The butt plug was still in place. My heart once again, skipped a beat…Steven had removed the plug from my anus. A sense of relief was immediately ...elt. Steven than asked me a rather simple question. “Who owns your ass?”“You do Sir.” I felt Steven walking away…I heard the water in the bathroom sink; I knew he was cleaning the plug.“Step away from the corner and come to me.” Steven was seated on the sofa. On his right side, I noticed a few paddles…the one paddle that caught my eye…the. And finally, we decided to meet up!I had to pick her up from her home post-dinner and we were to go to Rasta Café (Bangalore people would know, it is a famous place on Mysore Highway which is open till quite late at night).I had a car during my college days and reached her place on time. I saw her for the first time in person, she looked super-hot though she was a little short in height. Her figure was about 34-28-34.I kept looking at her and she had to get me back to my senses. We greeted each. It had seemed for awhile as if her depression was passing, after all, she had returned to work, and had just purchased a new wardrobe, all had seemed well. Now, with her gently swinging above the damp carpet, her letter in his trembling hands, he understood the fiction of it all.Her head hung down, and though her face was swollen from her struggles, she seemed to be happy and at peace--her hair hung about her like an auburn halo, and the tension that she had carried in her shoulders had drained. “Mine, it is,” I replied and started up the car and headed to home. As I pulled into my drive way, I glanced over and saw what I took for a smug look on her face. I chuckled to myself and wondered if she thought she was going to control this night. I led her into the house and watched her sexy ass swing in that black form fitting skirt, she was fucking hot and I planned on making her beg before the night was over. As we entered the dining room her fingers ran along the back of the chairs. She.
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