EXTRACT FOR
FRONT RUNNER GETS DESTROYED
(Kim Hardwick)

Reaching behind her to release the handcuffs on her wrists, I press my body next to her and feel her shiver.  The presence of my $550 Sea Island cotton shirt (Hickey Freeman) rubbing up against her sweaty skin must have triggered a mini orgasm, as she leaned over and rested her head on my chest.  Turning towards me, she started kissing my shirt, rubbing as best she could against me.  in short, she was ready to be bred.

Removing her nipple clamps, she moaned and continued to rub against me, this time opening her eyes and staring at me with an intensity that spoke volumes of her desire to have me take her.  Take her now and take her hard.  

While pondering this conundrum, knowing that if I were to take her in the savage manner she desired and I demanded, it would drain me and put a damper on my plans for providing the painful destruction she deserved, I resolved to grant her another second hand pleasure and save my own release until after her flogging.

After releasing her ankle restraints, I lifted her up from the horse, letting her put her arms about my neck and nuzzle my neck, pressing  her raw and erect nipples into my sweaty shirt, I carried her to my bed.  She obviously mistook my intentions for she was now wild eyed and writhing, moving her hips and womanhood in an obvious attempt to prepare her for the breeding she believe was at hand.  

It may be considered bad form, but I am a firm believer in teasing women; the more you tease them and withhold sexual gratification until the very last possible moment, the more powerful the woman's orgasm and ergo, the more addicted she finds herself to the man's whims.  This explains how so many women end up in masochistic relationships with escaped convicts and Scientologists.

Pressing my body over her, as if I were to mount her Missionary style, I carefully cuffed her wrists to the attached handcuffs by the bed posts and then, running my tongue from her nipples down to her bush and, after a quick exploratory survey of her soaking wet pussy, continued down towards her ankles which I likewise, secured via the attached cuffs.

This middle aged bleached blond political power broker, darling of the media and power brokers in Hollywood, was at present, writhing and moving about enticing me to remove my clothes, alternatingly begging and demanding that I fuck the living shit out of her.  Indeed, the musky smell of her pussy was overwhelming;  her body, and the pheromones she was releasing almost convinced me to engage in one of my favorite games: hide the sausage.