0 comments/ 13697 views/ 2 favorites Please, Master... By: aydensfire756 His hands flitted lightly across her neck and collar bone, while his lips slowly traced a gentle line from her jaw to her soft mouth. Barely touching her lips with his, he teased her, taking full advantage of the blindfold wrapped across her eyes. He slid his hands down her arms, which were bound at the wrists behind her back. He ran his fingertips lightly over her sensitive back, eliciting a soft but desperate moan from his "captive". "Did I give you permission to voice your passions, slut?" he asked her darkly. "No master, I apologize." she said in a meek voice. "What should we do about your bad behavior, whore?" he whispered softly into her ear, his voice almost a moan. "M-master...I will have to be punished" she stammered, using every bit of control she had not to moan again. "That's right you will.....dirty little bitch..." With that, he bit down on her neck and dug his fingernails into her back, raking them against her soft skin. She cried out in mixed pain and pleasure as he doled out her punishment. Suddenly he stopped and sat back, so their bodies no longer touched. She was shaking in anticipation, her hips rocking slightly as she tried to suppress the urge to beg him touch her, to ravage her. He just let her squirm, watching as the pressure inside her built until she could barely take it. Finally, he ordered her, "Spread your legs." She complied, grateful to finally be getting some relief from the terrible tension in her loins. He smiled at the sight of her glistening pussy. Even from where he sat, he could smell the aroma of her wetness. He kissed his way up her inner thigh, nipping her skin occasionally. He stopped just over her pussy, breathing hotly on her swollen lips. Her back arched and she moved her hips toward him, but he just chuckled softly and kissed back down her other thigh. He could feel her trembling....every time his lips touched her skin, her hips would jerk forward, her body begging to be fucked. He bent right over her hot little cunt, centimeters away from the soft hairs adorning her pussy lips. "What do you want, slut?" he rasped, knowing she could feel the breath of every word against her wet swollen cunt. "Please master," she gasped, "please eat me out. Ravage my little pussy with your tongue master...." She barely finished the sentence before he pressed his face into her pussy, shoving his tongue into her tight little hole. He tongue fucked her viciously, licking in and out of her as fast as he could. She was moaning heavily, screaming for him, begging him to make her cum. He kept up his assault of her pussy until he could feel her muscles start to tense. Then he pulled back, hovering just above her, breathing hotly against her clit, teasing her to her very limits. "What do you want, slut?" he asked her softly, knowing the answer that would come. "Please fuck me master. Make me your whore and fuck me until I can't take it anymore." Her voice was filled with desperation, her back arched with the tension filling her body. "You want it that badly? Then beg me for it." he said coldly. She writhed on the mat she was laying on, the need to cum overwhelming her. "Please master, please fuck me. I need to feel your cock buried deep inside my hot little pussy. I need you to shoot your cum deep inside me master....." He couldn't hold back any longer. He plunged his throbbing cock deep inside her pussy with a word of warning, pumping in and out of her as she screamed in pleasure. He felt her begin to tense, and started pounding her even faster. Her breath was coming in short little gasps, punctuated by short screams. Finally, her back arched and she went stiff, a primal cry ripping from her as her pussy spasmed in pleasure. The feeling of her pussy clenching around him was enough to send him over the edge, emptying load after load of cum deep into her pussy. They lay in each other's arms for a little while, until their breathing calmed and their hearts settled. He sat up, untying her hands and unveiling her eyes. "Was it everything you wanted, love?" he asked her. "Yes hun, it was wonderful. We need to get cleaned up though, we have a dinner reservation for 7, and we'll be cutting it pretty close...." and with that they walked back up the stairs from their basement, hand in hand. Please Master I'm back and I guess people who like my audios are gonna be stuck with me for good. :P Anyways, this is the latest audio I've done. Don't know when I'll be able to record again, but it's a definite. Am working on writing some of my more interesting sexual experiences. And if you like what you hear then feel free to shoot me some feedback. I love to hear from you all. :) ~Koko * * * * * Click Here to listen: .mp3 format or .ogg format. (11.5 min/mp3) * * * * * Please, Master To: Husband From: Wife I hope your Friday afternoon at work is going well, my dear husband, and I'm sorry to interrupt, but I hope you have a few minutes to read this email. I have a very special request to make of you when you get home tonight: I would like you to whip me. Yes, darling, you did read that