Morning
Sunlight was streaming through the windows when he woke. It had to be late – and he never slept late, not even on weekends. He was also famished, remembering that neither of them had eaten last night. They were – preoccupied.
He was still stunned that she had shown up at my door, naked, bound, and on her knees. And he was stunned and astonished at how she connected with something inside of him. He had never experienced anything like this before. He knew that, no matter what happened next, he would always remember the events of these two weekends.
And that brought the thought: Would this be the end of it? He was concerned about what might happen today.
He looked over at Marta, who was still asleep. She was beautiful – even with her mouth open and snoring lightly. She still had the leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles, as well as the dog collar around her neck. He was surprised she slept as well as she had – he wondered that they weren’t uncomfortable, being worn for so long.
He saw that there was a silver disk hanging from the collar that he hadn’t noticed before, like the ID tags that dogs wear. Cautiously, he leaned over, and was able to read what was inscribed on the tag:
I AM
A SLUT,
A CUNT, &
A COCKSUCKER
He felt his cock stirring, and knew that appendage would love it if he took her two hands, and clipped their cuffs together over her head, then proceeded to ravish her. He loved the sound of the word: “ravish”. It sounded so Victorian.
But he knew that wasn’t on the agenda for this morning. 'Perhaps tomorrow, if we were both extremely lucky,' he thought. So he carefully got out of bed, trying to avoid waking her up. Putting on his robe, he went to the bathroom, then out into the kitchen, and started to make coffee and breakfast.
Breakfast: Marta
I never sleep in, if I sleep at all, so waking up gently, while feeling incredibly languorous, and more importantly, safe and cherished, to the smell of coffee was the very embodiment of luxury. I opened my eyes to the sunshine of his room, stretched, then put my hand on his pillow and caressed it. I knew, from the aromas, that he was making breakfast.
I got up, tip-toed out to the kitchen, then quietly clipped my hands together behind me, got down on my knees in the kitchen doorway, lowered my head, and said, “Good morning, Sir,” then waited.
He looked up sharply.
“May I please use the bathroom, Sir?”
He paused, then walked slowly over to me, got down on his knees, kissed me gently. “This morning, you are not my slave. You do not need my permission for anything. Let me unclip your hands, and then remove your collar and cuffs.”
I surprised myself by feeling tears come to my eyes. “Please, let me keep them on,” I said in a small voice.
He put a finger under my chin, “Believe me, I want to. But today is a make or break day. Will you trust me when I say that you need to be Dr. Rabinovich this morning, and not my favorite fucktoy?”
I looked at him, then nodded. “If I can trust you with my body and my life, I will trust you in this.” Then I grinned mischievously at him and said, “But I can’t wait to be your – what did you call me? – fucktoy, again!”
He helped me up, unclipped my hands from behind my back, then went into the other room to get the keys. First, he unlocked my cuffs, one at a time, kissing each wrist as he unlocked the cuff. Then he got down on his knees, unlocked each ankle – and then surprised the hell out of me when he kissed my feet!
Before I could gather my thoughts to object, he stood up, walked behind me, and unlocked, then gently removed the dog collar and put all the leather-wear on the table.
He kissed the back of my neck, then took my shoulders in his hands and turned me to face him, kissed my neck below my chin, tipped my chin down and kissed me full on the mouth.
It was a chaste kiss, to my surprise, and seemed to last forever. Or at least, I wanted it to.
When he broke, he briskly said, “Now, go use the facilities, while I finish breakfast.” He turned me with his hands, and gave me a light smack on the butt.
I waggled it at him – something I had never done before – and walked off, rolling my hips and looking back over my shoulder at him in what I hoped was a seductive manner.
When I returned, there was a robe on the back of my chair, and eggs Benedict with hash browns and coffee, plus a big glass of orange juice and a bowl of fresh berries on the placemat in front of it. It smelled heavenly, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. I put on the robe, and started shoveling food into my face, famished.
A short time later, I pushed back my plate. I thought there had been too much on it, and that I wouldn’t be able to finish it, but to my surprise, it had vanished. I decided that fucking must be a great calorie burner. I was really enjoying being a slut. Or at least, Sir’s slut.
Sir had finished more quickly, and there was food left on his plate. He was toying with his coffee, then said, “Shall we get a refill and go into the living room, where it’s more comfortable?”
