Quietly, Web Hardman circled around her as she wantonly slumped in the chair, sluttish in her pose with her legs thrown wide over the arms of the chair. Her nakedly quivering cunt was gaping open as she guided the rapidly thrusting mechanical penis in and around her vaginal cavity. She was moaning continuously now. The gray-haired older man walked behind the chair and, leaning over it, reached down and began unbuttoning the front of her dress.

He slowly pulled the bodice open, revealing her large, firmly upthrust breasts that were spilling out of a flimsy half-bra. He knew that Nichole was justifiably proud of her huge, but perfectly proportioned breasts. The night he had broken her, the night she had reveled in depravities and lewd behavior, the night she had admitted her inherent wantonness and submitted her will to his, that wonderful night had begun when he had her strip to the waist. Then, his bodyguard and his chauffeur had seized her and forced her arms back. A pole, a broom handle, was run long-ways between her back and her arms. Then Nichole's hands were forced forward again, and she had watched as her wrists were tightly and brutally tied together in front of her waist. The pole across her back, locking her elbows in place, had forced her arms and shoulders back… and thrust out her nakedly quivering breasts.

She had been forced to stand in front of a mirror and stare at herself before, at a signal from Web, his men began caressing and putting their wetly open mouths on those out-thrust, defenseless breasts.

That night had been the beginning for Nichole. She was too thrilled and excited to resist as she watched in the mirror. Ever since that night Web had been able to bring her to an orgasm, just by exciting and fondling her breasts.

Now he helped them free of the almost transparent half-bra and saw the firm way they quivered and jellied on her breast.