Clothes? I haven't any fucking cloths! I can't go to her in jockey shorts.She'll humiliate me. Then I remembered that my ex had left a somewhat largeb...x and two smaller ones behind. Telling me to get rid of them, I of coursedidn't. They were in the spare room. Maybe, just maybe....? Jumping from the tepid tub I scrambled frantically to the spare room, everaware of the hard shaft embedded in my love tunnel. My clit started to hardenwhen I opened the first box and discovered a peach thong & bra. "Smoove white skin ... oh my, yew are a pretty one ... Yer goin' to be my cunt now, and I'm goin' to fuck yew up until yew forget yore 'yuman!" Were the awful words to which I awoke.Powerful hands were stripping me, efficiently removing my rough prison dress, my bra, my wee-sodden knickers. It was midsummer; it always seemed to be summer when my life went crazy. The cell was like an oven, and I dumbly, dazedly thought for a second that it felt good to be naked. But the woman who owned this. More

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