I nodded at her silent request and offered her my phone, pulling up a notepad for her to write what she liked.“Please punish me. I am too low to sta...d.”I studied the words, considering before I answered. “You would have me punish you for your loyalty and your guarding your Master?” Her eyes widened and I looked away. “No. I refuse your request, Lady.”She trembled and pressed her gag cover to my thigh again. I did, of course, still give her a nightly torture. I filled her asshole with piss from. That waseight long years ago. She finished college early, was about to become amother for the first time and was seeing her father, who was dying ofcancer.She enjoyed playing with her brother, a blond-headed cherub with curlyhair who reminded her of her youngest daughter, Kayla."Does he even remember me?" she thought as the plane touchdowned on therunway in Boston.It was a sad situation. Her father, Michael Taylor, divorced her motherwhen she was young. He moved to Boston and later married. "I'll bet you wanted to be caught," she said as I minced around the roomlike a prissy brat caught with her tiny sissy hand in the cookie jar."Don't you think there might be a reason why you keep ruminating on yoursissification fetish," she said. "Like maybe there's something deepergoing on that you feel too fucked up about to address directly because ofyour social conditioning? Like you couldn't ever actually express thisbecause of the restrictive nature of masculinity and this is how. After the "Thank you" of course. "Yeah, I'm fine. No biggie." Grinning stupidly, I looked at her. Though not a beauty queen by any standards, she was what my friends referred to as 'doable'. Brown shoulder length hair hung over her shoulders. Soft brown eyes met mine and I tried to avoid my bad habit of looking at her chest. "Thanks for the concern though," I said and started to back away, catching the rest of her in my sight. A thin white blouse covering average to small breasts and a gray.
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