I was very afraid when you touched me.’ ‘And he punished you?’ ‘Oh, yes … I didn’t like that, he whipped me many times. I never cried. I wouldn’t give him that.’ ‘We won’t be doing that here. What makes you happy?’ ‘I don’t know, Sir. No one ever asked me that. Being good as a slave pleases me. Is that what you mean?’ ‘Not quite, but it’ll do as a start. I have to do more thinking, I want you to go to bed. In the morning we’ll discuss your duties ******* I returned to the ‘net, surfing through several of the D/s sites – looking for an understanding of the slave mind set. I didn’t care all that much about what the masters thought, simply because that wasn’t me. But I was trying to understand why someone derived their sense of worth in subservience. Around midnight I gave up, there was a truth out there, but it was eluding me. After the usual business in the bathroom I headed for bed, only to be brought to a stop at the sight of a bare woman curled on the floor at the foot of my bed. . "James Henry. This is my wife Angela." Meetcha, and I sure do appreciate the ride," Smith said, nodding happily.Angela nodded. "Jim's always been a soft touch," she said, but it sounded almost affectionate.They tramped through the blowing twilight to the microbus. Clouds hung over them, gray and threatening. Gonna have to find a hotel before we get there, probably, Henry thought as he dug for his keys."Wow, bitchin wheels," Smith said from behind them. "My old granddad had a bus like this when I was growin up."He climbed into the back and they started up, heading back to the interstate. "Mind if I smoke?" Smith asked from the back."Just open your window," Angela said."Sure thing," Smith replied, and there was a flick of a match. And they drove on, while the weather grew steadily worse. Snow flurries began to fall, isolated flakes floating past the window like big white moths. The wind howled, rocking the bus on it's wheels. There wasn't much traffic now; they had entered the far.
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