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him of the
hacksaw blades, but he was still holding himself distant. The warmth
left his eyes when he lapsed into his formal 'master mode' and said
"Stand up. This discussion is over. Step back, I want to look at you."
And look at me he did. I stood in front of him, my chained wrists
hanging in front of my thighs. I have gotten used to these sudden
changes during our conversations, and have learned to change my
attitude and react instantly. His eyes travelled over my body, linger-
ing on my pierced nipples. I was wearing the tiny garnet pendants. My
nipples became erect as he looked; I embarrass so easily, even now.
But then embarrassment has become a sexual thing for me; somehow I
enjoy it. Perhaps enjoy is the wrong word, but if you don't understand
by now you might as well stop reading. I can't explain it any better
than I have.
-*-
Saturday morning we went to the fabric store. I literally haven't
left the house since (nearly a week, I think). Nor have I since had a
single moment when I wasn't hopelessly trapped by chains, those damned
little locks, etc. Not a single moment. Except for on
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