her-master: Mmmm, autumn: apple cider… mulled wine… spice bread… fruits…
her-master: Mmmm, autumn: apple cider… mulled wine… spice bread… fruits… the leaves in their last, glorious blaze of death… the crisp snap in the air, whispering promises of winter… the cabin… distant… isolated, deserted, but cozy in an unassuming way… the crackle of the fire chasing the chill… and, on the floor, a naked slut… heaving… pulling just a bit to test her bonds, but the collar around her neck held hopelessly to the rusty iron ring set in the floor… waiting… wondering… yes, a very, very distant cabin… I recently started looking for a place like this to rent for a weekend. Something quaint, warm & secluded. So secluded that when he tied me naked to the tree, no one would see. & when he flogged me, or gave me lessons on how a wife should properly grovel to her husband, no one would hear. It was all good until I found that seclusion like that comes at a price: Indoor Plumbing. Fantasy and reality came together in a head on crash. -- source link