When there is no marker of time, one starts to lose their selves, imagine what is not there, to hear the one thing they come to anticipate single-mind...dly. 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. I thought I was a nasty slut for thinking such things about my own father. I just keep thinking my adopted father is my dad, so you're not." "Baby, that's okay. You are not a slut or nasty, you're a woman who desires a man you just met." He slipped his hands down to her hips, holding her still. He ached for her, but he wanted to savor this. Hell, his family was just two floors up, sleeping. He stood and slid her panties off. She had a tiny patch of hair, the entire rest of her pussy was bare. More

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