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A little tremor of desire ran through my body. My eyes flicked up as I caught sight of the waitress moving inside, and Abi sensed my nervousness. It wouldn’t do to get caught by the staff.“Finish your coffee, then come to my room,” she whispered.She picked up her cup and went indoors, leaving me there with my heart thumping in anticipation. I poured some more milk into my coffee and drank it down as quickly as I was able without looking too obvious. It was embarrassing – my hand was shaking so much I nearly spilt it all over myself.Trying to look nonchalant, I strolled in through the glass doors into the lounge and went upstairs. It was so stupid: I found myself looking round guiltily as I turned left towards Abi and Sally’s room instead of going up a flight to mine. Abi’s door was ajar, and I knocked softly, then pushed it open. She was there by the window. With a soft click, the door closed behind me.I walked over to her, and she put her hand on my arm.“You know, I kept thinking of. After everyone climbed from the Jeep, Kurt "unhitched" his lovely slave."Get down to the torture chamber, Idaho," Kurt instructed the heaving-breasted woman. "We'll be along after we've had a nice refreshing swim."The slave walked inside the house, still cuffed, while the party went for a cooling dip. After their time in the pool and toweling off using the big, fluffy beach Barbara had thoughtfully provided on the poolside recliners, they went inside the main house.The naked men, the playsuited Karla, Kelly, now naked after her swim, and Timmy, also nude and displaying a thick eight-inch erection on his circumcised cock, walked into the air-conditioned comfort of the ranch and Kurt led the way to the torture chamber, set in the basement below the ground floor.Inside, they found Barbara, now dressed for domination. Her lovely 40-inch breasts were thrust into superb uplift by a gleaming black leather quarter-cup brassiere, her nipples red and erect in the hard strip lighting of the.
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Slowly, the colour returned to Reverend Hardacre’s face, and he felt refreshed enough to take another draught of mead. Mrs Abercrombie slumped her sizeable frame in a chair beside the fire, whimpering softly to herself. “I expect you are all hungry,” the inn-keeper closed and bolted the front door, the solidity of this action somehow settling us. We made affirmative comments, the driver had been racing the storm and it was several hours since we had set off from Cromer, our breakfast a distance memory. Mr Warren, as the inn-keeper was named, scurried off to the kitchen whilst his wife took it upon herself to allocate the rooms. The driver and Reverend Hardacre were to share a room on the first floor, Mrs Abercrombie was to occupy the room next to the inn-keeper and his wife- such was her pallor and demeanour it was felt prudent to have help near at hand. I was assigned the attic room. I was happy with the arrangement; the solitude would suit me perfectly. Mr Warren appeared with.

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