I did not understand which one was happening to me. But I was afraid if I would be able to hold on till my mistress comes.I soon also realized that th...s entire think is making me think about my body; I can think and feel about every inch of my body. It’s a wonderful yet a painful experience. I want to continue experiencing it, at the same time I wish it would end. My body was now playing games with my mind.I was startled by the sound of the door opening; I could hear my mistress talking to. I found out and it hurt more but eventually got on my feet. I shuffled forward and Melissa followed bringing my bag and monitor stuff with her. In the bathroom, I couldn’t even get my gown up very effectively so Melissa helped me. I stood there holding my gown with my left hand while my right arm was bound so Melissa held my dick as I pissed. I felt pathetic but Melissa acted like it was the most natural thing in the world.I leaned on her as she helped me pee. “Good aim,” I said sheepishly.“You. There was still some light in the sky on a brisk October day as Betty hurried to the entrance to the tiny hamlet of Appian Hollow, a suburb of sleepy Knollwood where she had grown up. As the attractive redhead briskly traversed the ornate cobblestone paths leading from her neighborhood, she contemplated what she was going to find at the pumpkin patch. Some sign from her mother? A message from beyond? Bad patches of poison ivy? Betty giggled like a pubescent schoolgirl as she reached the ornate. He was good looking, 6'0" tall, about 195 pounds. Blonde hair with blue eyes. Muscular and in athletic shape. We talked for about two weeks by email exchanging photos and ideas to make sure everything was a good match (which it was). He was really into tickling sexy feet, giving foot massages, and foot worship. He was straight, d**g free, had a career, etc. Best of all he had a very, very repressed foot fetish. My wife had no idea about this guy. I kept it a secret and decided to surprise her.
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