We do not walk far. He leaves the building, turns left, walks a few paces, and turns up a back alleyway. It is narrow, strewn with rubbish, the walls adorned with graffiti. The smell of feline urine assaults my nostrils. I follow, patting at my dress as I attempt desperately to smooth it, squirming at the discomfort of my still rucked up panties, dreading what is to come casey calvert hot movies
The alleyway makes a turn, at right angles, leading to a place behind the building a few plots along from the bar. Industrial bins line the walls, cars are parked haphazardly on the cracked asphalt. The walls are high, and, looking up, I see that there are no windows visible through which we might be overlooked. And for this, at least, I am grateful.
He leans against the wall, motioning for me to kneel. I do so, pleading, now openly, to be spared this shame.
"It's what you deserve," he growls, contemptuously, "for being what you are. Am I right, bitch?"
"Yes," I whisper, feeling my eyes prick with tears of shame. "Yes. I do."
"Yes what, bitch?"
"Yes Sir," I whimper, the tears beginning to roll down my cheek.
At this point, they do many things. Some force me to go onto all fours, a position even more humiliating than simply kneeling. Others make me lick their shoes. They might order me to remove my panties and hand them to them, forcing me to go home effectively naked under my dress. Or unzip my dress and let it fall, step out of it, and throw it over the wall, so that I am forced to go home in my slip. None of them has yet taken all my clothes, leaving me naked, but one day, I am sure, they will.