We looked at each other and giggled, we intended to. As soon as the door closed we shed our pajamas and I started on his asshole first useing the stir stick then spending some time licking it, then it was my turn and spent a long time licking mine then we were ready to start playing with our cocks. Again I started by useing the fur to rub his now stiff cock until he felt the tension and told me to stop then he did mine. We would always stop when we felt the tension that preceeds orgasm because we didn't know that if we kept going the great thing that would happen to our cocks. This time was differnt though, I was so excited that when I would have normally wanted to stop it felt so good that I couldn't stop. I just let him keep rubbing and after a little while my body went as stiff as my cockand I felt a powerful throb that ran threw my cock and travled the entire length of my whole body over and over. When it subsided and I was able took focus and speak I told Mark that it was. I ran away from that. Now before you start raising your feminist flags, hear me out. My master wasn't necessary a bad man. No, he was kind and sensitive, he always made sure that I was ok, he provided when we played together. No,no, it wasn't his fault that I ran away. I ran away because I couldn't trust him. I ran away because I wouldn't communicate with him. I ran away because I no longer felt comfortable around him. Life got in the way and I could no longer play the way I used to. I was living on the streets, fending for myself. I was finishing college and working on a campaign. There was just no way I could continue on with so much on my shoulders.And yet some part of me feels guilty that I did it. Did I run away? No, I merely walked and burned the bridge. With him fuming on the other side. And I always imagine one day- one day he would find me. Find me out on those streets by myself. Demand that I get into his car. He would take me someplace, someplace where I could stay and he.
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