Indian Maid Fucked By Owner

The movie had been replaced by a different one now. Again, it showed a bound girl, but this time the victim – a young, skinny blonde with high cheekbones and long, straight hair – was kneeling, her wrists and neck in some kind of portable stocks, a large board made from dark wood, her upper body tightly wound in ropes above and below her small breasts that made them sticking out invitingly. Her ankles had been bound to her thighs with the same kind of rope, and her mouth was spread wide open by some kind of metal device that was fastened to her head with a leather strap. All around her, elegantly clothed people, both male and female, were sitting on chairs and watching her. Then a dark-haired lady, close to her fifties and in a moss green evening gown, stood up and approached the girl, and when she got close, she pulled a riding crop from behind her back. The eyes of the blonde widened in fright, but before she could move, the lady had brought down the crop twice, once across each of. I watch in the mirror as he gets out of his truck and walks up and gets in mine. “ Glad you came. I was worried you might change your mind.” “I started to, but you’ve got me a little curious. Why did you want to hang with me instead of your friends? I mean, we hardly know each other.” “I just wanted to get to know you a little better. Besides, there is something I have been wanting to ask you all year long.” “What is it?” “You know where Flats Road is?” I nodded that I did. “Good. Let’s head there and I’ll tell you.” Flats Road was a good ways out in the country, mostly unused by anyone but farmers during the day, and teenagers wanting to be alone at night. The drive out there was mostly silent except for the radio. As we approached a particularly quiet spot, Rusty asked me to pull on to a little side road that dead ended about a half mile down. “Let’s stop here.” I did, and Rusty jumped out of my truck and walked off to the side of the road to piss I assumed. He came.
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