‘You want to be my sex slave?’ ‘Yes Master.’ ‘That means that you will have to do whatever I tell you and with whomever I tell you.’ ‘Ye..., Master.’ I knew that Emily was still in a trance. I also knew that talking to what I call, the back of the brain, gets you the absolute truth. I had a knock down carbon copy of Sharon Stone telling me that she wanted to be my sex slave. This was not something I wanted to let go of easily. I felt her vagina. Sopping wet. I rubbed her clit and she moaned.. She was in a prison. A real prison."Hey!" she said, much weaker than she'd intended to. Her throat was dry. She let out a cough and tried to sit upright. She was barefoot, wearing only a dull coloured jumpsuit, featureless save for a number embroided into it, covering her right breast, and a miniature zip at the front that led from her neck all the way down to her crotch.No, she was wearing more than just the jumpsuit. She reached down tentatively to feel her crotch. She was still in the belt!. More

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