for me.Yet, awkwardly, that changed during this period as well. Mistress started coddling me. I was used to being her slave. I bathed her, cooked her meals when she didn’t wish to cook, did most of the household cleaning – which I will admit, was the least-favorite part of my duties – looked after her clothes, and much more besides. And that was at home.Outside it, I was her dutiful, naked slave and status symbol.. More

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