The first time I saw her crying in the slave pens, draped in rags, her body whipped and bruised, cum dribbling down her breasts and face, something ki...dled in my heart. She was destined for the brothels. Or to be sold as a kennel slave to pleasure gladiators and fighters. But her eyes met mine. Those soft, brown doe-eyes. The moment I locked on them, I was lost. That pleading desire to be saved, rescued, gripped me. That innocence drowning in filth. Innocence I could mold, shape, turn into a. "And they're *so* much more sensitive, aren't they?" All of a sudden she started gently biting my nipples almost to the point that it hurt, rendering me completely speechless. I thought I was going to shoot through the ceiling with intense pleasure."I didn't get an *answer*! I *asked* you if they are sensitive." Laughed Jenny. By the time I could answer my nipples were being punished again. She seemed to know exactly how far to go, never quite crossing the line between pain and pleasure, but. More

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