Three... no four times... the Commandant called out and the lash stopped, but I kept up my relentless attack on her snatch. The count was now at one h...ndred– twenty strokes left to go. I felt fingers intertwine in my hair. “Fuck me,” a raspy voice groaned out. “Fuck me now!”I looked up and the woman was looking down into my eyes. She could see me! She pulled me upright in front of her and suddenly my arms were bound against hers. My legs were held tight against her thighs by thick leather. I felt happier — and more secure — than I had at any time since this involuntary adventure had begun. We now were nine in number. We had seven men and boys, and two women. There was at least the prospect that more people might join us. We were going to be living in comfortable surroundings, on a large yacht that three of my fellow refugees knew how to manage efficiently. We would have access to hot showers, and adequate (albeit canned) food, cooked on a real stove.There would be small but clean. It's hair was a shoulder length curly mess and it had a cute little bubble butt. Cynthia sat on the sofa and ordered it to stand in front of her and remove it's dress. It shivered as it stood there in nothing but panties. When it was ordered to remove it's panties it looked questioningly at Cynthia who just slapped her hard across the face. "Take of your panties you worthless bitch". Sobbing and shaking it did what it was told. Cynthia found herself angry at this thing. How dare it question. I looked around and the whole bar was staring at us...well, at me actually. I begged to be able to leave, but Mistress Monica said we needed to stay a little longer. Four tequilas later, she said we could leave. I was totally plastered. I could barely stand up, and I was only vaguely aware of all the eyes on us. Arm in arm we left the bar. Idon't know how I possibly was walking on the platform shoes I had brought, but somehow we made it out into the street. Mistress Monica didn't seem very.
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