I nodded, rose, and went into the other room. He cleared the dishes into the sink, refilled both our cups, and brought them in. He sat down in a chair near to the sofa where I was sitting, and leaned forward, but was seemed to be having a hard time deciding what to say.
So, I said, “Why don’t you start with what you do. You teach high school, right?”
He looked up, puzzled, “No. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You said you taught math, so I assumed…”
He threw back his head and laughed, “I do teach math, but not at the high school level. That kind of unjustified assumption, Dr. Rabinovich, will get you into all kinds of trouble with your work.”
Now I was puzzled. “So, where do you teach math?”
“I teach undergraduate and graduate courses in transfinites and topology – at Princeton – as an adjunct professor.”
Not lightweight subjects by any stretch of the imagination. “But you’re not a member of the faculty?” I asked.
“No, I sort of – bought – my way in. That’s why I’m an adjunct professor rather than a real one. But I like teaching, and transfinites and topology are my hobbies. I have TA’s for all the grunt work like marking.”
I sat for a moment, then said, “You bought a teaching position? Why would anyone in their right mind do that? And how could you do that?”
He smiled sardonically, and said, “Robert Heinlein gave me that key a long time ago, when I was still in high school: the way to bribe a university is with lots of money, done publicly, with great ceremony, preferably with lots of people wearing academic gowns. That’s how I bought the adjunct professorship. Oh, and the head of the math department didn’t like it – until I added a new wing for the math department. Now I’m his new best friend.”
I stared at him. “Who are you?”
“Now we come to it.” He grimaced, “Most of my friends call me Jim, although I actually prefer James. The university community generally knows me as Adjunct Professor James L. Gainsborough…”
“Wait, I’ve heard about you – you’re making waves in the university, as well as a bunch of enemies.”
“… but, like Clark Kent, I have an alter ego…”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re a superhero of some kind?”
“Will you please let me finish? No, I’m no kind of superhero, but the general public knows me as J. Llewelyn Gainsborough.” And he waited.
My eyes opened in shock. That Gainsborough? He was the guy the IAS director had wanted me to meet at the reception, and who I was just as eager to avoid.
He was a prominent entrepreneur who had sold out of a Silicon Valley start-up called Encrypticom™, which created secure communications systems for corporations, worked with the National Security Agency, the real secret service of the U.S. Government, and was widely written up in the tabloid press as a billionaire playboy with an endless trail of buxom beauties and movie stars panting after him.
Not knowing quite what to do, I stood up. He stood up to face me, and said, “Marta…”
“Fuck you, J. Llewelyn Gainsborough. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” And I turned to go.
He caught my arm, and said, angrily, “Is your word worth so little that you would break it the first time it is tested? Have you no honor?”
I glared at him and said, “What do you know about honor? You seduced me in order to win me over to your project. I told the director I wanted no part of using my research for corporate or military purposes. And he probably told you, so you decided to use me, to seduce me to get your way. You are beyond honor. You are filth personified.” And I jerked my arm out of his grasp, turned, and marched back into the bedroom.
When I got there, I stopped dead, realizing that I had no way to leave. I had no clothes, no money, nothing. I had put myself in an impossible position. I turned back, only to find him standing a short distance away.
“Marta,” he began.
“That’s Dr. Rabinovich to you.”
“Fine. Dr. Rabinovich, there is a lot more to the story that you don’t know. It is not how it looks. I did all this just to get a chance to meet you, dammit!”
There was a long pause, then he went on. “I didn’t know I would fall in love with you.” And he dropped his gaze.
I stood still. Then, it was as if I could hear Kelly speaking to me, “Let the man speak, Marty. He’s not a creeper. What could it hurt? And don’t let your famous temper screw up something that might be good, ‘K?”
Finally, after a long pause, I cleared my throat, wiped my eyes on the back of the robe’s sleeve, and said, “I promised I’d listen, so listen I shall. At the end, I’d like to borrow your sweat clothes back again, as well as enough money to get me home. I’ll return them tomorrow.”
He nodded. “That’s all I ask.”
I walked slowly back to the living room, and regained my seat on the sofa, then turned to him.
“Well?”
