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A mate gave me his phone number weeks ago. "Call him. Just call him," she said. I’d stopped dating. It wasn’t the guys. Well, maybe a little. "Look, I’m over ‘relationships’ for the moment. I just want to be by myself for awhile. That’s all." My mate shrugged. "Call him," she said again. I was the youngest of 3 girls. Getting taller up, I’d observed my sisters and their boy friends. Uncomfortable kisses in the barn. Arms groping, pushed away, more groping. I had dreams, murky images in my head. And I’d massaged with myself some nights, unsatisfied, my massaging increasing my longing. Like Beefsticks were doing now. Oh, I’d had lots of Beefsticks the last few years, massive ones, petite ones. Beefsticks that were hair-trigger, and Beefsticks that had to be coaxed. Beefsticks that luved your basic fuck, and Beefsticks that dreamed anything but your basic fuck. And I’d lie in couch afterward with every one of those Beefsticks (never guys, or men, just cocks), damp, salty, periodically massaging in the dark after they embarked snoring, and I dreamed more, less, nothing, everything. I dreamed something I couldn’t admit to myself. I dreamed and wanted, but I was afraid. "Call him," my mate said. It was the thought of lounging in the dark that stopped me from calling, and the odor of supposed love, and the emptiness, the loneliness, the unhappiness that was always worse after it was over. I was massaging in the dark. When I ultimately made the call, he told me to come alone and to wear a skirt and blouse. No underwear. My Arms shook. I shaven everything that night. Everything but my head. I pushed a stool in front of the mirror and sat in it, naked. I touched myself, my gams opened up and feet resting against the wall on either side of the mirror. I probed each fold of my cootchie and cunt, then touched my fingers to my mouth, degustating myself. And I fondled my breasts, watching, frolicking with my nips until they hardened. I slid my fingers in and out of myself, the fingers of one hand in my asshole, the fingers of the other in my cunt. And all the while, I watched. I was a stranger to myself. I was nobody I’d ever faced before. The first thing he did that night was to truss me bent over a cage. Some other woman was locked inwards of it. "You think I’m going to smash you?" he said, leaning close, but not rubbin' me. "Only if you’re lucky." And he cocked his head, his eyes sad, as tho he pitied me. "Don’t worry." He grinned then, but it made me shiver. "I’m only going to hurt you a little." I dreamed to say something sexy. I dreamed to make him want me. I dreamed to do all the things I’d learned thru the years, the way a woman takes control. But I couldn’t. I was falling. I was out of control. I was violating into pieces. He grinned because he knew everything the moment he spotted me. He’d observed my eyes roam once he’d unlocked the door to his "special room" and led me inside. The walls were coated with straps, ropes, chain, shackles. My figure was on fire. That night he cut my clothing off me. He fettered me to a iron bar. He locked a strong steel band on my neck. Chain inbetween my legs, around my breasts. iron in my mouth, my ass. iron clothespins tweaking my nipples. And later, vibrator in my cunt. He opened up me out spread-eagle, lounging on my back. He packaged leather around my neck and tightened. He cut off my air. He made me come over and over. After he was done with me and let me loose, I kneeled in front of him and smooched his boots. He put a thinner band on my neck and locked it in place. "You’ll do everything I say. When I call, you’ll come immediately." I stared at the floor. "Yes sir." "You’re mine now." I shivered, not from cold, but from something else, something new, an electricity. For the first time, I wasn’t massaging in the dark anymore. "Yes sir."