Also the quiet moments with Master are getting rarer and he looks at me less often, now usually settling for resting his feet on some part of me or st...cking his feet into my mouth or such. I still sleep on the floor next to Master?s bed and still drink his morning piss, followed by a blow job and while I still enjoy it immensely, it is no longer our shared start of the day. These days I am always hooded and am as such merely his fluid receptacle. There is no longer any intimacy and I hate. She was probably a young bride, not looking for adventure, but looking for a way to make more money for her young household. She was not looking for an adventure in someone’s bed either. The one on the left side of the table I judged to also be in her early to mid-thirties. A wild child. You know the type. The one that always partied, drank, smoked weed and fucked in high school and college. Probably got a useless liberal arts degree at a state school, (so she could say that daddy’s money was. That's alright, i really don't mind. i'm flattered." mrs. brinson stood from behind the typing desk and rolled it back into the corner from where she got it. "james why don't you come over here and sit in this chair." she said, pulling out the chair from her big desk. as i raised myself of my chair i grabbed a sketchbook to try and conceal my obvious bulge. "james you can leave your book there," she said with a smile on her face. i don't know if i even took a breath during that long. I cried a lot and I think I slept some. Eventually a middle-aged motherly looking woman showed up and tried to talk to me. I ignored her too. She talked to the nurses a lot and then to a doctor and then she finally came and told me that she was going to take me away. Then I really cried. I cried and I screamed and I even kicked her. I wouldn't let her touch me, I wasn't going away. My mother was here; I didn't want to leave her. I knew she was dead, but somehow leaving would be wrong. I wasn't.
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