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The curtain was hiding her playroom. Polished tile upon which rested an opulent posted king sized bed with built in restraints located in the center of the room under the domed glass roof. To the left was a St Andrews Cross and an assortment of flogging implements, vibrators, clamps and gags. Opposite the door was a double sized claw foot tub, a sink, a toilet and bidet. To the right there was a body swing, a padded horse, and an articulated massage table all with tie down points.
Trace scents of perfume and smoke register in your mind even as you feel a small sting on your neck. You awaken nude strapped to the cross amid a raging storm with lightening and candles providing the only light. You’re not frightened but amused and slightly aroused...you call out.
You’re answered by the click of a lighter from somewhere behind you followed shortly by the unmistakable tapping of heels just audible over the pounding storm. You track the slow paced movement as your captor approaches. The. " I was the she-wolf but there's a difference there. Something I won't see again. Something that wasn't entirely me. From what I remember of looking down, my (I was in that skin so they are mine, not the she-wolf's – why quibble about it?) breasts were definitely bigger. I don't think I've ever seen a department store mannequin with big breasts. Or even decent sized. I'm scratching my chest again, subconsciously, but it feels good so I let it go. I find my eyes drawn back to the ass of the mannequin. The ass and where the pussy would be. I can remember my fingers between my thighs, rubbing my pussy and I can almost remember how it felt - the wetness on my fingers (paws?) and the electricity of those same fingers on the... my pussy lips. I imagine the mannequin on its knees, fingering itself like I did, leaning forward with one hand on the ground. I have to physically shift my feet around at the memory and visual. My face must be bright red right now. And then, in my imagination, the.
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