correctly: I really want you to whip me, physically, on my bare ass, with some severity, using several of the willow switches that I gathered this morning. I'm sure you're surprised to hear such an unbelievable thing from your liberated, university-educated wife, but there it is, and, yes, it's crazy, I know. But let me try to explain. First, I want to assure you that I love you very much, and I know that you love me and would never, ever, consider doing anything to harm me, but I have come to realize that the kind of comfortable love we enjoy is not enough to conquer the wildness inside of me. It's not that I'm a weak woman. You know I'm not, just the opposite, really, and I think only a strong woman could ask to endure what I'm asking. I believe I need to be dominated. I need you to strip me naked and tie me to the four bedposts bottom up by my wrists and ankles. It would be best if I'm stretched tightly enough to prevent my being able to thrash around much. Then you can begin to enjoy exploring my reaction to the switches by striking across my ass at a slow rate at first. You should probably leave enough time between strokes to allow me to completely embrace the sting and letting it begin to fade away before striking again. You'll gradually work your way up to harder and faster strokes over the course of the next ten minutes or so. I would guess that by that time, you'll probably have worn out the first of the switches and will need to select another. And up to this point, both of us will most likely have considered this a fun and playful experience. But we need to move well beyond that point. You will have warmed up your "swinging arm" by now, so let loose your inhibitions and inflict pain, my master. Give it to me! Let the strokes be hard and fast so the torment won't have time enough to subside before the next stroke is given. You'll know you've reached the required force when I'm begging, pleading,demanding that you stop. I'd like to think that I'll be strong and brave enough to endure it stoically , but I know I won't, so just be aware that I'm forgiving you in advance for disregarding my entreaties until such time as you, and you alone, have decided to end my suffering. Of course, by then, my bottom will be right properly welted. I'll be in tears and will be grateful for your comfort. I'll be most interested to see your physical condition at that time. I won't be surprised, and I won't be angry, to find you've become rather aroused. In fact, I hope you will be, because once I stop sobbing, I suspect I'll be soaking, dripping wet, ready and willing to give you some awesome fucking, my master. Does calling you "my master" please and excite you, darling? Because I hope to be able to call you that a lot from tonight onward. Quite a lot. I look forward to seeing you tonight. *** To: Wife From: Husband Got your email just as I was eating lunch. Thought it might be some kind of spam, but it was too well written to be from anybody else but you. Wow. I don't know quite what to say. I re-read it several times to make sure I was really getting it. What you had to say was really shocking at first... but then I realized that I had a monster hard-on thinking about doing this. I don't know how or why you came to want to be my personal pain slave, we'll talk about that later, but after thinking about it for a time, I'm more than willing to give it a shot. I think I'll really enjoy bringing you under my control and laying some welts onto that tight, pretty little ass of yours. Maybe I'll think it's even prettier when it's crisscrossed with purple bruises and is so sore that sitting down becomes a chore for you. Yes, I think I'd really like to see that. I agree with almost everything you wrote, but I request, no, I REQUIRE, a few changes. First, no point in getting the neighbors upset if they happen to hear you screaming, so you will go visit that adult toy store over at the strip mall this afternoon and buy yourself a ball gag. If a woman is working there, you will tell her you need to buy a ball gag because your husband will be whipping you tonight. And, guess what? If it's a guy working there, you'll tell him the same thing, and you'll make eye contact with him when you do it. Second, you will not be tied down, at least for this first time we do this thing. I will require you to be still and submit to the whipping on your own. I will start slow, but by the time it's over, I'll have given you a good thrashing. You'll be in tears for sure, and I won't stop until I choose to. I'll mark your ass up good and maybe the tops of your thighs, too. I might even place some strokes on purpose low enough to be seen below the hem of that short, black party dress you like to wear. And then take you out to dinner somewhere nice so you can show off your marks and let everybody see that you're my little pain slut. Once we get back home we will see about some of that serious fucking you talked about. I hope you know that whether you love or whether you hate what happens tonight, you and I, and our relationship, will never be the same again. Better get going to the toy store now so you can