Onward I ran and ran. Howlong I couldn't tell.The last stretch opened before me. The parody of a garden. Silhouettesmoved along withered remains of grass, shrubbery, and flowers. I passed afew quite close. Dolls. All of them were dolls. Female. Poised. Perfect.I did not know where that thought came from, but it felt right.I only stopped running as I came face to face with the main entrance ofthe manor. Solid oak doors, twice the size they used to be, stood in myway. I tried to reach for them, but couldn't. My arms didn't budge alittle. Still clutching the folder to my chest. Looking down, I sawporcelain hands.My thoughts interrupted as the doors opened. Dolls, dressed as maids,beckoned me in. The foyer had changed, but I hardly noticed. It was notthe new grand staircase that drew my eyes, but the person who stood ontop. The mistress of the manor.I still remember her words. "A feisty one. How amusing. But not for long.Hurry to your quarters and be ready when I call." Her voice was. He had a nicely defined chest and arms and very little paunch (I have a modest one). His eyes were brown and his salt and pepper hair was close cropped. He sat back and closed his eyes a moment. Then he opened them and asked me if I was hot enough or did I want him to ladle some water on the rocks. I told him that would be great. Steam clouded the room and, as it did, he took off his trunks before sitting back down, his ass white and untanned, his cock long, cut and heavy. “Good idea,” I said, and I did the same thing. My cock, which is about seven cut inches and cut, popped out as I slid off my trunks, and there was that moment where I wondered how he’d react: if he’d be disgusted or angry or maybe embarassed for me (all of these things had happened before). But, through the steam, he seemed fine with it, saying, in a more pronounced accent, “Much better yes?” I told him that it felt good, and he said, “It gets better if you touch it, like this,” he said, laying his hand over the.
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