I claimed and took possession of that slick, countrified pussy with ruthless aggression, much to Emily’s quite vocal delight. This was definitely my...private cunt now, in every sense of the word, and she made no attempt to even remotely send me mixed signals on that point. This twat belonged to me and everyone present knew it for a fact. She was my personal plaything and every plea for more of my dick simply reaffirmed this new reality for the benefit of all present company, as I spent my load. The association between Pavlov’s dog, the tuning fork and food proved a more perverse aspect of the psyche – cruel anticipation of the little chime. Even more perverse since your chime only means fresh pain, which, by this time, is not even half-reward for the almost broken creature at your whim. Your voice brings constant fear, fresh tears and a primal, stupid lust. The only real marker of reality, the last vestige of the mind’s connection to the body of the creature, now almost abjectly. More

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