He allowed her to pose three questions. He fully expected them to be of the usual mundane type: “How old are you?” “What do you look like?” �...How do you earn your living?” or maybe “Where do you live?” But she asked none of these. She wanted to know about his likes and dislikes. And his views on punishment. And what he looked for in a slave. Slave. He disliked that word. It harkened back to the world of games, of D/s, of B&D, that he had grown weary of and had left behind. He recalled her first. He was asking me for something, I realized.Cryptically, perhaps.But my tingles told me what he wanted, what he was asking for.I slowly turned around, made a little difficult by my pants bunchedaround my feet, on the floor. But I managed.His eyes travelled down me, devouring me, examining me, appraising me.When he got to the front of my panties, I heard a soft deep moan.My little cock was very hard, barely contained by the tiny piece ofsatiny fabric. My little balls were actually spilling over. More

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