His hand's work on her breast slowly fades from creatives to intimatly methodical, and his eyes flutter half closed.  He moans in delight as his rampant silver member responds languidly to her touch.  he'd never felt the like, never head the like.  The thought drifted across his mind that she could keep him pleasently hard for hours, with no flagging of his member and no need for more.  Her voice surpassed golden bells and silver flutes, lauging brooks and night birds in the distance.<br/><br/>He moaned softly and relaxed completly, his whole world reduced to her hand, her voice, and her eyes.<br/><br/>For the moment, at least, the slave owned her master.