Sinful Sunday: Slavegirls at the bottom of the garden

It’s 6.30 in the morning. A girl waits for me, pale pink with deeper pink in places,bending over a chair near the end of my land, looking down into the valley. The air is clear but still morning-fresh: she shivers a little.

She won’t come quietly, that girl. Echoes of the flogger’s impact, and quieter pleasures, and orgasmic cries, across the valley. It’s a beautiful place, but it’s never been more beautiful than that morning.

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22 thoughts on “Sinful Sunday: Slavegirls at the bottom of the garden

    • Yes. Though here in Italy, where it’s supposedly winter, it’s quite warm, really.

      And there’s something nice about having slightly cool air waking up the skin. (So long as you’ve got a warm fire going inside.)

      xxx J

    • Thank you very much!

      I don’t do outdoors sexythings nearly often enough. (I’ve just realised. So now I can do something about that.)

  1. The thought of finding such delights at the bottom of the garden is a dream. I will be honest and say the imagery is better than I thought when I saw Slave in the title

    • It’s a question of how you use the word and what you mean by it. A slavegirl may be owned and have to do as she’s told, but only while she likes and enjoys that. And she is certainly loved, revered and treasured by her master. I mean, speaking for myself, anyway.
      I see it as a close, intimate word, not remotely demeaning.

      I’m glad you liked the pic!

    • Pretty magical. Can turn happiness into joy. And she can fly.

      And she’s magically pretty. Especially in her natural environment.

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