Chapter 1

       "I understand that this is important to you.  I don't understand what you are trying to say."

       "You know," I said.  "It doesn't matter.  I really don't want to talk about it anymore.  I really don't.  I'm just feeling...blah...and I'm complaining.  I actually feel better just rambling about it.  I think I'll go for a hot bath.  I'll talk to you later.  I love you."

       "I love you, too.  Feel better."

       "Thanks."

       I had to end that conversation.  I hated my own 'woe is me' liturgy before I began it.  I couldn't bear that I was suddenly in the uber-cute situation of my mother not understanding my description of feeling misunderstood.  It's ironic, in a Care Bear, Rainbow Bright sort of way.  It's also pathetic, in a pre-teen who wears an ankh and black lipstick sort of way.  Nothing about that conversation needed to continue.

       I exercised, alternating speed rope and weights, showered, spent an hour looking at online pornography then I masturbated on the toilet with my electric toothbrush.  There was a message on my machine from Dauphine.  It made me happy, why I had missed her call.  It made me sad that I had nobody I could tell that to. 

       Dauphine is nauseatingly pretentious.  But she's clever and has a wealth of interesting friends.  And she pursues me.  This is important.  See, I hide.  It's what I do.  So, unlike most people who choose their friends based on qualities they enjoy and admire, my friends are a radom assortment of weirdos who are willing to hunt me down and drag me into society, kicking and screaming.  And all of them baffle me endlessly.

       So, you see, when I whined to my mother that nobody gets me, it isn't that I feel I'm complex to the point of being opaque.  I know there are people in this world with whom I could identify, who would identify with me.  I'm just not capable of slotting myself into their lives.

       Dauphine is a particularly dogged weirdo.  I can't imagine her ever wanting to wear the ankh and black lipstick but she would never have had to.  She is genetically Gothic.  White skin, black hair, famished frame.  Whenever she meets a new person, she liltingly offers her hand, palm down, and sighs, "Dauphine."  She does it like she's bored to tears with her name. 

       Trust me, she isn't.

       Her message was, "Pepper, I know you're home.  I've just driven by your place and I've seen your car.  Meet me at Drag at seven or incur my wrath."

       Yes, she always talks like that.  Like she's a character in one of those lipstick and high fashion pulp novels.  I keep expecting her to use the word 'Dahling' but she never does.  If I ever write about her using that word, that will be a lie on my part.  I will try not to but I may do it unintentionally.  I have unfairly married her and the word 'Dahling' in my mind and divorce is unlikely.  I hear that Carl Sagan never actually used the term, "Billions and billions."  It just fit him so perfectly we're all convinced he said it regularly.  It's like that.

       Of course, I went to the restaurant at seven.  I like Drago.  There is a poster on an easel outside of it with a picture of the chef/owner.  She looks like one of those down to earth, unassumingly mannish lesbians.  That is a lot of information to get from a picture, sure, but I don't care if I'm wrong.  Also, the food is really accessible.  There's never anything on the menu that I don't understand.  I enjoy trying new things on occasion but mostly I'm just hungry and I want something predictably good.  Clever fusions have their place and that place is not ubiquity.

       When I walked into the restaurant, I looked at the hostess and pointed into the dining area to indicate I was meeting somebody.  She said, "Go ahead," as I passed her.  I noticed a man looking at my body and he caught me seeing this.  I gave him a smile meant to convey that I appreciated the attention which is quite flattering but hoped he wouldn't hit on me because I wasn't really in the right frame of mind to be entertaining offers.  I probably just looked sheepish.

       Dauphine was drinking some yellow martini with a green cocktail onion in it. 

       "That is such a cute dress," she said.

       I searched her outfit for something to compliment.  "Thanks.  I like those earrings." 

       We are women.  This is how we shake hands.

       I ordered a gin and tonic.  Dauphine calls it my signature drink which always makes me want to switch to beer. 

       "So, Franklin called me this morning.  He was beside himself that I had kissed another man at the club last night.  Oh, I kissed another man at a club last night.  In front of Franklin.  That's important to know for this particular story."

