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“It’s so intense! So utterly sinister and evil looking like from some horror flick about the inquisition.” The hooded host grinned at her. “I’m gratified that my humble little playground has caught your foxy little fancy. But I must insist that you call me either master or sir at all times. I can’t tolerate disobedience or disrespect at all. So Amy, are you prepared to service me for the week end? Hmmmmm?” Amy’s groin was twitching wildly. Even the carpet was jet black and there was what looked like an authentic torch flaming on the cement wall in its holder. She shuddered when she noticed what she assumed to be instruments of torture on a rack at the far end of the room. She recalled how internet chat girls claimed that this particular master was superb down to every groin tingling detail. So Amy didn’t bolt at the sight of those gruesome implements. “Yes master. I’m here to do your bidding in all things. I want to stay. I need your guidance.” “Excellent! Strip off all your. ." He kept his eyes closed and when I hesitated they opened, fixing on me with such pain that I involuntarily took a step back. "Please, Miss..." Ivy." I recovered. "My name is Ivy and I'm not sure you need..." Ivy," he repeated, smiling as if he should have known that already. "Need..." he seemed to pause, searching for the right words, " ... has nothing to do with it, Ivy."I shrugged and looked away. Looking into that man's eyes were like looking into my own life, my own soul. It hurt and confused me. I concentrated on pouring him another drink."How old are you, Ivy?" he asked, watching my hands intently."Old enough." I smiled, but didn't look up. I corked the bottle and left it on the bar this time.The man rotated the little shot glass slowly, his thumb and fingers working it round and round. "No, really. I want to know." I'm twenty-two." I glanced down the bar, checking my three other customers and they seemed okay. I was kind of looking for an excuse to get away because I thought.
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