Abbey was still wearing her high heel patent leather pumps. She looked up at me, expectantly, with a look of love and lust on her face. Her sweet br...asts were raised up to me as her bound wrists and arms were pinned under her. I guess it was the idea that I had my wife, this beautiful bound sex slave wife, in this sleazy hotel where whores ply their trade, that I was so turned on. Even the threat to expose her beautifully helpless body to the desk clerk was exciting. I don’t know why. Over the next couple of years I had broken all ties with the people that had known the girls. They were now forgotten, living a different life, probably now having lost their plumy English accents, talking in the local dialect, working as waitresses in burger bars.I had not remarried, not needing to with a plentiful supply of females wanting to share my bed, wanting to be penetrated by my love rod. The women were two a penny. Some I kept on for a few months, but most lasted only a matter of. More

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