       "Why did you do that?"

       "Franklin and I are not exclusive.  He's never even brought up the possibility of marriage."

       "You kissed the man to make Franklin jealous?"

       "No.  I am simply saying that I did nothing wrong, technically."

       "So, why did you do it?"

       "Oh, you know me.  I was pretty drunk, too."

       I wanted to say, "I don't know you.  I have no idea who the hell you are.  Do you even know you?"  But I didn't.  I asked, "Did you talk to this guy first or did you just grab a random stranger and..."

       "Of course we spoke.  He was cute and charming.  And ingratiating.  Quite kissable, really."

       It's exhausting to be with a constant performer.  "Okay, fine.  What happened with Franklin."

       "You know, that guy would be perfect for you, come to think of it."  She knows he's attracted to her.  That's what makes him perfect for me.  I could imagine the constant pulse-taking, You aren't insecure about me having kissed your boyfriend, are you? or Do you ever feel odd that you met your boyfriend because he hit on me?  It only now occurred to me that it's almost as though I'm giving you my overflow.

       I distracted her by giving her what she wanted.  "Come now, don't leave me hanging.  I'm dying to know.  What did Franklin say?"

       "Oh.  Well, there were some fairly hysterical histrionics.  He actually called me a whore."

       "Mmm."

       "I told him what I just told you.  We're not exclusive.  We've never discussed marriage.  He has no right to expect me to put all my eggs in one rickety little basket with commitment issues."

       "I'd have commitment issues if my girlfriend kissed another guy."

       "Oh, rest it.  He was this way before this little event."

       "Why, though?  Why do you think that?  I mean, I've never had this 'exclusivity talk' people go on about.  I always just assume it.  It seems like the sort of thing you take for granted after a certain amount of time."

       "Oh, no.  You should never simply assume such a thing.  You put yourself at great risk of heartache."

       "No, that's not...what I'm saying is that maybe he assumed the two of you were exclusive.  It sounds like he did."

       "Well, that was his mistake.  I fail to see how that is my fault."

       I felt ridiculous that I was going to have to explain this to her.  It was like when I was helping an elderly coworker with her computer and realized I had to explain to her that different internet browsers all accessed the same internet.  If she didn't know this by now, telling her most likely wouldn't improve the situation.  But, I said it anyway.  "I don't think it matters whose fault it is.  See, it's just a problem that needs a solution, right?  He thought you were exclusive and you didn't.  The two of you just need to clear that up.  Tell him what you want.  If you want to be exclusive, tell him that.  If you don't want to be exclusive, tell him that.  Then he will know what his situation is and you won't have another misunderstanding."

       She rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.  I realized at that moment that she liked me as little as I liked her.  Our common thread, what kept us together, was our willingness to endure each other.  Or was that all it was?  It didn't seem like it.  No, she definitely gave me something I hungered for.  For the life of me, I couldn't grasp what it was.  I thought it might be that it made me feel better about myself to be next to such a despicable person.  That wasn't the answer.  It came too easy to explain it that way.  It was self deprecating enough to convince myself I wasn't hiding any ugly truths from myself.  It worked very well as an explanation but for one little thing.  I knew it wasn't true.

       She said, "Well, we aren't on speaking terms at the moment so I don't see that conversation, or any other for that matter, happening."

       "What was the very last thing he said to you?"

       The waiter came and took our order.  When he had left she said, "Fuck you," and took a prissy sip of her drink.  "That was the last thing he said.  Then he hung up."

       "This happened today?"

       "Yes."

       She wasn't wearing a bra.  Women with small breasts don't know how envious that makes us buxom women.  No bra and a loose blouse that looked capable of accidentally flashing a nipple.  I suddenly saw my whole night unfold ahead of me.  As loathe as I was to go along with it, it was something to do.  It was an activity that would, if nothing else, fill time.  "I guess you know where he is going to be tonight."

       She smiled a wicked little smile, a smile of shared secrets and deep mutual understanding.  "You know me so well."

