Bestiality australia.
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Now she presented an altogether different picture, curled up in what looked like a comfortable ball. Her hands placed palm to palm, on under her head, a half smile playing across her lips. Her spine and buttocks created a perfect arc, her knees drawn tight up into her body, forcing her labia from between her milky thighs, smooth and hairless, the glint of the padlock that passed through the stem of her clitoris glittering ominously behind.
She truly was beautiful, I reflected, shivering slightly at my inactivity, wondering how on earth she managed to sleep so soundly in the chill. She wore no make-up, her soft brown hair falling delicately across her cheek, her pouting lips slightly parted revealing perfect white teeth behind.
There was no hidden agenda, no body shaping underwear, no string or strapping, nothing to deceive the eye of the beholder, by twisting her body into unnaturally pronounced positions. She owned no clothes, no high heels to shape her calves and force her to walk with her hips thrust out. She had no mini skirts, designed to titillate the voyeur with a hint of what might lay beneath. She had no figure hugging, chest lifting, breast moulding tops. She had no 'attitude', no image to uphold, no annoying habits or platforms of moral high ground.
She had no affiliation with any clique, no misplaced loyalties She was exactly as you found her, a vision of truth, with no other tools of seduction than those which her maker had given her, no means of deceiving the onlooker, those attributes on display at all times, for inspection by all.
The only onlooker to date had been Chris and I, and Chris didn't count, as she had been fulfilling a professional capacity.
It intrigued me to know just how far she would debase herself in order to obey. The memory of the lash was strong, that much was obvious. The merest hint of the switch was enough to send a fleeting glance of horror fleeting across her face, her hands involuntarily reaching for the soft skin of her buttocks, feeling the tiny, almost invisible lines some of her more severe punishments had left.
I also knew that her desire to please her Master was stronger still, a desire that had originally been born through the pain of refusal, but had now become an integral part of her subconscious. She did not now know why she obeyed, it seemed to her a natural thing to do. She could not know that her brain had forced her to adopt this attitude, as an instinctive barrier against receiving more earth-shattering bolts of pain through its overloaded nerve endings.
The brain was indeed a complex thing, but incredibly easy to manipulate when using pain as a tutor. As I watched, she stirred from her sleep; her long lashes fluttering as she struggled to open her eyes.
She opened like a flower, her long slender limbs stretching languorously as she shrugged off the stiffness of sleep, her perfectly smooth pubic mound and pert, full breasts coming tantalisingly into view.
In an instant she realised she was being watched. It took a further second for her half asleep brain to register her watcher's identity, before she scrambled to her feet, bereft of all modesty, standing to attention in her tiny cage, her eyes trained on the floor in a gesture of servility.