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The Alien's Slaves (Mark Andrews)


The Alien

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Dara Hewton is a shop assistant in Harrods and is happy with her boyfriend, Aiden. Her world is turned upside down by the person who walks into the store, calls her slave and demands that she strip immediately. She does, not knowing why. She discovers that his power is absolute; there is no way anyone can defy him.

For the next six months both Dara and Aiden are slaves of Andros, an alien who delights in watching and inflicting pain on humans. He enjoys altering their appearance, turning them into ponies and putting them through all manner of ordeals!

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 8 / 2011

Also in Paperback - Click Here

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 38000

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Moderate -    Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

Current all-time sales ranking: #2422


Excerpt..

Chapter 1

My transformation to slave was as instantaneous as it was unreal—unearthly would be a better description.
I was going about my normal duties as a junior in the Fine Foods department at Harrods when he came over, stopping right in front of me where I was assisting the manager to create a new display of exotic glazed tongues.
“Dara Hewton, you are now my slave,” he said.
My boss and I stared at him in astonishment. “Slave?” we said, in just about one voice. He was tall and lean and his face was ultra-handsome but his clothes were out of the 19th Century. He had on a soft velvet hat that flopped down over one side of his head and a cape done up at the throat that covered almost all the rest of his body. It, like his hat, was jet black, as were the trousers that poked out from under the cape and the highly polished shoes that were all of the rest of the clothing we could see.
“Slave,” he said firmly. “And for a slave, you are decidedly overdressed. Remove your clothing, Now!”
I did. It was as if an irresistible force had taken hold of me and while my boss and the customers around us looked on in utter amazement (but apparently powerless to intervene) I removed my white blouse, black skirt, stockings and shoes and then my underwear, to stand stark naked in front of him — and them.
He, still watched by our small audience in a sort of dazed awe, then proceeded to examine me, quite unperturbed by the shock on their faces. His examination was both thorough and very, very intrusive. Oh he ran his hands over my skin, checking out its smoothness, then squeezed my muscles … but then he went further, much further, now delving into my mouth (which I opened apparently quite willingly at his behest), my anus (which I also exposed for his delving fingers despite the pain of the intrusion there) and lastly of course my vagina.
Here, I should say I was not a virgin. Hell, who is these days? But I certainly hadn’t been in the habit of putting it out for every boy that came along. In fact, there had only been the one. Aidan Nelson was my boyfriend and training partner in the gymnastics we both loved. Yes, I know male and female gymnastics are very different but we still trained at the same time. I think it was my athletic body that appealed to him, actually. Mine and Aidan’s both, as it happened.
One thing he didn’t like about it though: my pubic hair. Like most girls these days, I kept it trimmed but he didn’t like any hair on his slaves’ bodies and he took immediate steps to remove it.
“Hands up above your head, slave, and legs wide apart!” he ordered quietly but firmly.
I obeyed. I don’t know why. It wasn’t as if I felt an overwhelming force pushing me. It was more that there just didn’t seem to be any reason not to comply. Weird? Yes, I know and it was quite out of character for me for I am normally a very private person when it comes to my body, always changing as quickly as I could in the gym and never ever flaunting my flesh, even to my fellow female gymnasts.
Anyway, he simply gestured with his hands at my body. I felt a sort of tickling sensation at my armpits, legs and around my groin, places where hair normally grew on my body. Of course I kept my underarms and legs shaved but not my pubic mound. I felt it was rather lewd to shave it entirely although with the sort of costumes we wore, it was of course necessary to keep it trimmed.
Now though, quite before my eyes, the hairs there just disappeared! Truly. They sort-of melted away and now my vulva and the mound around it was openly exposed to my eyes — and those of the small crowd that had now gathered around us.
I couldn’t look at my boss. I was blushing furiously at my humiliation, even though I had apparently brought it on myself. I hadn’t resisted him or his orders at any stage and had seemingly stripped myself quite willingly before their eyes. The funny thing though was that while their eyes and faces showed their shock at what was happening, none protested or made a move to help me.
“Hands up behind your head, slave,” he said now, “and keep them there, no matter what.”
“Yes, master,” I said and then caught a hold my myself. Who was I calling ‘master’? It had sort of slipped out, I supposed, but then, as I tried to think of him as something else, I couldn’t. He was my master! Somehow I knew that as an unmistakable fact.