       And, with that, the subject was dropped.  We talked about our jobs, our days, people we knew.  Then we left and headed to the club where Franklin would be.  Franklin is an average looking guy but for his great height.  He towers over Dauphine.  I often wonder if she calls him 'Daddy' in bed.  Most likely, the attraction isn't sexual, she just likes the status symbol aspect of being with a man twice her height.  Like most very tall men, he is noticeably not overbearing. 

       Dauphine seemed at ease in the club, I was very uncomfortable.  I felt a pang of pity for Franklin which quickly subsided.  He was an informed participant.  I can say a lot of bad things about Dauphine but the word 'duplicitous' won't be found in them.  She lets you know who she is.

       She flirted with many, random guys.  She danced erotically with many, random guys.  Franklin talked with his friends, pretending not to see.  I sat at the bar, drinking and being embarrassed for us all.  Franklin ultimately approached her on the dance floor.  I hoped something huge and dramatic would happen to somehow justify this ridiculous exercise.  A fist fight or a marriage proposal.  Good or bad didn't matter, just make it big.  But it was a useless, fizzle of a resolution.  They spoke, Dauphine came and apologized to me because she had to go home with Franklin and talk, leaving me alone.

       I said it was fine, not bothering to mention that she'd left me alone at the club all night thus far.  I stayed and drank, wishing I'd brought a book but thinking I would look pretty silly reading a book at a dance club.  I felt a tap on my shoulder.  It was my boss, Roman. 

       "Hey," he said.  "It's funny seeing you here.  It feels so out of context."

       I felt nervous, like I'd been caught doing something wrong.  "I know.  How are you?"

       "Good.  Good."  He was doing that thing everybody does in clubs, where you shout but try to make it seem like you are talking normally.  "You look good.  I've never seen you dressed up for the town.  It suits you."

       "Thanks."  That really did settle well with me.  Roman was the kind of guy you could imagine getting any woman he wanted.  He was a serious guy, a decent guy, but he looked dangerous.  He looked like he could be a drug dealer or a rock star, he had that scruffy, neglect of grooming look you see in total losers and extremely dedicated people.  He had hair down to his mid back, which only flies since we're in the computer industry.  "You don't look so bad, yourself," I said, feeling like a complete nerd for the effort.

       "You here alone?"

       "Yes.  I came with my friend but she had to leave," putting a lot of effort into seeming unconcerned.

       He perked up.  "Yeah?  You need a ride?"

       "I'm walking distance."

       "It's kind of dangerous.  Want me to walk you home?"

       I felt like I was at my first boy-girl dance, the first time a boy asked me to dance.  I was nervous and excited and suspicious that the whole thing was some cruel dare.  Go ask the fat girl to dance, or do you want 'truth' instead?  I wasn't fat anymore but I still felt like I was.  I felt like I had a fat girl's personality, too receptive to male attention.  Like this moment right here:  "Sure!" I said with a big smile.

       As we walked to my place, I could almost feel the heat coming off of his body.  I was probably imagining it but it made me want to touch him, all the same.  I wanted to grab his hand and hold it.  I wanted to kiss him when we got to my place.  I looked at him expectantly, trying to give him a look that conveyed invitation.  I probably just looked drunk.

       "Listen, Pepper..."

       I lifted my brow, thinking, this is going to happen, I can't believe this is going to happen.

       "...hmmm.  No, never mind.  I'll see you on Monday."

       I spent the next half hour looking at more internet porn and masturbating.  I fell asleep watching television.  I guess Roman was deciding to look into my internet activity at work.  Or maybe he already had at this point.  He didn't bring it up until Friday, after avoiding me all week.

Chapter 2

       "It has brought it to my attention that you have been using a good bit of company time to look at online pornography."

       My face collected all the blood from my body and pulsed.  I knew how hard I was blushing and that just made the situation all the more humiliating.  There was no way out of this.  I couldn't hide it.  They already knew.  My only hope was to be as candid as possible.

       "Yes.  I have.  It has become a bit of an obsession lately and I let it get out of control.  If you would give me another chance, I promise I won't do it anymore.  And I know you are monitoring it and that's fine but I think I am a valuable asset to this company and it would be a shame to dissolve this relationship over what is essentially a brief lapse in judgment."

