Her kid replied, “No, mommy doesn’t have this skill.”I replied, “Why don’t you ask your mommy?”Rithika replied, “Mommy has that talent, ...oney. But how would mommy make something big if it’s not handed to her?”“I am ready but I am just waiting for the right time.”Her daughter couldn’t understand what we were talking about. She simply shrugged her shoulders. Rithika made French fries with smile on her face. I admired her ass cheeks and her boobs. Rithika knew what was I doing and she said. The walls were hung with whips, cords of leather and twine, chains with collars attached as if for the convent watchdogs, belts and sleek lacquered devices shaped like the phallus, attached to harnesses.Dangling with her wrists bound from ropes that hung from hooks set into the ceiling was Sister Mary, the meekest of all the convents sisters. She was gagged, a wad of cloth tied around her face. Her nipples were clamped with the wooden pins used to hang our wash. The Abbess, having turned her. More

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