My name is Dara Hewton. I am eighteen years old (as is Aidan) and I come from Kent. I am five feet, eight inches tall and I am blonde with blue eyes and an athletic body. My father works as a clerk for the local council and we live in a small house in a quiet street. Aidan’s circumstances are very similar. My life, apart from my love for gymnastics, is quiet and unremarkable. I suppose if he hadn’t come into our lives we would have drifted into marriage and the usual humdrum life of a suburban couple.
Our slavery changed all that, for yes, Aidan too was enslaved by him.
The next thing that happened was even more bizarre. While the small crowd around us grew and now encircled us completely, a stool appeared (as if by magic) and he sat down in front of me. Remember, I now stood with my feet apart and my hands clasped up behind my head. He now pointed a finger at my vagina and instantly I felt a wondrous tingle down in my loins.
He wasn’t touching it. His finger was a good six inches away from it but I was soon as excited as I had ever been with Aidan touching me there and to my unutterable shame, my clit now emerged from my nether lips and reddened visibly. So did my face, its already pink hue now a deep crimson as the audience watched him raise my libido.
Then there was this sudden pain. A horrible pain! It was as if he had thrust a red-hot needle through my clit. I looked down and was astonished to see a gleaming stainless steel ring now dangling from the organ.
He stood up then and the stool just disappeared as miraculously as it had arrived and gestured towards my neck. A collar, made of the same material as the ring now appeared around it. But this was no simple two-inched hinged collar. It was shaped to fit my whole neck and prevented me from raising or lowering my head or turning it from side to side.
The last part of the ensemble was a chain. It was light, like a dog’s chain and it now appeared, already clipped to my clitoral ring, the other end in his hand.
Who was he? I don’t know, not for sure. I believe he came from another planet — another star system probably for our scientists have established I think that other life, at least intelligent life, doesn’t exist in our solar system.
He was human in form but then being an ardent fan of science fiction I am aware of ‘shape-shifters’ who can transform themselves into any form they choose. He never smiled. Indeed, he never showed any emotion at all. He was the epitome of the proverbial inscrutable Asian. Not that he was Asian in appearance. He wasn’t really like any particular racial group. His skin was white, almost milk-white although it was alabaster-smooth and clear, and his physique, while lean, was quite perfect in shape and tone. His eyes were black. Absolutely black and the whites quite pure. His hair was also white—quite colourless but it was fine and gleamed with good health.
He called himself Andros and that was all I ever found out about him.
He commanded enormous resources and absolute obedience from everyone with whom he came into contact, as has already been described. He had weird powers, as has also been told. And I was now his slave.
What did I feel? Shame and humiliation, yes. I was stark naked out on the shop floor, my pubic hairs wiped away by magic and now wearing a clitoral ring and chain and a slave collar around my neck. But I was also compliant to his demands. Why, I had no idea. It wasn’t even as if there was a conflict going on in my brain: one part of me trying to resist against some all-powerful outside force. It wasn’t like that at all. I just knew I had to do as he ordered. It was as simple as that.
And then he just led me out of the department, down the escalators and out into the street while the little crowd watched in mute shock, as did those we passed on the way out.
My blush stayed a deep crimson that had now descended down my neck to my shoulders and chest but I was powerless to resist him or even to protest, even when we emerged out onto the busy street. It was late morning and Brompton Road was at its busiest. As might be expected, just as they had done in the store, everyone stopped to stare at the sight of the strangely-dressed tall man leading a naked girl by a chain attached to a ring through her naked clitoris, but again, not a single one of them protested, much less intervened. It wasn’t even as if the males among them were lecherous as they stared at my nakedness. To a man, all of them were just agog at the brazenness of my daring to walk as a slave among them in a public street in one of the most fashionable parts of London.
It was without doubt the most shameful thing that had ever happened to me but I never once forgot the order to keep my hands clasped up behind my head. I could have lowered them to cover my so naked breasts and vulva but I didn’t. I can’t explain why except to say it was exactly the same force that had made me undress in the first place. A compulsion I can’t explain no matter how much I try to fathom it out.
We walked about a hundred yards or so along the street and then a current model Rolls-Royce glided up beside us and we got in, both of us into the back compartment but then while he sat in the plush rear seat, he directed me to sit on one of the two little dickey-seats that folded down from the driver’s and front passenger seats.
“Keep your hands up where they are, slave, and spread your legs as wide as they will go. Wider! Wider still. Really strain to get them parallel with each other…”


Excerpt..