       I took a deep breath and steeled myself, hoping what I had just said made some sense.  My boss just stared at me, icy and focused.  His face was a struggle between boyhood and manhood.  His eyes were blue, dear, tender.

       Don't think this was too unpleasant for me.  Roman is insanely hot.  His nose is long, with a bump on the bridge that tells the story of a past break.  His lips are full and pouty above a strong chin.  Black hair.  Thick black eyebrows.  I look at him and thought, Sicilian blood, which really just makes him hotter.  His face is long and thin, while mine is more round.  My eyes are large and my nose is small.  I think I have more neoteny.  I guess this is the sort of irrelevant stuff you think about when you're about to be fired for something you'll never live down.

       "It's not quite that simple and I have been thinking for a while about how to broach this with you.  I can't think of a tactful way to do it.  Can I ask you a few personal questions?"

       I wanted to say that he couldn't.  When somebody has already seen the kinky, weirdo sex pictures you look at, you don't even want to know what personal question they want answered.  "Certainly."  The hole I was in, it really couldn't get much deeper.

       "How long have you been looking at this stuff?"

       I tried to think of the best possible answer to this but it was impossible.  To say I had only just started would sound like a lie even if it were true which it wasn't.  The best for me would be if he thought I was being candid.  The best way to make him think that would be to actually be candid.  "I guess it's been a couple of years.  But I have read a lot of books, stories, stuff like that, since high school, like, fifteen years.  It may seem odd but it's just fantasies, really.  You can't hold anybody truly accountable for what they fantasize about, right?"

       "So you've never actually done it?"

       "No."

       "Have you ever considered trying it?"

       His stare suddenly seemed more insistent, more meaningful.  Like, when somebody is desperately trying to make you figure something out without telling you.  I usually have no idea what they want me to suddenly understand but this one wasn't so enigmatic.  However, without clarity, there is a lot of uncertainty.  I questioned my conclusion pretty thoroughly.

       I looked down at my hands in my lap.  Was he about to make me an offer?  This was a tricky bit of land, right here.  I couldn't imagine him asking that for any other reason than to offer this thing to me.  Was that right or was I seeing it that way because I so wanted to.  I felt my lower stomach warm a bit at the prospect.  I forced myself to utter two words I'd never spoken together, just to open this road if he wanted to travel it.  "No, sir."

       I looked up and he had a sly grin on his face, which I matched.  My chest was swelling with glee and hope and anticipation, all warm and tingly.  "You understand this is a very delicate situation we are in right now."

       Oh, what else could that possibly mean?  The ball was in my court.  That had to be it.  He really had everything to lose, here.  I was already in a bad position with my job.  I could easily lure him into doing something inappropriate then cry sexual harassment to save myself.  I undid the top button of my blouse.  He said, "I'll need...far...more...than that."

       This was the moment I was convinced that we were negotiating this thing.  I felt a maddening pressure in my groin.  I stood up.  I slowly unbuttoned my blouse and let it slide down to the floor.  I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra.  I squeezed my shoulders together and let it slide to the floor.  I turned around and pushed my skirt and panties to the floor together.  Stepping out from them, I turned around and put my hands on my head.  I did it without allowing myself a thought.  One errant thought and I would run out of the office, possibly half naked, which would be harder to explain than the porn.

       I could feel myself trembling as he stared at me.  How long?  I don't know.  Somewhere between fifteen minutes and eternity.  I stood naked, in heels.  I had stripped naked in my boss' office without being asked to.  And he wasn't responding at all.  I wish I could say I stayed there from force of will but that wasn't it.  The pressure in me was building and I didn't want it to go away.  The phone rang and I startled at it.

       He answered it and had a long conversation with somebody about some proposal somebody had written, the merits of it and the issues he had with it.  He never took his eyes off of me, though.  At one point, staring at me, he said, "I know.  I'm looking at it right now."  That moment, I felt giddy.

       After he hung up, he said, "How do I know you really want this?  How do I know you aren't just trying to save your job?"  He didn't say it like a question.  He said it like a dare. 

