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They walked and talked for a while, about everything and nothing, and then Tigger took Abby back to her group. There were a few of them—people like Abby—and she felt relaxed around them. They were outcasts too. She was introduced to Pigeon, Kai, Paris, Tamara, Rex and Zapper and she warmed to their company. They were sat in the middle of a disused bandstand smoking from a large blunt that Zapper had procured from somewhere and Abby relaxed as she took a long drag. The taste was bitter—something she had never tried japanese before—but it relaxed her. She asked what it was and Zapper shrugged and said he was fucked if he knew. Abby laughed, and then smoked some more and she mellowed. Zapper was older than all of the others—they said he had a job someplace in the city on a building site—and he sat close japan to Abby and tried to touch her leg and later Paris told her that he kind of had a thing for really young girls like Abby. Tigger told them about Abby’s exploit with the old BDSM man. She shrugged and said it was something she picked up back at asian home and that it was an easy way to get some money. “Besides,” she said, “they’re never going to admit to the cops that she got mugged trying to get off with a fetish kid.” They laughed and then smoked some more and some time later Abby passed out. It was dark by the time she awoke and the group were gone. Abby—reported missing by the home—got her own escort back to the house when two Police officers stumbled upon her. She refused to tell officers who she had been out with or what she had been doing and after their debrief she went upstairs and locked herself in her bedroom and waited until they were gone before she made her second escape— “Abby. Abby—” came the knocking from the door. She ignored it. Her breathing was shallow and irregular, her head thick and alien, as she looked at her reflection. She looked herself up and down and played with her bottom lip with her teeth as she checked her angles. She had dug out a black playsuit she had and nervously wobbled in heels, as she made sure it looked OK. It was satin black, with a V neckline that came down the side of her breasts and loose shorts that finished just below her bottom. She had on a deep red lipstick, dark mascara and purple eyeliner that highlighted her cerulean blue eyes and her hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek high ponytail. She took a deep breath, toyed with her lip some more and then she opened her bedroom door. I squirmed, Sven's fingers curling into my pussy's depths. It took half a box of tissue to clean her up. I saw she could no longer move, her body taught and bent like a bow. “You think yourself a dominating woman, don’t you, Elena of the Straltaira?” Sherok said, standing to her full height, “When all you’ve had are elves and succubi, I suspect it’s easy to think that.” She grabbed my cock and squeezed, not to the point of pain, but to the edge of it. With some murmurs of discontent they and the crowd hurry to his service. Goddamn, she’s a sadistic bitch , Scott thought. The smile of confidence had returned to her lovely face. “I made them both cum!” A familiar voice telling me to speak my name and claim my BDSM power… Whatever that means. She squeaked and shuddered. I found two girls dressed in Catholic school girl uniforms complete with Mary jane shoes, white socks and plaid skirts. She tilted out the dining table and japanese quickly poured some chilled tea with cookies for us to share. My nipples tingled, this naughty thrill dancing through me. I resisted the urge to giggle. I wish I didn’t have to feel so japan exposed, but my generous bosom fetish asian means the slave uniform hangs down some distance away from my belly, and this combined with a denial of underclothes leaves me very open to the air.