..destroyed. The scar was the least of what hehad done......I trembled at the thought of him entering me, couldn'tcontrol my quaking body until the memory passed like sunlight slippingthrough swaying tree branches in a breeze.Still, I remembered retreating from the world. Eventually, I found a wayto continue my lifestyle through literary games at my website:https://briannagames.wixsite.com/homeofhumiliation.I created interactive stories for clients to take the lead role in,making all the choices that decided how the narrative would develop, howmuch they would dress. And then came other variations, always using mytalent as a writer.....But I was afraid. An emotion I wasn't familiar with. I became moresecluded and was left with only the truest of friends.I hated that scar, and all it reminded me of.And now, Steve, er, Steve Mayfield had wandered in here and believed hecould take from me.I wiped my eyes and stood tall. I looked beyond the scar to thebeautiful woman I used to be.....Still. “Petey, you slutty boy!” “Do you enjoy being opened?”She pulled out some wrist bracelets and I held out my arms. As she fitted a set to my ankles, she realized that there were enough for my thighs, calves and forearms and slowly and tightly dressed me. After another trip to the closet she held up a cock and ball harness. “Where does this go?” I pointed to my not quite hard member, and she handed it to me. “Show me how slutty boy.” I smiled and snapped the wide strap around the base of my sack, separated my balls and tightly cinched up the second strap. “And the third?” she inquired. I pulled that one around my shaft and snapped it tightly shut. She slowly raised my packaged plums and palmed them. “Petey, would you like me to squeeze them a little?” Our eyes met. “Please Maa’m” She started to squeeze, a little harder, as we gazed at each other. As the pressure increased, I started to wince, but our eyes were locked and she steadily increased the pressure of her grip. Grabbing one of.
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