       I swallowed hard, shivering, suffering and happy.  "Because I am..."  It was harder to say than I thought it would be.  "...very, very wet."

       "Is your clitoris engorged?"

       "I think so."

       "Well.  Make sure."

       I felt myself.  "Yes." 

       "Describe it."

       "It's hard, like a little bone."

       He stood slowly.  Walked to me even more slowly.  I'm pretty tall but his lean body outstretched me even in my heels.  He ran one finger over up my vagina, over my clitoris and my body convulsed.  "Good.   You didn't lie."  He leaned his face close to mine and whispered, "Liars are punished."  He sat back on his desk and looked me up and down, like a piece of meat.  I felt raw.  "You won't lose your job.  However this goes, you keep your job.  Do you understand?"

       "Yes."

       "Excuse me?"

       "Yes, sir."

       "Better.  I've been looking for a new slave.  I want a fresh slave.  Untrained.  I would enjoy training you.  Keeping you.  You have nice, large tits and a good line to your waist.  You have a well toned ass, too.  I could get a lot of use out of you.  If you are not willing, dress and get back to work.  No more porn.  We won't speak of this again.  Or, sit down and lift your knees to your shoulders so I can inspect my new pussy."

       I sat down carefully.  I felt so bashful, so naked.  I had the sensation that there was a heavy weight sitting in my pelvis.  For the first time in my life, I felt aroused throughout my entire body, mind and consciousness.  It made me a bit sleepy, like when some constant, nagging anxiety is suddenly alleviated.  He was still completely dressed and I wanted some tender words first, something to calm my heart.  I lifted my knees to my shoulder blades, my feet touching each other in front of my vagina.

       "I really don't want to have to punish you already.  It's very soon to be punishing you.  You want me to tie you up and flog you, already?  Do you need a good beating to start you off."

       "No, Sir!"  Terrified, I spread my knees as far apart as I could and stuck my feet up in the air.  He kneeled in front of my spread crotch.  I felt my own juices trickle down over my anus which he placed the tip of his finger on.

       "Has this ever been used?"

       "No, Sir."

       He slowly pressed his finger inside.  It felt almost obscene to feel this pleasure with another person involved.  I had only ever felt this alone, while defecating.  It was the most private pleasure I'd ever known and he was violating that sanctity.  "All holes will be made available to me.  You have given yourself to me.  My gift in return will be to stretch this hole out enough that it doesn't hurt you when I use it.  Do you want me to take my finger out?"

       "Yes, Sir."  I don't know why I lied but it ended up being the right decision.

       "Then it stays in."  He spread my labia apart and stared at my vagina.  This position I was in made my stomach look fatter than it was.  What fat was on it was all pushed together.  It was incredibly unflattering.  I wanted to be in a position where I was pretty.  "You are very wet.  You must want an orgasm very badly."

       "Yes, Sir."

       "That was not a question.  You're going to take a second finger for speaking out of turn."  He pushed the finger that was in my anus up and squeezed another finger inside me.  The pleasure was gone from it, it just felt like great pressure.  "You must learn to relax these muscles."  I tried releasing them and it did feel better but he responded to this by pushing his fingers further in.  I made a little noise.  "Control yourself.  Do you have to pee?"

       "No, Sir."

       "Can you go the rest of the day without using the bathroom?"

       "Yes, Sir."

       "Good.  You'll come to my house after work.  But you are not to masturbate until them.  To make sure you don't touch my little cooch, here, I'm putting you in a chastity belt."  He stuck one finger inside my vagina and wiggled it around.  I breathed sporadically, heavy, partly from the pleasure of it but mostly trying to entice him not to stop.  "This does not belong to you anymore.  It belongs to me, now.  As does this."  And he wiggled the fingers in my anus. 

