His finger traced down my slippery slit, I gasped as he started putting pressure on my clit with his finger and thumb. I had forgotten how rough yet g...ntle he could be, I could feel my body yearn for him as he increased his speed and then stopped. I moaned at the loss of his touch until he replaced his finger with his tongue. I groaned again, this time in more ecstasy as he tongued my clit and started to tease my opening with his fingers. Stroking his hair with my hands, I pulled him closer as. I understand perfectly what had happened. I had been simply going through the motions, passively obeying his orders, not desperately seeking to please him as a slave girl should. He, the photographer, had seen this in my body, and had known how best to impress on me my slavery. I looked up at him with a kind of awe and gratitude. In making use of my body, he had reminded me of my place, my role in life. From that point, I adopted my poses with redoubled enthusiasm, and my submission radiated. More

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