Chapter 1



My transformation to slave was as instantaneous as it was unreal—unearthly would be a better description.

I was going about my normal duties as a junior in the Fine Foods department at Harrods when he came over, stopping right in front of me
where I was assisting the manager to create a new display of exotic glazed tongues.

“Dara Hewton, you are now my slave,” he said.

My boss and I stared at him in astonishment. “Slave?” we said, in just about one voice. He was tall and lean and his face was
ultra-handsome but his clothes were out of the 19th Century. He had on a soft velvet hat that flopped down over one side of his head and a
cape done up at the throat that covered almost all the rest of his body. It, like his hat, was jet black, as were the trousers that poked
out from under the cape and the highly polished shoes that were all of the rest of the clothing we could see.

“Slave,” he said firmly. “And for a slave, you are decidedly overdressed. Remove your clothing, Now!”

I did. It was as if an irresistible force had taken hold of me and while my boss and the customers around us looked on in utter
amazement (but apparently powerless to intervene) I removed my white blouse, black skirt, stockings and shoes and then my underwear, to
stand stark naked in front of him — and them.

He, still watched by our small audience in a sort of dazed awe, then proceeded to examine me, quite unperturbed by the shock on their
faces. His examination was both thorough and very, very intrusive. Oh he ran his hands over my skin, checking out its smoothness, then
squeezed my muscles … but then he went further, much further, now delving into my mouth (which I opened apparently quite willingly at his
behest), my anus (which I also exposed for his delving fingers despite the pain of the intrusion there) and lastly of course my vagina. />
Here, I should say I was not a virgin. Hell, who is these days? But I certainly hadn’t been in the habit of putting it out for every
boy that came along. In fact, there had only been the one. Aidan Nelson was my boyfriend and training partner in the gymnastics we both
loved. Yes, I know male and female gymnastics are very different but we still trained at the same time. I think it was my athletic body
that appealed to him, actually. Mine and Aidan’s both, as it happened.

One thing he didn’t like about it though: my pubic hair. Like most girls these days, I kept it trimmed but he didn’t like any hair on
his slaves’ bodies and he took immediate steps to remove it.

“Hands up above your head, slave, and legs wide apart!” he ordered quietly but firmly.

I obeyed. I don’t know why. It wasn’t as if I felt an overwhelming force pushing me. It was more that there just didn’t seem to be
any reason not to comply. Weird? Yes, I know and it was quite out of character for me for I am normally a very private person when it
comes to my body, always changing as quickly as I could in the gym and never ever flaunting my flesh, even to my fellow female gymnasts. />
Anyway, he simply gestured with his hands at my body. I felt a sort of tickling sensation at my armpits, legs and around my groin,
places where hair normally grew on my body. Of course I kept my underarms and legs shaved but not my pubic mound. I felt it was rather
lewd to shave it entirely although with the sort of costumes we wore, it was of course necessary to keep it trimmed.

Now though, quite before my eyes, the hairs there just disappeared! Truly. They sort-of melted away and now my vulva and the mound
around it was openly exposed to my eyes — and those of the small crowd that had now gathered around us.

I couldn’t look at my boss. I was blushing furiously at my humiliation, even though I had apparently brought it on myself. I hadn’t
resisted him or his orders at any stage and had seemingly stripped myself quite willingly before their eyes. The funny thing though was
that while their eyes and faces showed their shock at what was happening, none protested or made a move to help me.

“Hands up behind your head, slave,” he said now, “and keep them there, no matter what.”

“Yes, master,” I said and then caught a hold my myself. Who was I calling ‘master’? It had sort of slipped out, I supposed, but then,
as I tried to think of him as something else, I couldn’t. He was my master! Somehow I knew that as an unmistakable fact.



My name is Dara Hewton. I am eighteen years old (as is Aidan) and I come from Kent. I am five feet, eight inches tall and I am blonde with
blue eyes and an athletic body. My father works as a clerk for the local council and we live in a small house in a quiet street. Aidan’s
circumstances are very similar. My life, apart from my love for gymnastics, is quiet and unremarkable. I suppose if he hadn’t come into
our lives we would have drifted into marriage and the usual humdrum life of a suburban couple.

