Chapter Fourteen
Overbury took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and let it out against her Indian slit.
It was, he had to confess, a thing of beauty; though not as amazing to him as the cunt of the American woman who owned him.
An American woman he hated and despised and one who had not only made a mockery of his existence as a free-man but locked away the evidence that at least provided him with an excuse to believe he was still worthy of the description.
So why had become so obsessed, so… reverent… of the hairless slit and the cunt beyond that insisted he pay it attention on a daily – night and morning – basis?
Probably, he told himself, for the same reason he felt the same about her breasts, her ass, legs and feet – though what the real reason might be he was either too stupid or to