be waiting for me. I'll be home around 5:30 to begin what will sure be a memorable weekend. (to be continued) Please, Master Ch. 02 Please, My Master, Part II -she asks her husband to whip her and he responds To: Husband From: Wife Well, my darling Master, Monday morning is upon us, and you're hard at work (or should that say, "you're hard, at work"). It certainly was a roller coaster ride of a weekend, and I did survive. I must say that both you and Master Junior were insatiable this weekend. In spite of what you thought, I'd really intended to get home before you on Friday, but the side trip to the sex store to buy that ball gag made me late. By the way, I'd be interested to discover if you already knew it was a woman minding the store. Perhaps you thought it amusing that my hope to deal with someone of my own sex was somewhat diminished when I discovered that she was a dominatrix lesbian who was only too thrilled hearing about my imminent lashing. Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, that was a nice dramatic touch to embarrass me after my thrashing by taking me back there on our way to dinner just so you could raise the back of my dress to display my pantyless, welted ass for her close examination. She seemed to enjoy that very much. "Hello, again, dearie, back to our store so sooooon?" God, what a patronizing hellcat! Forgive me for not quite believing you for saying the only purpose for our visit there was your purchase of that riding crop. That was an excellent upscale place you chose for dinner Friday night, although I would have enjoyed it a lot more if we hadn't bumped into my department head from the university. I hope it was only my overactive imagination making me believe he was rather amused at the welts that were visible just below the hem line of that black dress that you find so fetching, not to mention the black velvet collar around my neck. And perhaps you could explain to me the purpose of the lace top ankle stockings you insisted I wear with the strappy high heels. The chairs could have been a trifle softer to help soothe my tenderized bottom. Those were a pair of serious whippings! All of that, and I've only made it as far as reminiscing about Friday dinner! I have to end this note for now and get some work accomplished. You know the drill: student papers to grade, doctoral dissertation to slog at, etc., but I 'll look forward to a reply from you if you find time, and I will write again later. *** To: Wife From: Husband Well, good morning, my beautiful pain slave. Glad to see you're up. Thought I'd have mercy on you this morning and let you sleep instead of making you get up and be at my service, ha ha. You ought to know that you brought the second whipping on yourself Friday night. I was satisfied with just the one, and comforting you through the tears afterwards. But, no, you had to be sassy and act up. In the future, when I ask you, "Who do you belong to," it's not good to say, "I believe, 'To whom do you belong' is correct." Really sets me off. Then and there you earned yourself that other switching worse than the first. I was sure I'd have to tie you down for that second one, but you managed to struggle through it okay. I have to say how sweet your ass looked when it was all over. Sort of like a whiteboard after a tic-tack-toe tournament with all those lines crisscrossing each other. Hard to find even one square inch of unmarked skin afterwards. You couldn't see it in the mirrors that well, but I think the photos I took will give you a good idea. I'm glad I thought to put that eye-bolt in the ceiling a while back. With that rope running from it, tied to your wrists above your head, making you stretch some, you looked so adorable naked. Your heels just coming out of those glossy black pumps and your whipped ass and thighs the center of the picture. And of course the reflection in the mirror of your bare breasts and your lovely face with that look of excitement and lust. What a turn-on! I did kind of lose control after that and made you give lip service to Master Junior before we went out to dinner, but MJ was really hot to trot and in need of being unloaded. It being such a special weekend, nothing wrong with giving you dessert before dinner. I know you wanted to be pleasured, too, but time was getting short and we needed to go. You needed a little lesson in patience, my pouty pet, and anyway, you were made to come a little later, so no harm done. Besides, it's more fun to bring you off when you're tied up. You know how squirmy you get between orgasms, and I wanted to make sure you had more than a few. Which reminds me to get some more "D" batteries on the way home today. The velvet collar shows that you're my submissive. I'm thinking now that you should always wear some kind of collar, the particular kind depending on the mood. Maybe one made of nylon or basic chain for day-to-day. The strappy shoes and ankle stockings, along with your sleek, bare legs, suggest that you just might be my naked submissive under that dress. Others looking at you might of wondered if you were without panties, but only you and I know it was