He walked a few steps, feeling the restriction, the power it gave his stride–tight but freeing, a balance he adored.

Next, a black A-line skirt–knee-length,Rape Teacher flared at the hem. First set, fifteen squats, his thighs flexing hard, his abs tight, his pussy slick under the shorts. “Fuck, this body’s weak.” She wiped sweat from her forehead, her tank sticking to her flat chest, and glared at him–his ease, his strength. “Crisp,” he said, voice warm, pacing–the heels clicked, hose gleamed, skirt tight, a polished power settling in.