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 Lucy Merritt, if you ever show up to see me again smelling like a French whorehouse,
you ll be sorry you did.
How embarrassing. I was already a fuck up. He kept the windows down the whole way to
his house. When we arrived he pulled me to the sink in his kitchen.  Wash it off. I want to smell
you, not some perfumed-up whore.
I tried to wash all of it off, which wasn t easy, partly because I was so distracted by his
spectacular house. It was difficult too because it was mostly on my clothes, but I did my best. I
guess it was all right, because when I came out, he sniffed me and muttered,  Good enough.
Then he took my arm and led me to a door in the hallway.  We ll always play in the
basement, he explained. We made our way down the carpeted stairwell, and I guess I expected
him to take me to a dungeon of sorts. Black and forbidding, tricked out with crosses and beams
and chains hanging from hooks in the ceiling. But the room he took me to wasn t a dungeon at
all. It actually looked more like an art salon. Or a really cool and modern funeral home, done in
crisp and textured neutrals.
He told me to look around, to look at everything. I walked around but I didn t dare touch.
The walls were upholstered with fabric, velvety drapes in taupe. There were huge, comfortable
sofas that I tried out, sitting down on them, and as it turned out, that was the only chance I d get.
I didn t know it yet, but only Matthew ever sat on them, while I knelt or lay supine at his feet, or
bent over an ottoman with my ass in the air. But they were very nice and comfy, the matching
ottomans scattered around the room in several heights and sizes. He pointed out the eyebolts near
the bottom of each one.  I ll strap you to these when I beat you or fuck you, sometimes. I just
nodded when he said it, like that was perfectly great. Oh, wow, Matthew, bolting me to an
ottoman. That s a spectacular idea.
When I was done drooling over the cushiony sofas and ottomans, he took me over to a large
armoire in the corner. It had drawers full of leather restraints, straps and cuffs, sex toys and
paraphernalia that made my eyes go wide. The many things he showed me in that armoire both
shocked and titillated me. I was so hot by that time, I wanted him to take me then and there. I
was really close to begging for it but I managed to keep quiet, the obedient little slave. He
showed me paddles and crops and canes, and tooled leather straps just as thick as the paddles. He
showed me delicate but painful looking clips and clamps. He put one on my finger to give me an
idea how it would feel. It pinched a little, but nothing I couldn t bear.  It will feel different on
your nipples and your clit, he cautioned me. I swallowed hard. Of course it would.
Then he showed me dildos and butt plugs and other toys that terrified me. They were far too
large to ever fit up inside me.  You ll like these best of all, he said with a smile. He showed me
a shelf full of lubricants, all different types. Scented, flavored, heavy duty, light duty. He showed
me one bottle with a gleam in his eye.  This kind will make you itch, for when you ve really
been bad.
Yes, my eyes must have been like saucers looking into that armoire. He showed me
everything proudly, like the curator of some perverse museum. When I d had a good look at it all
he tilted my face to his. He looked into my eyes and I felt shy and exposed. It was very, very
hard not to look away.
 Look at me, he insisted. When my eyes were fixed on his, he spoke to me in a low voice.
 So what do you think, Lucy Merritt? If you re going to be my lover, you ll have to endure all
these things.
And the way he said lover made me absolutely thrill, and then that word endure, it sounded
sexy as hell to my ears. I searched for my voice, for what to say. He pressed me some more, his
voice goading me.
 Are you sure you don t just want to run home? Climb back into bed with your worn out
copy of The Story of O?
 No. I want to stay here.
 Okay then. Let s stay.
He led me to the center of the room, then walked away from me, talking over his shoulder.
 Face me. Take off your clothes. Everything. Put them over by the door.
I stood still for just a second, and then I did exactly as he said. I took off my sweater, my [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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