true. Well, you and I, and the salesgirl at the adult toy store. Can't begin to tell you how proud I was of you for taking all that punishment. I thought you knew I bought the crop because we wore out all three willow switches. What a trouper you are! I'd really like to hear your thoughts about the whippings. Were they what you hoped they'd be like? Is it something you want to do again? *** To: Husband From: Wife What did I think about the whippings? They were much more intense than I'd imagined. You started out so slowly and gently with the first one that I was actually smirking under my gag. Well, that didn't last long. After a couple of minutes, the force behind each stroke increased and was uncomfortable but bearable. I could feel the power of the strikes intensifying as you went on, and it began to take all my will power, all my concentration, to keep myself flat on the bed. I don't remember the point at which my tears turned to sobs. Then they became real shrieks, screams almost. It seemed as though the first whipping went on for hours, although I figured out later it was really only five minutes. I'd lost count at about fifty strokes. Then it was over, the gag was removed, and I was in your arms and you were comforting me. Once I'd returned to Planet Earth, I became aware of how wet I was. Then you asked me that question and whipping round number two began. I really wasn't prepared for that at all, and demanded that you stop. When that failed to work, I tried begging and pleading, which also didn't work. At some point, I became inured to my situation, gave myself over to you and called you Master. And then you stopped. You held me and told me you loved me and were proud of me for enduring it all. It took a long while to really calm down before I was in any kind of condition to go dining out. So, what did I think of it? I hated it! It was unbearable! I totally thought I would lose my mind and never recover. And how could I ever again feel respect for myself as a liberated woman? Yes, I want you to do it again. I want you to keep doing it in spite of all the revulsion I'm feeling. I want to feel your machismo while you use the crop on me. I want to know the extremes you'll go to in order to bend me to your desires. I want you to sweep me off my feet, carry me up the stairs, throw me onto the bed, rip me naked and take me according to your every pleasure. You were right when you said our relationship would never be the same. You ignited something deep within me Friday, something primal, and from that moment on, I've not been able to get enough of you, not been able to give enough of myself to you. For the rest of the weekend we stayed home, stayed naked, stayed hard. You wore out my pussy, my ass, my mouth. I'm so sore, I cannot sit, stand, speak or walk comfortably. I cannot move a muscle without being reminded of what we did. And I never want this to end, Master. Never. You own me now. I'm yours, and my desire is to please you however it takes. *** To: Wife From: Husband I'm being honest here. And from now on, our relationship will be built on total honesty. I wasn't as surprised as I let on when you begged me to punish you. I've thought for a long time now that submitting to me was what you needed, and long ago I vowed to provide for your needs. I did it as your lover and your husband, and I will do it now as your Master. I will see to it that you find not just ecstasy in your slavery, but peace and contentment too. I think you will come to find all of this to be liberating, not confining. After all, what's the point of being a liberated woman if you have to conform to somebody else's idea of what "liberation" means instead of being what you want to be. What you choose to be. What you need to be. Even if the need is to be owned by your husband to serve him at his pleasure. Here are some basic instructions that I want you to follow from now on. You will delight in being freshly bathed and shaved and naked when I get home. You will meet me at the door, and you will be kneeling. No perfume except your natural womanly aroma which I love so much. Soft music. Bed linens turned down, and the crop within arm's reach. Ready to surrender yourself completely to me and prepared to have me turn you inside out with loving passion. I'll be home at 5:30 today. *** The author thanks all of you who commented constructively on this, my first erotic short story. It is, of course, a work of fiction, and some parts of it you should certainly not try at home. But, deep inside, I believe all of us desire a relationship that is this open, this honest, and this fulfilling. I'm thankful that my wife and I have this. Please, Master Ch. 03 -she asks her husband to collar her, and he responds *** To: Husband From: Wife I hope your day at work is going well, my darling Master, and that having to take the time to read my note will not be an undue burden. I want to say that the past two months have been literally a dream come true for me. I'd always suspected that I'd love the chastisement you've been providing lately, and I do. It's perverse, I know, but just seeing you holding that crop