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Get out of my life.When I stopped to ask a flight attendant for aspirin, my voice wassofter, huskier, and lower than either Anna's or the bicycle girl's. Itsounded odd in my ears and I'm not sure I covered my surprise. What astory the two attendants would share that night at my expense.The pain medicine started working by the time I got back to my seat, andmy stomach felt a little better, too. I sat with my eyes closed andrealized I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up with a jerk andthe headache was almost gone.The bicycle girl's backpack was jammed under the seat in front of her--Itook it out so I could explore its contents and get to know her. Thebiggest item in the backpack, taking up most of the space, was thehelmet she'd be wearing up the Alps. I thought, this is not me. Sheshould be the one to wear the helmet. There was my denial again; I hadno interest in cycling, so the helmet and the Alpine trip meant nothingto me.Hidden under the helmet were several changes of. What I didn't know at the time was that my shorts had dark sweat stains in some of the most embarrassing places you can imagine.Hoping to be finished by 5:00, I skipped lunch and kept working.As I had planned, by 4:00 pm the lawn was cut, the sidewalk had been edged, and the hedges were trimmed. I was almost finished, which was a good thing because I was tired as hell. I had one thing left to do ... take care of 'Ralph', the bush, immediately outside my office window. I'd saved the worst for last.The house I own is a three bedroom ranch-style home located in one of the city's better middle income sub-divisions. It was a spoil of war left over from my divorce and one of the few things I had to show for four years of marriage. I had been lucky in that, at the time of my divorce eight years earlier, there wasn't much equity in the place and the payments were too high for my ex-wife to afford. She let me have it and along with it custody of 'Ralph'What was supposed to be the front.
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For a moment there was no noise. Then a pitiful low moan. Her tit was bouncing and shaking erotically as the current passed through her nipple. The skin touched by each prong was developing an angry red welt, darkening with each passing second. “Would you like me to stop bitch?”The blond said nothing. Either the electricity had fried her brain or she was thinking that it was a trick question. She simply screamed much louder. Is there anything sexier than a scream from a beautiful woman who is being tortured? “Would you like me to stop bitch?” I repeated.After a slight pause, and yet another stream of piss down her leg, the blond made a decision:“Yes Master; oh thank you Master.”I let go of the button and the blond slumped forward. I could see in her eyes that she still thought that it was a trick. I reached forward towards her tit, fingering the angry mark where the prod had been. She instinctively pulled back, but before I could say anything, thrust her tortured tit forward.

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