The Explanation: James
He sat for what seemed to be a long time, then looked up and started. “I grew up not far from you, but while you grew up in a middle-class household and stood first at your class at Nyack High, I grew up in what amounted to a tarpaper shack in the Ramapo Mountains with an outdoor privy. My father started out making moonshine, and selling enough of it to just get by.
“Later, he moved on to selling drugs, and eventually graduated to hiring biochem students from STAC – St. Thomas Aquinas College – to make meth for him, which he sold. He truly was the ‘embodiment of filth’. And a lousy father, too.
“I never knew my mother, but when dad killed himself by blowing up his meth lab, I realized I really didn’t want to follow in his footsteps. By this time, I should have been entering grade 4, but dad had dodged the truant officer all my life, using me to run errands for him. He thought a paper trail would lead the authorities back to him. He was probably right.
“By now I was almost ten, and had no education, aside from what reading skills I’d taught myself, plus a certain amount of feral cunning. But I was motivated by not wanting to be like my father.
“I walked to the local police station, and told them about my dad. Turns out they knew a lot about him, but had never been able to nail him. They knew nothing about me.
“After being passed around for a while, I was eventually placed at St. Dominic’s, and put in Catholic school. It might have turned out badly for me – kids in an orphanage are not what you would call compassionate – but I was a tough little kid. And then I met Lincoln Peters.
“He was a high school math teacher at the Catholic school where I was enrolled. He broke up a fight one day, where a couple of kids were trying to beat the shit out of me. I’m proud to say they were having a hard time of it.
“Linc broke up the fight, told the other kids to report to the principal, then took me into his office, sat me down, gave me some cookies, and somehow got me to talk about myself.
“The afternoon wore on, but he kept listening, and I kept talking. Finally, when I wound down, I was crying, and feeling sorry for myself. He didn’t say a word, just got up from behind his desk, handed his handkerchief to me, and sat down again.
“After a while, he spoke. This is what he said.”
Linc’s Challenge: James
“The way I see it, young man, you have two options. You can let your past break you, and waste your life. Or you can let the bad hand you seem to have been dealt with become your motivation to create the life you want.
“I’ve seen people in worse situations than yours rise up and shake the tree of life, really make something of themselves. And I’ve seen people in much better situations than yours blow it all and wind up in the gutter.
“And do you know what the difference is?”
I looked at him and shook my head.
“I’m not sure I do, either. But I do know that the ones that lift themselves up decide to do so, and let nothing stand in their way. I see them as being the recipients of God’s grace, of being willing to embrace that grace, and let it power them through life.
“Now you have a choice: the stars or the gutter. I’ve been watching you. You have greatness within you. You’ve had a rough life, but you’re still here, you’re alive, you’re a decent human being, against all the odds, and you have a real thirst for knowledge. That’s all it takes: desire. The desire to be different than you are, and the willingness to put in the work necessary to change.
“It won’t be easy, and there aren’t many that will lift a finger to help you.
“But there are some, and a few of them are here. Do you want our help?”
I stared at him for a long time, then nodded.
“OK, then, let’s get to work.”
He enlisted one of the elementary school teachers, Miss Englander, to help, and they required me to come to an empty classroom every day when formal lessons (in which I wasn’t doing very well) were done, instead of going out to play. Linc gave me the textbooks for grade 1, and told me to show him how much I was interested in learning. He and Miss Englander would tutor me when they could, but mostly I was on my own.
And although I hated it, and privately railed about the unfairness of the life I’d been given, I never showed that to them. Instead, I bulled my way through the textbooks: reading, phonics, writing, arithmetic, science, social studies, and more. Inside of two and a half months, I finished. I was so proud of what I’d accomplished. I handed the exams they’d given me to Linc, sure of his praise.
“Good work. Now, here are the texts for grade 2. Get started.”
He turned back to grading papers while I just stood there with my mouth open. He ignored me, letting me decide for myself.
Fine, I thought. I’ll show the bastard. And I made it through the grade 2 texts in less than three and a half months.
Only to be given the grade 3 texts – and so on.
By the middle of my second year of schooling, I’d finished the curricula up through grade 4, and was starting on grade 5, which was where I should have been, by age.
Schools in those days didn’t fail students, thinking it was better to “keep kids with their peers.” Left to my own, without Linc’s intercession, I would have been graduated all the way through high school, and ended up knowing nothing, probably being functionally illiterate and innumerate.
