to his dresser is a row of hooks. And, no, there are not pictures of “sunsets” or some shit on the hooks. The first one has a paddle hanging from it. There are no Greek letters on it, I would like to add. Like practically every damn thing in the room, it’s black leather too. The second hook has a big leather tassel or something with a handle on the end. The last two hooks are empty. I guess he’s saving up for some more weird knick-knacks, or something. That’s all there is except for a padded black saw-horse. He must like to cut delicate wood or something.

I guess leather-dude has found what he was looking for because he walks back over to me with the leash hanging around his neck. The chain of the leash swings and flashes against the leather straps criss-crossing his big-ass chest. In one hand he’s holding what looks like bottled water or a sports drink, or something. I don’t recognize the brand, so don’t ask. I’m not sure what he’s holding in his other hand, but it kinda looks like a big black rubber light bulb, only pointy. He sets them both down on the railing of the balcony that separates his living room from the “bedroom” above and pulls the leash from around his neck.

“You’re going to be a good slave, aren’t you, punk?” he asks as he clicks the leash onto the collar. Something tells me he wasn’t really asking so much as telling, but I’m thinking I better answer just the same.

“Yes sir, I’ll be good.”

“That’s right….but you’ve been bad, haven’t you, bitch?”

Well, he’s got me there. Like, everybody already knows I am bad with numbers and totally suck at math. So yeah, I guess I’ve been “bad”.

“Yes, sir, I haven’t done very well.”

“And what happens to punks that don’t do well?”

“Uh…they study harder?”

He doesn’t have a smart answer to that, just kinda looks at me funny for a moment. Then he takes the leash in one hand and turns me around to face the railing. He lassos the handle end to the metal handrail like he’s tying up a fucking horse or something and then he walks around me to stand at my back.

“Spread your legs, bitch, and lean forward. Stick that ass out, slave.”

“Yes sir.”

He reaches around me for the rubber light bulb and the sports drink. I can hear him opening the cap of the bottle and then this weird squirting sound. He puts the bottle back on the railing and then leans into my back and puts one arm around my waist. I can feel his warm body pressed up next to me and it’s not that bad, if you must know. Ok, it does feel kinda good. His arm is like granite or something and the hairs kinda tickle my smooth stomach. I wonder where he works out?

SHIT! My freaking-ass tutor is pushing that big freaking-ass light bulb up my bung-hole and it hurts like freaking hell! HOLY DAMN CRAP! This ain’t right! This ain’t right! This ain’t right…..this ain’t…..right. This ain’t……..Ahhhhhhhh…right there.

“There you go, bitch. Hold that plug in that punk