Our slavery changed all that, for yes, Aidan too was enslaved by him.

The next thing that happened was even more bizarre. While the small crowd around us grew and now encircled us completely, a stool
appeared (as if by magic) and he sat down in front of me. Remember, I now stood with my feet apart and my hands clasped up behind my head.
He now pointed a finger at my vagina and instantly I felt a wondrous tingle down in my loins.

He wasn’t touching it. His finger was a good six inches away from it but I was soon as excited as I had ever been with Aidan touching
me there and to my unutterable shame, my clit now emerged from my nether lips and reddened visibly. So did my face, its already pink hue
now a deep crimson as the audience watched him raise my libido.

Then there was this sudden pain. A horrible pain! It was as if he had thrust a red-hot needle through my clit. I looked down and was
astonished to see a gleaming stainless steel ring now dangling from the organ.

He stood up then and the stool just disappeared as miraculously as it had arrived and gestured towards my neck. A collar, made of the
same material as the ring now appeared around it. But this was no simple two-inched hinged collar. It was shaped to fit my whole neck and
prevented me from raising or lowering my head or turning it from side to side.

The last part of the ensemble was a chain. It was light, like a dog’s chain and it now appeared, already clipped to my clitoral ring,
the other end in his hand.

Who was he? I don’t know, not for sure. I believe he came from another planet — another star system probably for our scientists have
established I think that other life, at least intelligent life, doesn’t exist in our solar system.

He was human in form but then being an ardent fan of science fiction I am aware of ‘shape-shifters’ who can transform themselves into
any form they choose. He never smiled. Indeed, he never showed any emotion at all. He was the epitome of the proverbial inscrutable
Asian. Not that he was Asian in appearance. He wasn’t really like any particular racial group. His skin was white, almost milk-white
although it was alabaster-smooth and clear, and his physique, while lean, was quite perfect in shape and tone. His eyes were black.
Absolutely black and the whites quite pure. His hair was also white—quite colourless but it was fine and gleamed with good health.

He called himself Andros and that was all I ever found out about him.

He commanded enormous resources and absolute obedience from everyone with whom he came into contact, as has already been described. He
had weird powers, as has also been told. And I was now his slave.

What did I feel? Shame and humiliation, yes. I was stark naked out on the shop floor, my pubic hairs wiped away by magic and now
wearing a clitoral ring and chain and a slave collar around my neck. But I was also compliant to his demands. Why, I had no idea. It
wasn’t even as if there was a conflict going on in my brain: one part of me trying to resist against some all-powerful outside force. It
wasn’t like that at all. I just knew I had to do as he ordered. It was as simple as that.

And then he just led me out of the department, down the escalators and out into the street while the little crowd watched in mute
shock, as did those we passed on the way out.

My blush stayed a deep crimson that had now descended down my neck to my shoulders and chest but I was powerless to resist him or even
to protest, even when we emerged out onto the busy street. It was late morning and Brompton Road was at its busiest. As might be expected,
just as they had done in the store, everyone stopped to stare at the sight of the strangely-dressed tall man leading a naked girl by a chain
attached to a ring through her naked clitoris, but again, not a single one of them protested, much less intervened. It wasn’t even as if
the males among them were lecherous as they stared at my nakedness. To a man, all of them were just agog at the brazenness of my daring to
walk as a slave among them in a public street in one of the most fashionable parts of London.

It was without doubt the most shameful thing that had ever happened to me but I never once forgot the order to keep my hands clasped up
behind my head. I could have lowered them to cover my so naked breasts and vulva but I didn’t. I can’t explain why except to say it was
exactly the same force that had made me undress in the first place. A compulsion I can’t explain no matter how much I try to fathom it
out.

We walked about a hundred yards or so along the street and then a current model Rolls-Royce glided up beside us and we got in, both of
us into the back compartment but then while he sat in the plush rear seat, he directed me to sit on one of the two little dickey-seats that
folded down from the driver’s and front passenger seats.

“Keep your hands up where they are, slave, and spread your legs as wide as they will go. Wider! Wider still. Really strain to get
them parallel with each other…”


Excerpt..

Chapter 1





My transformation to slave was as instantaneous as it was unreal—unearthly would be a better description.


