The women roared with laughter, now increasing my sense of divine humiliation; my cock bobbed excitedly, I was truly counting my blessings at having married this magnificent woman's daughter, I was willing to do anything to please Blanche's wicked dominance. She tugged at my leash and we followed Arabella's pencil skirt clad bottom as it flexed and wiggled provocatively as she strode toward the cellar. I was taken down the steps to the floor of the cellar without further ceremony, and then made to kneel next to my glorious new owner in the middle of a semi-circle of grinning, mature, obviously dominant women; they sneered and flexed canes and crops as Blanche's face grew sterner and pulled my head up tight by the leash. She wanted me to take in everything. Before us stood Arabella, smiling as her gimp waited patiently on all fours. A curtain divided the cellar and the women applauded as Arabella swished it open.There, in the light of two small frosted glass windows, hung a silky. "That would be great." I walk back over to my station to collect the paints I'd been using, depositing them into their appropriate receptacles in the "Acrylic" closet. Mr. Thompson disappears back into his office and I begin to gather my things. As cold as it will be outside, I refrain from wearing my sweatshirt, thinking that perhaps he will notice that I'd been sweating and put two and two together. Then again, do I want him to know that I was watching him? Or that I'd heard anything that went on in his office? As awkward as I feel about violating his privacy, I still can't help myself. I love him. I don't really know what any of that means but it feels right to think it. When he laughs, my pulse dances; when he smiles, my whole body melts; when he touches himself, I wish our palms could trade places. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and if all I ever get from him is the secret memory of his perfect, enraptured face as he strokes himself to completion, then I will.
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