. . . 19 (Even Earlier)
Camelia was a tall, athletic young woman of mixed heritage who stood a good head taller than her slave and admirer. He was a bit of a short-arse with a slight build but was very fit. His square pecs were forced forward by the harness and his neat abs were attractively displayed as he struggled to make progress. Camelia loved the way her little choir-boy looked, even if he was no longer quite so cute as he had been when they started going out together about three years previously. He still had that flossy, blonde hair, very little of which adorned his chest. Those white, five-centimetre speedos, however, displayed a fair hedge of curls above the extended waistband that Charlie was in no position to adjust.
The walkers’ progress was not helped by the padded leather blindfold that Charlie had been made to wear since before they had left Cam’s place but at least he knew the layout of her house. He had been in that situation so often that he could leave her room and navigate the stairs with little difficulty and even get out to her estate car without stumbling too often. Out of consideration for his safety, though, Camelia made sure to keep a firm grip on the lead that was attached to that rather demanding posture collar.
“Tell me how much you love me.”
“Ng ih nguuu ooo, ngiweff.”
“No, not good enough. Faster!”
“Ngaaah, ngahh, ngee.” Readers might get used to hearing that plea.
TBC