I would already be in my parachute ball stretcher with weight attached to it. Just writing the letter made my dick get hard and it was all I could do from not coming. After coming back from the walk she was to lock to the wall where the eye bolts were put. In the letter I told her not to make me come till I begged her a lot. After I was tied to the wall if she wanted to she could suck me till I was just about ready to cum but she was told to stop and light the cigar and blow the smoke in my face and then take the lit cigar and put it as close to my dick without burning it as possible. With the letter out of the way I went to prepare myself mentally and physically. This was done by putting on my fishnets and my skirt and my white spaghetti strap blouse. Inside my bra I inserted water balloons to increase my breast size. The last thing I did was to put on my makeup and my wig. The last thing that I did was to put on my collar and leash and get on my knees next to her chair. Kneeling. In doing so, we did something that’s very common when mathematics students consult with a professor. She sat in a second chair at my right side, and I pulled the leaf above the right-hand column of drawers out of my desk and placed her paper and a blank pad on it—where we could both see what we wrote as we talked about things. There is absolutely nothing unusual or suspect about this, discussion of mathematics almost requires it—especially in offices like mine, which had no blackboard. It does, however, mean that a wise male professor who is consulting with a female student must leave his office door wide open. That was a practice I had observed conscientiously throughout my career. Any observer would have said that it was an ordinary student-professor consultation. Our conversation was strictly about the mathematics and how she could arrange her insights to lead a reader through the points she had made in a way that would lead to an inescapable conclusion. I could see that she was.
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