Desi Married Village Girls Fucking In Indian Boy

I want Master to take me. He walks towards the door, but before he leaves he tells me “You must be broken before I can rebuild you. You must have no will to go on, except the will to serve and please me. I am leaving now, and I am not sure when I will be back.” He leaves. I hear him locking the door and walking up the stairs. In this little room, there is not much; a mattress on the floor, a table with hand and foot restraints on it, some chains on the walls and a hock on the ceiling. There are no windows, a dim a light on the ceiling, and only the one door out. I am trapped by the walls, held in restraints, scared out of my mind, and yet all I want is for Master to return. The man who encaged me is the only one I want. The day turns in to night and day and night again. The hours I spend locked away, with no contact to anyone, or anything. He is breaking me. Trapped, alone and scared, the only one to know where I am is Master. All I want is him. I crawled to the mattress and I now. As we were laughing over some hot wings and some terrible sports announcing on the television over our booth, I asked her what her plans were for the night. She smiled and said "Something I've thought about for the longest time", then crinkled her nose in a cute, yet mischievous manner. I continued to inquire and she told me I would just have to wait and see. It was terribly mysterious and almost worrisome as I sat in the booth, eating my dinner and thinking of the possibilities. I knew for certain what I wanted, which was to feel my hands along those shapely thighs, slowly curling my fingers under her mid length skirt, praying to find out she was wearing stockings and not panty hose. But wait; let me get back to reality here. Isabella sat across from me, wearing a black skirt. Not too long. Not too short. That skirt was just right. Beneath it, she wore a pair of black hosiery that complimented her athletic legs. I couldn't tell if they were stockings, or leggings, or pantyhose, but.
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