Christine was a redhead, her skin pale and covered by a dusting of freckles. Her breasts were pale too, and I could see a trace of the veins under the...almost translucent skin. Her areola were a pale pink, with her small, pencil eraser sized nipples being just a little darker. They were hard now, sticking out in little points and she ran her fingers lightly over them.“Are they okay? You haven’t seen them since we were what? Five? Six?” Christine sounded uncertain, nervous. They were a solid. "Please don't," she said."Why not?" I asked."I like it," she explained. "They tell me do things, and they expect it to be done, but they never ask anything unsafe. I like it when they tell me what to do. Please!" OK," I agreed. I guess that between everyone else, I did not really have the time to treat her the way that she needed.As the year drew towards the end, I started to get sad again. Soon, another group of my girls would be gone. I'd not been replacing them at the same rate as they left,. More

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