By the end of grade 5, I had finished the curricula for grades 5, 6, and 7. The principal took note – or rather, was clued in by Linc – and I was jumped up a grade. Then another, when I showed I was getting bored.
Then the principal made a radical decision: he let me teach myself, and advanced me to the next grade, on paper, when I had passed all the exams for a given grade.
I finished high school when I was fourteen, both through self-study, and by taking a few classes where the teachers refused to grant credit for self-study, even at the principal’s urging.
I graduated valedictorian with kids who were between three and five years older than me. Meanwhile, kids my own age would try to beat me up for being a smart ass. But I was tougher than they were, and managed OK – until they started coming after me three or more at a time.
Then, one of the cheerleaders stepped in…
****
“Was she blonde?” Marta interrupted, wondering if this was coincidence.
“What? No, she was Black – African-American – and my first crush. She was beautiful, with skin so dark it seemed to have purple highlights. And she was brilliant – she actually finished second in our class…”
“After you.”
“…after me, yes. She was also the girlfriend of the football team captain. She got him to get the team to stand up for me – and that was the end of the harassment. The team kind of adopted me as their unofficial mascot.
“I used to have wet dreams about her, though, even though I knew she was totally out of my league. Yet, more than anything else, I appreciated that she didn’t have to help me, but did it because she felt it was right. The three of us – she, the football captain, whom she later married, and I – became friends, and have remained so.”
James looked down and seemed to be deep in thought. “I tried to pay it forward to one of the other cheerleaders, at one point, by standing up for her when she seemed to be having a hard time. But it didn’t work out.” He looked up at me, anguish on his face, but stopped speaking.
Marta thought a minute, then said, “Go on.”
****
“My one weakness was girls. I knew nothing about them, and was scared to death of ‘em. I was interested, but the ones in my class treated me like a little brother or – worse! – a little boy, and the ones my own age weren’t interested in someone who was both so socially inept, and a Brainiac who invariably made them feel stupid.
“It was agonizing to me as I was as horny as hell once I hit puberty and was sixteen, but completely unable to do anything about it except jerk off. And even that was fraught; the other guys I bunked with in the orphanage resented my academic standing, and took great glee in discovering me in action – then publicizing the event to everyone else. It was hell on Earth, and I hated it.
“It could have made me callous, and cause me to hate the people around me except for one thing: Linc. He was the most humane person I ever knew, and taught me, both by his actions, and by his words, that I could either decide to be a hard-case, hating others and myself to boot, or to look for God in other people, hateful though they might seem.
“In him, I saw God – and the hand of God. He not only taught me mathematics and inspired me to love it in high school, but he showed me how much sweeter it was to accept and, when possible, love the people around me because it allowed me to love myself.
“’You can’t give what you don’t have, James,’ he’d tell me. If I didn’t love myself, I couldn’t love others. And if I didn’t love those I came in contact with, I would never love anyone because I would never learn how to love.
“Linc Peters – Dr. Lincoln Alan Peters – saved me, not only as a student, but as a human being. Years later, at his funeral, which was mobbed by his former students, one of them summed up his life by saying, ‘He made his living by teaching, but his profession was humanity.’
“Amen.”
The Story: Marta
I sat, astonished again by this strange man who seemed of so many parts. I’m naturally suspicious because of my own life, and would check out everything he told me, but, if true, he wasn’t a self-made man, he was a self-made miracle.
I prompted him, “And how does that lead to me?”
He looked up and smiled. “That’s the good part.”
****
“I got a full-ride to MIT, and finished my degree in math in three years instead of four, actually taking some post-graduate courses in my third year. I had a natural affinity to two subjects: math, and economics. Linc instilled my love of math, but I also found I had a talent for it, and pursued its elegance with passion and joy.
“And the first time I took an economics class – in high school – it just, uh, made sense. I splashed through the course, actually helping the teacher with some of the concepts, and got a 104% grade in the class. ‘But the computer system won’t let me put that on your report card, James, so I had to settle for giving you a 99,’ he’d told me.
“I studied math at MIT, with economics as a minor, then, when I went to Stanford for my doctorate, skipping a Masters altogether, I audited both economics and finance courses in the B-school, through the intercession of the dean. I could have graduated with a Ph.D. and an MBA, both, but I was only interested in what I could do with the knowledge, not the letters after my name.
