Don’t call me blackie, whitey
Day number175 at the staff cross with the preteen hardon d****. The boys graduated to running the preparation mechanisms. Two lovely young girls have graduated to chest oil rubbing and masterbating. And one to manually record the d**** penetration action in and out. I’m to suffer an hour and a half of their torture as they see fit. The boss gets off witnessing their progress in expertise. Though I’m getting used to it I must admit there are times of the humiliation feelings still linger through as the group grows and different faces appear reacting for their first time as I sell it as if I was really scared and worried. But damn it feels so good to go through it.
I know everything is over but still why do I miss you so much. As if it ended without ending. The rushes pain me why couldn’t I forget. No doubt I have controlled my feelings, my thoughts but couldn’t wiped off a single moment. In my mind everything is etched so deeply I bleed literally when my mind stops working and my heart takes over.. Damn!!! Why does love make us cry so much..
