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I got hints from some of Serena's classmates around the edges of the ceremony that she'd also been exceptionally social. Although we stuck together as a family, including my bodyguard, Serena seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew her. More than once I also got the feeling that many of the young men in her class knew her very well – very, very well. I even heard one express the hope that she'd be at a particular party that evening at one of the off-campus homes some upperclassmen used as. My rod was racing through her love tunnel faster than a race car running around the track. With my hands on her hips, it was all I could do to stay with her as she rode me to heights never before reached. Every time she slammed down hard on me, her large breasts shook. It was impossible for me to know which I found the most exciting, to watch them or to watch my cock rapidly disappear up into her and the way her pink pussy lips tried to hang on to me and were pulled out as she rose up. I knew. The footstool slave got in place. The moment the Mistress stepped onto him, the doors opened and a deep blue carpet decorated with the Mistress’s insignia was rolled out for her to walk upon. She walked regally down the length of the room to her throne. At each of the five steps that led to the throne, two slaves on each quickly kissed both sides of her leather boots. The Mistress ignored their obeisance and sat down, stepping on two hands of the top step slaves that did not move fast. There was fear and terror in her eyes when she was laying naked on my bed - and maybe something else, too. Hope? Then it was in my mind that I hoped that I could change her mind about this. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her body - her breasts were not big, but they were firm and her hips were not prominent but they were feminine enough, at least to me. Her almost non-existent bush confirmed that she was really blond. The darker stripes in her hair had come from a bottle. The distress.
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