“And I had always been interested in quantum mechanics as well as math. My physics teacher in high school, Mr. Stine, took an interest in me, and taught me, and gave me books, about both Einstein’s theories of relativity, and quantum mechanics. I was hooked, mostly because you can’t look up the answers in the back of the book. No one knows why things are the way they are, and there are far too many loose ends.
“String theory, for instance, from what I understand of it, is more theology than science. There are no ways to test the hypotheses, so you either have faith in them, or not.
“Studying quantum theory and its offshoots became a passion more than a hobby for me. I became consumed with it. I needed to know, and, as several quantum physicists have said, ‘If someone tells you they understand quantum mechanics, they’re lying.’ It was fascinating!
“The only other thing that grabbed me as hard was Fermat’s Last Theorem…”
“Wait a minute,” Marta interrupted. “That’s been proven.”
“Not for me it hasn’t. Oh, there is a proof, but it’s a fucking Rube Goldberg machine, with too many parts, too many pieces, and they are all mashed together to make them fit. There’s no elegance. It’s not good enough, and Fermat would have laughed at it.”
He continued.
“Meanwhile, I started moonlighting in Silicon Valley as a bookkeeper and accountant. It helped pay the bills as even the full scholarships weren’t enough in that part of the world.
“After I had worked for several different start-ups, I got the hang of what worked and what didn’t, especially from a business point of view. Which was more than most of the propeller-heads in the Valley knew, and which is why so many of them wound up giving away huge chunks of their companies the financial backers.
“My background in mathematics, and some of the programming that I had done in university and post-grad, led me to believe that cybersecurity was going to be a big thing, especially when I saw governments hacking companies to steal corporate secrets, notably China, Iran, and Russia. So, I started noodling around with the encryption of communications, reasoning that if you could protect stuff traveling outside your organization, you could protect it inside as well.
“And my twin passions – Fermat’s Theorem, and quantum mechanics – have both proved to be invaluable in this. Thinking about Fermat, plus a lot of other stuff, especially in finance, helped me to come up with encryption algorithms and a business model that were good enough that Encrypticom grew not just exponentially, but almost factorially because the need to encrypt different nodes in a communication network is a factorial expansion.
“That was when the NSA contacted me. They wanted my algorithms. Actually, what they wanted was me to go to work for them. I turned them down flat on both accounts…”
“Wait a minute! The media says that they’re big boosters of yours, that they have you in their back pocket.”
He gave Marta a cynical smile, “Actually, it’s the other way around. I refused to sell them my algorithms, and point-blank refused to work for them. They threatened to draft me.
“I said, sure, go ahead, but you can’t force me to think, and I’m suddenly having a real problem remembering how I did some stuff.
“But I’ll make you a deal, I told them: Leave us alone and I promise not to sell the algorithms to other governments, and not to allow the secrets to get out of my lab. Hassle me, and there are going to be an awful lot of mobsters and hostile governments with uncrackable communications.
“I’d anticipated their moves, and set things up with a dead-man’s switch: If I didn’t consistently enter an encrypted key into my computer system, it would unleash a version of the algorithm on the world.
“Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the NSA, I’d saved the bacon of two senators, one of them the Chair of the Senate Intelligence Committee. They’d were being blackmailed by someone in their own party. When someone in the Chair’s office approached me, I looked into it, and bricked the machines that held the compromising material.
“So, the Senate came out in support of this amazing American unicorn, and the NSA was quietly told to back off. I also told NSA that I would help them against foreign hacking, but would not help them hack other countries, and that all bets were off if I found them violating the privacy of people they had no right to spy on.
“It seems to have worked – although I still don’t trust them, even a little bit.”
He deep a deep breath, and continued.
“But although this all made me a lot of money, it kept interfering with my passions for math and quantum physics. So, I kicked myself upstairs – I’m not CEO any more, but Chair of the Board – and put my 2-in-C in charge.”
Marta straightened up and said, “Wait, isn’t the CEO of Encryticom a black woman – the only black woman CEO of a Fortune 500 company, in fact,” Marta stopped. “You don’t mean…”
He nodded. “It’s Margrit, the cheerleader who saved my ass in high school. And Carl, her boyfriend, is VP of Security, which counts for a lot in our industry.”
“OK, I get loyalty, but why?”
