My Favorite Bhabhi ( Part 1 )

Besides, a man never knows what awoman's thinking. They're like a different species rather than anothersex. Whatever a man thinks, feels, does, or says is apt to be wrong.And thin-skinned? A sensitive plant is too unfeeling for them! Don'tget me wrong. I don't dislike women, and I do respect them. I guess youcould say that a W. C. Fields quote concerning the ladies sums up myfeelings about the fair sex: "Women are like elephants to me. I like tolook at them, but I wouldn't want to own one."Men, on the other hand, tend to accept a guy for who he is. A man isn'talways trying to remake another man in his own image and likeness. Heisn't trying to sculpt and mold and carve a guy, as if he were so muchstone or clay. It's easy to be around other men. They don't have hiddenagendas, out-of-control hormones, and emotions as varied and fragile asbutterflies. They're straightforward, if not always honest. Simple anddirect, they make their desires known. They seldom become angry, hurt,or annoyed. I wondered what my master would be like, what he would demand of me. I hoped he would not hurt me.After a time, a tall, thin, grey-haired man entered the room. He was wearing a long, dark blue bathrobe, slippers, and apparently nothing else. I put my head down and kissed the floor before his feet. "I beg to serve you, master," I said, not rising from the floor."As you were," he said. I rose again to my knees. "Spread your knees wider," he commanded. I obeyed. "Thrust out your breasts," he said. I pushed them forward even more than before, and pulled my shoulders back for emphasis. When a slave girl kneels, it is usually in a position of relative relaxation, retaining freedom of motion in all directions. Now my body was rigid, my knees as far apart as my body could bear, my breasts straining forward for my master's attention. I hoped he liked what he saw."I hear you are the hottest new pony in my friend M. Arnaud's stable," he said after contemplating my body for a minute."My hope is.
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