I was going about my normal duties as a junior in the Fine Foods department at Harrods when he came over, stopping right in front of me

where I was assisting the manager to create a new display of exotic glazed tongues.


“Dara Hewton, you are now my slave,” he said.


My boss and I stared at him in astonishment. “Slave?” we said, in just about one voice. He was tall and lean and his face was

ultra-handsome but his clothes were out of the 19th Century. He had on a soft velvet hat that flopped down over one side of his head and a

cape done up at the throat that covered almost all the rest of his body. It, like his hat, was jet black, as were the trousers that poked

out from under the cape and the highly polished shoes that were all of the rest of the clothing we could see.


“Slave,” he said firmly. “And for a slave, you are decidedly overdressed. Remove your clothing, Now!”


I did. It was as if an irresistible force had taken hold of me and while my boss and the customers around us looked on in utter

amazement (but apparently powerless to intervene) I removed my white blouse, black skirt, stockings and shoes and then my underwear, to

stand stark naked in front of him — and them.


He, still watched by our small audience in a sort of dazed awe, then proceeded to examine me, quite unperturbed by the shock on their

faces. His examination was both thorough and very, very intrusive. Oh he ran his hands over my skin, checking out its smoothness, then

squeezed my muscles … but then he went further, much further, now delving into my mouth (which I opened apparently quite willingly at his

behest), my anus (which I also exposed for his delving fingers despite the pain of the intrusion there) and lastly of course my vagina.
/>

Here, I should say I was not a virgin. Hell, who is these days? But I certainly hadn’t been in the habit of putting it out for every

boy that came along. In fact, there had only been the one. Aidan Nelson was my boyfriend and training partner in the gymnastics we both

loved. Yes, I know male and female gymnastics are very different but we still trained at the same time. I think it was my athletic body

that appealed to him, actually. Mine and Aidan’s both, as it happened.


One thing he didn’t like about it though: my pubic hair. Like most girls these days, I kept it trimmed but he didn’t like any hair on

his slaves’ bodies and he took immediate steps to remove it.


“Hands up above your head, slave, and legs wide apart!” he ordered quietly but firmly.


I obeyed. I don’t know why. It wasn’t as if I felt an overwhelming force pushing me. It was more that there just didn’t seem to be

any reason not to comply. Weird? Yes, I know and it was quite out of character for me for I am normally a very private person when it

comes to my body, always changing as quickly as I could in the gym and never ever flaunting my flesh, even to my fellow female gymnasts.
/>

Anyway, he simply gestured with his hands at my body. I felt a sort of tickling sensation at my armpits, legs and around my groin,

places where hair normally grew on my body. Of course I kept my underarms and legs shaved but not my pubic mound. I felt it was rather

lewd to shave it entirely although with the sort of costumes we wore, it was of course necessary to keep it trimmed.


Now though, quite before my eyes, the hairs there just disappeared! Truly. They sort-of melted away and now my vulva and the mound

around it was openly exposed to my eyes — and those of the small crowd that had now gathered around us.


I couldn’t look at my boss. I was blushing furiously at my humiliation, even though I had apparently brought it on myself. I hadn’t

resisted him or his orders at any stage and had seemingly stripped myself quite willingly before their eyes. The funny thing though was

that while their eyes and faces showed their shock at what was happening, none protested or made a move to help me.


“Hands up behind your head, slave,” he said now, “and keep them there, no matter what.”


“Yes, master,” I said and then caught a hold my myself. Who was I calling ‘master’? It had sort of slipped out, I supposed, but then,

as I tried to think of him as something else, I couldn’t. He was my master! Somehow I knew that as an unmistakable fact.





My name is Dara Hewton. I am eighteen years old (as is Aidan) and I come from Kent. I am five feet, eight inches tall and I am blonde with

blue eyes and an athletic body. My father works as a clerk for the local council and we live in a small house in a quiet street. Aidan’s

circumstances are very similar. My life, apart from my love for gymnastics, is quiet and unremarkable. I suppose if he hadn’t come into

our lives we would have drifted into marriage and the usual humdrum life of a suburban couple.


Our slavery changed all that, for yes, Aidan too was enslaved by him.


