My throat closes and tears threaten to spill. When he lifts me up, cradling me close once more, I turn my head away, hoping he does not notice the wet...ess on my cheeks. What is wrong with me? My moods are all over the place and I feel like an over-emotional fool. I should not be crying over such a small and stupid thing. Asmodeus ignores me, he must have sensed my ridiculous insecurities and is allowing me time to work through them quietly. He stands still, holding me in his arms and breathing. They shuddered as belly was pressed fervently to belly. We slaves, the onlookers, were of no concern nor account them. The fact that we could observe their lust and passion seemed to matter no more than if we had been dogs, or even inanimate objects. We were simply there to be used, to heighten pleasure if so required.My nerves tingled apprehensively as I looked upon the softly quivering white flesh of the Princess. In such a situation a slave never knew what role she or he might be called upon. More

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