“Well, in the second place, Margrit is smart! And more than capable enough to run the company. But in the first place, I trust her – and there aren’t many people I trust. And Carl. Together, they’ve saved my life, not just my company, twice that I know of, and probably more.
“I originally had a traditional white, male, executive VP. He was charming, smart as a whip, personable, and competitive as hell. He was also maneuvering to steal the company out from under me. Margrit and Carl came to me one night and showed me the proof, which I verified. The next day I fired him, and let the NSA know what kind of person he was, which pretty much puts paid to his employment in sensitive stuff.
“He’s a psychopath. There are far too many of them these days in corporate management: they’re smart, ruthless, but charming, with winning smiles. I was lucky to escape – thanks to Margrit and Carl. So I made Margrit CEO. She had already been my Chief Financial Officer, so promoting her was easy.
“But technology has moved on, and what was good enough encryption ten years ago, hell, even five years ago, isn’t good enough anymore. And that’s where quantum mechanics – and quantum computing – comes into the picture.”
Marta nodded and said, “Yeah, when Encrypticom approached me about becoming a consultant, I told them I had no interest because it would interfere with my work. Shortly after that, the director approached me, saying the company would beef up the Institute’s endowment if I’d consult for you lot. I told him to shove it.”
“Yeah, that was my fault. I should have approached you directly. But I was intimidated.”
“What? Why?”
He looked at her, then said, “You really don’t know, do you? Not only are you – arguably – the world’s leading authority on quantum physics, but you have a reputation of tearing new assholes for people you don’t like. You have a temper.”
Marta looked down, “I know it. It’s caused me problems all my life.”
James continued, “But the good news is, even though I can’t do the physics, I can do the math. I may be able to help you – I think I’ve spotted a mistake in your latest paper in your use of a transformation you don’t seem to understand.”
Marta snorted, “You’re going to teach me mathematics?”
“I think so. I wrote a paper about that particular transform. You interpreted it for the usual, positive real number result. Most people ignore the Imaginary number results, but I think they may be applicable here.”
“Wait – are you telling me that you’re the author of the Gainsborough transform?”
He nodded.
“But that means you were nominated for the Fields medal! Is that you?”
“I lost out to that Iranian woman. God, is she smart! I love her work in combinatorics, even though I struggle to follow most of it.”
Marta was silent for a long moment, then: “What about the playboy billionaire stuff?”
Now it was James’ turn to be quiet. Finally, he said, “I’m not proud of that, to be honest. All my life I was ugly, the runt, the nerd, the nobody, the horny little shit that no one wanted. Now, suddenly, I was cool, I was the It-guy, and I had money, so women flocked to me.
“So, I, uh, flocked with them. I tried to keep it out of the papers as I don’t want publicity, but some of the starlets I dated wanted publicity, and tipped reporters off as to where we were going to be.”
“And me? Did you, ‘flock’ to me?”
He stared at her, then finally said, “Think about it for a moment, Marta. There are two reasons why it is impossible for me to be trying to seduce you into working with me. First, think about our first encounter at the reception. Are you seriously going to tell me that shouting obscenities at you was part of the cunning plan I had in order to worm my way into your affections? Really?
“And second, I know you’re going to back-check everything I’ve said – and you should. What would it gain me to lie about any of it? Sure, I might hoodwink you for a day or a week or a month. But that wouldn’t get me what I want, which is the active engagement of your impressive brain. And answers to the questions I really care about.”
He grinned, “All I’d get is sweaty sex with your beautiful body… which might be worth it, I admit, but…”
Then he shut up. And waited.
It was my turn.
The Reaction: Marta
I sat, staring at him, thinking. It all hung together. It actually made sense, and I couldn’t see a flaw in my reasoning – or his story.
But I was used to being cautious. Perhaps too cautious.
What would Kelly say, I wondered?
But I knew what she’d say: “Fuck that noise! At least he’s a decent lay!”
I dropped my head and smiled at the floor. That is exactly what Kelly would say.
I stood up and walked over to him, looking stern. He stood up and waited.
“I have just two words to say to you…”
He looked both anxious and resigned, so I drew out the suspense.
Then I said, “Wanna fuck?” dropped the robe, spread my legs, and clasped my hands behind my head, leaning back slightly to push out my tits.
© Copyright, J.L. Gainsborough, November 2020.
To be continued…
