“Just work on the parts I marked on your last where you had trouble at.”Jasmine smiles thinly and says, “Thank you, Mr. Thomas.” She then turn... around without another word and heads toward the door.Mr. Thomas wants to drop to his knees, right then and there, and beg her to stop. But he restrains himself. What the fuck am I thinking? I can’t lust over a high school kid. I shouldn’t have even done what I did with her. He shakes his head and drops it down to look at the papers on his desk.Then. This was just a game to the two of them. He would pretend to be angry and beat her, and she would pretend like she was suffering and not actually in total ecstasy. He continued whipping her again and again, learning to take pleasure in the sound of the hard leather striking her soft skin. With each snap to her beautiful body, Holly would cry out in happiness. Every red welt on her skin felt like a tattoo of dedication to her master, the stinging pain a delicious bonus. Her breasts were swollen. She had apparently gotten better at resisting her desire to dose herself when she watched someone else's transformation since all she really wanted to do now was play with herself while Sam bimbofied, but maybe it was that she just hated Sam that much.Sam, meanwhile, had forgotten that Amy was even there, as she was suddenly filled to bursting with unrestrained femininity that concentrated itself in her bust, her hips, and her tight little ass, making Sam feel like she had to swell with that. She moved her hands, slowly, from her face, looked up into ancient eyes, almost blue, like a fall day before a first hesitant snow. Clear, yet not. Clouds, but not yet. The fury contained inside was gone now, latent, manifest, pyroclastic eyebrows arched, an old face lined with sedimentary strata – fragmented by eons, by time unimaginable. Wild hair, storm-streaked and long, long – hanging like tendrils of smoke long. A coarse cloak or tunic, like burlap but woven from the fabric of… what? The.
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