       He pulled the fingers out, went to his desk and brought me the chastity belt.  He handed it to me and told me to put it on.  It was leather and it took me a few minutes to figure it out.  It was like a thong but thick leather.  There was a tong for the waist and one at the front and back, securing the strap that ran between my legs.  The holes in the straps secured onto these tongs which were really small metal loops.  I put it on, tightening it snug.  When I was done, he tightened it to one more hole, saying, "I don't want you to be able to get a single, greedy little finger in there."  He locked it in place with little luggage locks.  "On your knees."

       I lowered to my knees, moving awkwardly from the restricting feel of the belt.  He took out his penis and told me to kiss it and thank him.  I was pleased...no...relieved to see how hard it was.  The skin on the head was stretched to a shiny gleam.  A small drop of pre-cum was oozing out of the tip.  I kissed it off, pulling my head back slightly so he could see the thread of it (it was something I had read in a book), then I kissed the tip again, cleaning off the remainder.  "Thank you, Sir.  Thank you."

       He had a smile, almost tender but still somehow sinister on his face.  I didn't know how I could endure the rest of the work day, waiting to be alone with him.  It seemed so sudden, so out of nowhere, this sexual deus ex machina.  I had waited fifteen years, never having the nerve to ask for it, thinking that meant I would never get it.  I wanted to cry with relief.  More than that, I wanted to masturbate.

       Back at my desk, I received a long form attached to an e-mail that read, simply, "Fill this out, slave."  The sender email was peppersowner@rosman.com.  The form listed all manner of sexual acts.  At the top was the instruction to write how I felt about each one being done to me.  Excited, interested, not interested, reluctant, completely unwilling.  Those were the options.  Elaborate where appropriate.  I filled it out in an hour and sent it back.  It made me so hot to write about these things that I was grinding my groin in my chair.  The belt was punishing, it was secured on so flush to my vagina that no movement would make it rub on me.  I rubbed my breast but that just made my predicament worse.

       About twenty minutes after sending the form, I got a reply.  It read, "If you had any plans for this weekend, use this time to cancel them.  You will come to my house directly after work and stay the weekend.  You won't need to go home and pack anything.  I will be leaving work, now.  As I'm leaving, you will thank me, again.   Loudly so that everybody hears."  Below that were directions to his house.

       He came out of his office about ten minutes later.  Casually saying, "I'm taking off early, guys.  See you on Monday."

       Heart racing, almost dizzy, I almost let him get away before shouting, "Mr. Wilson!"

       He turned and looked at me, slightly quizzically.  "Yes?"

       "Thank you.  Thank you so much."

       He looked at me harshly.  "Okay."

       It was all I could do not to race to his house at the end of the day.  I was afraid of looking too anxious.  But I was also afraid of not looking anxious enough.  And, when it came down to it, I was just exquisitely anxious. 

       He lived in suburbia.  Free standing mail boxes and bikes in driveways.  His house number was spray painted on his curb with a stencil.  The curtains on the other side of the window were lacey.  I feared another woman held position in his life. 

       When I knocked on his door, he opened it and waved me in.  I walked into his den with him.  I stopped in the middle of his den when he stopped.  He ran his hand over my buttocks and breast.  Then he snapped the fingers of his right hand, pointed at me and barked, "Naked!" as he walked away.

       I stripped quickly.  I couldn't take off the chastity belt as it was locked on.  I looked around the room and saw the keys sitting on the coffee table.  Terrified I was doing the wrong thing, I removed the locks and the belt.  Naked, trembling, I felt a small trickle run down my inner thigh.  I placed the belt, locks and keys back on the table. 

       He returned with some papers.  He lay them face up on the table and I could see it was the form I had filled out earlier.  He positioned me with my back to the couch, bending over with my arms stretched out, hands splayed on the coffee table, legs spread wide.  He sat on the couch right behind me.  Looking through my legs, I saw him reading the form.  He chuckled a few times.  Once he laughed and said, "Yes, that is what 'golden shower' means.  I'm not into that, either."

       When he was done, he threw the papers to the side and leaned forward, spreading my cheeks apart, speaking directly into my nethers.    "Okay, here's the situation.  Your hard limits will always be respected.  Your soft limits, where you put 'reluctant', these will be tested, usually as punishment.  Put your fingers inside yourself."  I inserted two fingers into my vagina.  I pushed them in and out.  A small moan escaped me.  My knees buckled for a second and I recovered.  "Repeat after me.  This pussy belongs to Master Everett."

