He was desperate to witness at first-hand what was occurring in the first floor flat. A bright flash lit the room for an instant. She’s taking photo...raph’s he thought. Another flash lit the room followed by a sudden burst of about ten repetitive flashes. The shadows swirled around the room when all of a sudden he could distinguish the shape of his wife leaning against the window. Her lovers shadow wasn’t visible. He watched as his wife’s silhouette began to move in an obvious sexual manner. Her. "That's your bed for tonight." As he turned to go, Liz asked, "Can you take these handcuffs off? We... EEEEEE!" He whacked one of her breasts with his little whip. Not a stroke to bring blood, but I could tell that it hurt, badly. "The proper form is, 'Master, may a girl ask a question?' Slavegirls will not use the first person when talking about themselves. Forget the pronouns, I and me. Those are only for people of significance, not a pair of worthless cunts."Liz hesitated, then. More

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