The next thing that happened was even more bizarre. While the small crowd around us grew and now encircled us completely, a stool

appeared (as if by magic) and he sat down in front of me. Remember, I now stood with my feet apart and my hands clasped up behind my head.

He now pointed a finger at my vagina and instantly I felt a wondrous tingle down in my loins.


He wasn’t touching it. His finger was a good six inches away from it but I was soon as excited as I had ever been with Aidan touching

me there and to my unutterable shame, my clit now emerged from my nether lips and reddened visibly. So did my face, its already pink hue

now a deep crimson as the audience watched him raise my libido.


Then there was this sudden pain. A horrible pain! It was as if he had thrust a red-hot needle through my clit. I looked down and was

astonished to see a gleaming stainless steel ring now dangling from the organ.


He stood up then and the stool just disappeared as miraculously as it had arrived and gestured towards my neck. A collar, made of the

same material as the ring now appeared around it. But this was no simple two-inched hinged collar. It was shaped to fit my whole neck and

prevented me from raising or lowering my head or turning it from side to side.


The last part of the ensemble was a chain. It was light, like a dog’s chain and it now appeared, already clipped to my clitoral ring,

the other end in his hand.


Who was he? I don’t know, not for sure. I believe he came from another planet — another star system probably for our scientists have

established I think that other life, at least intelligent life, doesn’t exist in our solar system.


He was human in form but then being an ardent fan of science fiction I am aware of ‘shape-shifters’ who can transform themselves into

any form they choose. He never smiled. Indeed, he never showed any emotion at all. He was the epitome of the proverbial inscrutable

Asian. Not that he was Asian in appearance. He wasn’t really like any particular racial group. His skin was white, almost milk-white

although it was alabaster-smooth and clear, and his physique, while lean, was quite perfect in shape and tone. His eyes were black.

Absolutely black and the whites quite pure. His hair was also white—quite colourless but it was fine and gleamed with good health.


He called himself Andros and that was all I ever found out about him.


He commanded enormous resources and absolute obedience from everyone with whom he came into contact, as has already been described. He

had weird powers, as has also been told. And I was now his slave.


What did I feel? Shame and humiliation, yes. I was stark naked out on the shop floor, my pubic hairs wiped away by magic and now

wearing a clitoral ring and chain and a slave collar around my neck. But I was also compliant to his demands. Why, I had no idea. It

wasn’t even as if there was a conflict going on in my brain: one part of me trying to resist against some all-powerful outside force. It

wasn’t like that at all. I just knew I had to do as he ordered. It was as simple as that.


And then he just led me out of the department, down the escalators and out into the street while the little crowd watched in mute

shock, as did those we passed on the way out.


My blush stayed a deep crimson that had now descended down my neck to my shoulders and chest but I was powerless to resist him or even

to protest, even when we emerged out onto the busy street. It was late morning and Brompton Road was at its busiest. As might be expected,

just as they had done in the store, everyone stopped to stare at the sight of the strangely-dressed tall man leading a naked girl by a chain

attached to a ring through her naked clitoris, but again, not a single one of them protested, much less intervened. It wasn’t even as if

the males among them were lecherous as they stared at my nakedness. To a man, all of them were just agog at the brazenness of my daring to

walk as a slave among them in a public street in one of the most fashionable parts of London.


It was without doubt the most shameful thing that had ever happened to me but I never once forgot the order to keep my hands clasped up

behind my head. I could have lowered them to cover my so naked breasts and vulva but I didn’t. I can’t explain why except to say it was

exactly the same force that had made me undress in the first place. A compulsion I can’t explain no matter how much I try to fathom it

out.


We walked about a hundred yards or so along the street and then a current model Rolls-Royce glided up beside us and we got in, both of

us into the back compartment but then while he sat in the plush rear seat, he directed me to sit on one of the two little dickey-seats that

folded down from the driver’s and front passenger seats.


“Keep your hands up where they are, slave, and spread your legs as wide as they will go. Wider! Wider still. Really strain to get

them parallel with each other…”



Keywords - click on word to search for more titles

alien  BDSM  slavery  pony  

Best Selling Books This Year By Mark Andrews

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Best Selling Books This Year By Mark Andrews

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Author Information

a prolific BDSM writer who lives on the Gold Coast of Australia. His books have been delighting Olympia Press customers for many years and now he is one of Fiction4All's exclusive authors.

 


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Affiliate Program

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