“I love you immoderately, gorgeous Goddess,” I honestly blubber, struggling my clumsy way up and into that elaborate if rather minimally padded birthing seat.
Willingly I fit my still twitching limbs into the mobile supports provided and shiver with a sick exhilaration as they’re swiftly clamped, belted and buckled in place. Further belts close over my hips and torso. Oh, I’m so goddamn randy! Who ever knew bondage could be such a turn-on? Even my head is secured with a belt across my brow, though luckily its support is currently tipped forward, away from the glaring lights and toward the continuing insult of my absurdly turgid genitals. Shaved as bare as ordered after Sierra’s first aghast inspection on our wedding night, these are displayed as though laid out on an operating table. The
