Slipping off my robe, in the dim warmth of our bed, I lie under the blankets with my Master, enclosed by his embrace. We lie together, not speaking, just being, listening to the music and the drifting words…I lie abed alone at night and see with only dreaming eye…Through panes, the moon casts silver trace…The shadows form my lover's face…Beside me now my lover lies…"Lovely music," I say. "I don't know the piece. What is it?""Not sure," he says. "I just set a play-list going, chill-out music." He tilts his head, listening. One arm looped around me, his fingers idle between my shoulders, stroking. I'm not sure he even realises he's doing it. Fingertips trail between one shoulder blade and the other, grazing the nape of my neck before winding lazy circles around the top of my spine."That's lovely."He blinks out of his reverie. "Hmmm? What's that?""What you're doing there, Master. It feels lovely.""Does it? I'll keep going then, shall I?" The hand skims my body. Not hard. Not wit

The dim evening shadows have been replaced by brilliant morning sunshine, a snap to the air and a sheen over shaded streets where the frost hasn't faded.In my Master's office, he flips open his laptop, then aims a finger at the plan drawers. "A lot of this kind of work is done using computer models and I'll get that forwarded to you, but sometimes there's no substitute for having the information laid out in front of you."The finger jabs down. "Second and third drawers. You'll find a lot of what you need in there. Schematics of the City, street maps, service plans and so on." The finger swings to the filing cabinet. "Bottom drawer. Guides on which areas are demarcated as residential, industrial, retail and so on. Help yourself. Sing out if you can't find anything. Any questions, Will should be here later this morning. Alright?""That's fine, Master. I'll get myself familiar with everything first."He nods a smile, then turns back to his laptop, checking through his emails, I think. Af

My Master sighs. "My Love, if you don't stop doing that, I swear I will bend you forward over this table and fuck you until there's a map of the City tattooed on your cheek."?Whoops!All unintentionally, my left hand on my file, my right hand has been stroking his thigh."In fact…" He slants me a look… "Elizabeth, stand up. Bend forward."I shoot a glance to the outer office. "Francis…""… Isn't due back from her lunch for another thirty minutes. I don't plan on taking nearly that long." Nonetheless, he strides to the door, turns the key in the lock, then draws down the blind on the internal window.He turns back to me, brow cocked, arms folded. "Elizabeth?" Sucking in my smile… "Yes, Master...." … obediently, I turn back to face the conference table. As I'm about to lean over, he swoops in, carefully scooping up a great armload of my layers of plans with their stuck-on notes, then lays them just as carefully down on his own desk.Striding across, he stands over me. "Face down on th

My champagne flute halts mid-air of its own accord. "I'm sorry?"Next to Irene, her husband sucks at his teeth, stares into his wine glass, then helps himself from a bowl of nibbles.My Master shifts beside me, eyes glinting. He's opening his mouth to speak when another voice breaks in, the man from the fourth couple on the table, who I've not yet had chance to speak to."It's an interesting word, isn't it…" he drawls, aiming his words at Irene. His accent is cultured. The words clipped and well enunciated. "… Sophistication. And the way the word is used these days… In its original sense, it meant contaminated, or impure. The word derives from a Latin root and is closely allied with sophistry, meaning, to make a false argument with the intent to convince one's audience."Irene flushes, looking away. The man who spoke head-jerks and eye-rolls her way, then tilts his glass at me. I flush too, but I tilt back.I lean sidelong, murmuring, "Who's that?"My Master speaks from the corner of h

How long do I have to be polite to this bitch?"Excuse me, madam." The waiter behind me, with the first course.All aside from giving me the excuse to ignore Irene, it smells divine. Some kind of soup, creamy and fishy, sprinkled with parsley, and thick enough to qualify as a stew. I reach for a spoon, then…Damn…The place in front of me is set out left and right, with battalions of cutlery. And now that I look, four different wine glasses are ranked to my right.Uncertain, I turn to my Master, but he is distracted, talking to Chancellor Wilmore across the table. As I hesitate, Irene watches. Heat pricks at my cheeks.Something nudges at me, Grace's elbow in my ribs. Behind a napkin, out of Irene's line of sight, she wriggles fingers, then picks up the rightmost item, a spoon. Dipping into her soup at twelve o'clock on the dish, she drags the base of the spoon over the rim, clearing the drips. Bringing the spoon up to her lips, she sips from the edge.Watching from the corner of my ey