       "This pussy belongs to Master Everett."

       "Now stick that finger in your ass and say, 'This virgin asshole belongs to Master Everett."

       "This virgin asshole belongs to Master Everett."

       "Good.  Keep in in there.  Move it around."  I could hear him undo his pants and a wave of desire shocked my whole frame.  I looked through my legs and saw him playing with himself.  "Put your thumb in your pussy.  No, keep your finger in your ass and put your thumb in your pussy.  Like you're picking up a six pack of beer.  That's right.  Now, how badly do you want to come?"

       "I feel like I'll explode if I don't."

       "I feel that way, myself.  Get on your knees and face me.  Spread your knees wide.  Fuck my cock with your tits."  He held the base of his penis so it stuck up in the air.  I grabbed my breasts, each in one hand and pushed them together on either side of his penis.  I moved my body up and down.  "It's a little dry.  Wet it.  Get my cock nice and wet," I gathered saliva in my mouth and took his penis in it, trying to salivate.  He grabbed the back of my head and thrust it down until I gagged and my mouth filled with spit and ran down his penis, "That's better.  Try again."  I pushed my breasts back on his penis, heaving my body up and down.  My vagina felt so heavy it might drop off my body.  He licked his forefingers and thumbs and began tweaking my nipples.  I started moaning, trying to beg him wordlessly.  He only tweaked harder. 

       "Please."

       "What do you want, slave?"

       "Please, I want to come."

       "How bad?"

       "I'm going crazy.  It's too much.  I'll do anything.  Please, I want to come."  He suddenly had a shocked look on his face, wide mouth and warm, wet come shot out of him, onto my face and then poured onto my breasts.  He let out a long sigh and lay back, tweaking my nipples as I continued to plead with my moans. 

       After long, torturing pause, he said, "You'll have to learn to control that pussy of mine.  Lay back on the table.  Legs wide.  I always want your legs spread in my presence."  His two fingers pushed into my anus, again.  They worked around and around.  He started tickling my clitoris and my whole body shivered and pulsed.  I started grinding my pelvis against his finger.  "Don't move.  Control yourself."  He stuck his thumb in my vagina and pulled my pelvis down.  I heard myself wail without meaning to.  He tickled my clitorus and I struggled to stay still.  "Yeah, you keep my pussy right there.  Don't you dare move it."  Waves of intense pleasure surged through my body.  Not able to move in response, I began yelling, wailing until the surge built to an unbelievable pressure that silenced me as every muscle in my body wrenched.  Then I came, screaming at the top of my lungs, my whole body convulsing with release.

       He had me clean up in the bathroom and return to him on the couch, laying with my back across his lap.  He played with my breasts.  "How did you like that?"

       "That was amazing."

       "Spread your legs.  Are you having any second thoughts?"

       I put one foot on the back of the couch and one leg on the table.  "No.  Not at all."

       He ran his hand up and down the side of my body.  I could feel his warmth through his clothes, smell the musk of him. 

       He felt my vagina.  "You dried it like I told you to?"

       "Yes, Sir."

       "You're wet again."

       "Yes, Sir."

       He smacked my vagina a few times and I stifled a shriek.  "Whose pussy is this?"

       "That is your pussy, Sir," I felt more comfortable with this, now.

       "Right.  I want to be sure you keep your hands off of my pussy.  Come with me."  He took me to his bedroom and lay me on his bed.  He tied me down in an X, ankles and wrists bound to each post.  "You need to learn to handle your desire."  He took my breast in his hand and tongued my nipple, sucked it, bit it lightly.  He did the same with the second nipple, pinching and twisting the first as he did.  I moaned and writhed.  I wanted him to come inside me.  He tickled my clitoris again as I writhed and struggled.  "Now, learn to deal with it."  And he left, closing the door behind him. 

