THE PRESENT, AGAIN
So, such has been my life as a slave ever since.
After twenty years of marriage my Mistress is now over fifty years old. Her shimmering blonde hair is as long as ever and yet shot through now with filaments of silver. Fine wrinkles crease her brow and surround her still-cerulean eyes, and her formerly arrogantly pointy and upswept breasts have at last begun to sag.
Of course, she’s still unbearably beautiful and precious and arousing to me, and she’s lost little of her vigor, and none of her ravenous, demanding appetites for s*x and sadism. Nor has she come to love me in the slightest, despite my decades of automatic obedience and constant, desperate, undying devotion. This past evening was entirely typical for us.
Mistress came home from work, and somehow found that
