My hair didn’t seem to be sticking up anywhere. The collar of my short-sleeve button-down shirt was laying perfectly flat. The NIV Bible with the fake-leather cover that I received when I was baptized during my junior year of college was in hand. And the fly was zipped on my navy-blue khakis.The door opened, and a vision of loveliness emerged. Lisa was wearing a red ruffled blouse and a black pair of slacks. She carried a women’s study Bible with commentary by an author whose name I vaguely recognized. I even caught a slight whiff of perfume this morning – something I was certain she didn’t usually wear – when she leaned over to kiss me and wrap me in a brief hug before turning to lock her door.Traffic being surprisingly heavy for a Sunday morning, we arrived with just a couple of minutes to spare before the service’s 11:00 start time. Her church home was a small, relatively nondescript white building with stained-glass windows on either side of the entrance, and a wooden cross above. She led me to our bedroom, lit several candles, and tied me to the bed, muttering sweet compliments to me the whole time, stroking me as she would a cat. A bowl of ice sat on the bedside table, alongside a couple of neatly folded towels. A glass of something clear sat on the dresser with a plate resting on top of it. She stripped, while I watched, licking my lips, then straddled my face. "Eat me." When she tired of that, she sat astride my belly, idly stroking my nipples. "You made it," she said. "It's been a year." "Yes." "Do you want to continue to be my slave after this?" "Yes, Mistress, I do!" I was excited beyond belief, and as much in love with her as the day she'd first proposed locking me up. She smiled, that delicious slow grin, and said, "Good. Because I want to keep you! I don't want it to be a game. We've been playing pretty seriously, but we've both known there was a time limit. Now I know you can handle that kind of intensity for a long time. Do you want it? Do you want.
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