       I could hear the television turn on.  It flipped through channels and rested on an old boxing match on ESPN.  A few rounds in, the telephone rang.  The volume on the television lowered and I heard his voice answer.  I heard muffled talking for a while.  He came into the room with the phone in one hand and a dish rag in the other.  He shoved the dish rag in my mouth.  All the while he talked on the phone, he played with my nipples and clitoris.  He played with my clitoris until I was within striking distance of an orgasm then stopped and focused on my nipples for a while.  For a moment, I thought I would climax simply from the sheer, desperate need to.  Without looking at me, he walked away as he wrapped up the phone conversation, leaving the cloth in my mouth.  The volume went up again and I screamed into the dish rag.

       He came back in two hours later.  I could tell from how many television shows began and ended.  He undressed slowly at the foot of the bed, staring at me.  The black hairs on his stomach formed a wine bottle, the neck stretching up between his nipples.  There was a little tuft of hair on each broad, bony shoulder.  Wordlessly, he climbed onto me, slid into me, worked his hips slightly, thoughtfully.  I could hear his breath next to my ear, the breath and hips worked out of sync, forming a polyrythm.  Slowly, methodically, he ground his pelvis against me.  Each time he moved against me, the pleasure of it invaded my whole body until it had taken over, become something beyond me and out of my control.  This time, when I came, I didn't make a sound.  I wanted him to stay inside me for much longer but he followed me to climax.  I realized he had been waiting for me to go first.

       Still not wanting to break the silence, I squeezed my muscles together as though to hug his penis.  He withdrew and untied me, folded my up and held me. 

       He said, "Finally, I'll be able to get some sleep.  I won't be up all night thinking about you."

       This shocked me, though it shouldn't have.  As carefully as he had approached this situation, it was still quite a big risk.  Even as willing a participant as I was, this situation was pretty risky for him.  It would have to be a secret.  I didn't know with certainty but HR must surely frown upon a boss and employee having any sort of sexual liason, much less the kind we were embarking on.  I should have known that his desire for me was pretty strong that he would risk so much.  But I didn't know that, not until he said this thing to me.

       It was the one thing he said, "I've been looking for a new slave."  It made it seem like who I was didn't matter too much.  I realized I shouldn't take what he says to heart when it is in this context.  That might require a force of will.

       I fell asleep thinking about these things, about him, about what would happen the rest of the weekend.  Compared to the pornography I'd been looking at, it was all pretty tame but it excited me and aroused me more than the porn ever had.  I remembered reading a man's defense of porn in my brother's girlie magazine, once.  He said women shouldn't feel intimidated by it.  It's like watching sports.  It's fun to watch a man slalom down a 70 degree incline while being chased by bears but it's better to actually put on a pair of skis and coast down a bunny hill.  Despite the fact that he was defending porn to a male readership using sports analogies, he was a pretty sharp guy.

       It seems like I should tell you that, finally getting what I'd always wanted, I realized it didn't fill the hole inside me.  But it did.  I found myself making crazy plans for my life.  Roman had me worship his flaccid penis with my mouth while he read a magazine.  As I did this, I was thinking about starting my own business.  He had me clean his place, naked.  Dusting the bookshelf, I considered taking up dance again.   As he ate, I held his drink between my breasts and wondered how difficult it would be to learn an instrument or a second language. 

        When I got home on Sunday afternoon, there were several messages on my machine from Dauphine.  They got progressively irate.  I felt happy and cocky when I called her back.

       "Where the fuck have you been?  I've been calling all weekend."

       "I spent the weekend with a man."

       "What about me?"

       "What do you mean?  We didn't have plans to do anything."

       "We always do something on the weekend."

       "Not always."

       "Almost always."

       "Okay.  When we don't it's because you have other plans.  This time I did.  That's the only difference."

       "It's not my fault you're always sitting at home."

       We were getting off topic.  It was time to end the conversation.  "Dauphine...we're not...exclusive."

       "Fuck you."  And she hung up on me.  It didn't break my mood.  I should have been worried but I didn't have it in me.  She had never been truly angry with me.  It had only been a teasing, openly manipulative pretense at anger.  This was the real thing.  I would learn what that entailed.