every evening with that look in your eyes really arouses me to no end. I become tingly from the moment you pick it up and order me into position, and then my body fairly starts to sing when the flailing begins. I know both you and Master Junior love it, too. I think all three of us can safely assume that our new style of life is a keeper. Which brings me to my point. This all began when I ratcheted up my courage enough to request that you begin whipping me. There was fear on my part that you wouldn't understand or accept it, but fortunately, my fear was groundless, and you were of a similar mind. Now I wish ask you to go a step further. Will you collar me for real? I want to wear a collar of your choosing that will announce to the world that I belong to you, body and soul. After all, you said yourself you were thinking about this. I hope that's not too much to ask, is it? *** To: Wife From: Husband Sure are moving right along here, aren't we, pain slave? No, I guess a good collar's not too much to ask for. I can pick one up on the way home from work tonight. Wal-Mart probably has a stock of them in the pet supplies department. Leather or nylon, and was there any special color you were thinking would be good? *** To: Husband From: Wife Master, one thing I remember from my college classes in communication is the fallacy on the part of both the sender and the receiver of assuming that the intended communication has actually taken place. No, Sir, a dog collar from Wal-Mart was not where I was going with this train. I'm requesting an actual formal gathering, not unlike a wedding ceremony, where I announce to the world in front of Almighty God and witnesses that I am wholly owned by you, and you affirm said ownership by your affixing a permanent, durable collar around my neck. There would be appropriate attire, vows exchanged, music, and a reception afterward. We would invite our friends. I'm sure this seems extreme, but I feel it's the appropriate time for us to bring the nature of our relationship out of the closet, so to speak. I'm sure some people we know will disapprove, but our real friends, our true friends, will rejoice with us in our happiness. And when I say a collar, I'm not referring to some thinly disguised chain, either. I mean an actual, substantial collar that cannot be mistaken for jewelry or anything other than what it is: a symbol of my slavery to you. *** To: Wife From: Husband Aw, baby, I was just teasing you about Wal-Mart. You know, now that you mention it, I've been thinking about it, and yes, maybe it is time to come out, as you say. But have you thought about the crap you'll have to put up with at the university when this goes public? It could cost you ever getting that tenure you want. You said you wanted to invite people and have a formal get-together. I know the bride's parents have to pay for the wedding. Do they have to pay for the collaring ceremony, too? I guess not in the case of your parents. They'd have to know about it, and that's not gonna happen ;-)! *** To: Husband From: Wife Master, you'll be surprised to hear that I do believe it's important that my parents be invited to the ceremony. They have thought for some time now that something about our relationship is different, and, in all honesty, I am tired of living two lives, one of them being nothing but a falsehood. We have nothing to be ashamed of, and I am ready and willing, proud even, to publicly announce that I belong to you. In fact, I'd be willing to wager that if I asked one of the profs in the Medieval History department, he or she would say that what we'd be doing would not be too different than what a marriage meant many centuries ago. If it comes to a choice between academic tenure and you, I choose you, not that there was ever much of a contest. Tenure isn't the stallion that rides me. Tenure won't put those wicked, severe stripes across my ass. Tenure won't make my bowels creamy inside like you do when you choose to grace my bum with your semen. Tenure won't have me take all of your beautiful cock deep into my mouth with me on my knees and my hands tied behind my back. Tenure will never make me tremble with ecstasy and bring me to orgasm upon orgasm. After long hours of lovemaking, tenure won't ever hold me throughout the long, cold winter nights and keep me safe and warm. No, tenure is not the rod and the staff that comforts me. Only you are. I've bothered you at work enough this morning. Perhaps if you find time later today, you can consider all of this and offer your judgment. Until then, I remain, -Your loving and obedient servant *** To: Wife From: Husband OK, I did some research and came up with this sample of collaring ceremony vows. I changed it around a little bit for us. Tell me what you think of it: VOWS OF A COLLARING CEREMONY Officiant: (Welcomes guests, introduces self, introduces Husband and Wife) The Wife, having demonstrated her submission to The Husband in various and sundry ways, and relinquishing all rights and privileges, willingly and completely gives herself to The Husband as his personal slave, to enjoy as he sees fit, for now and forever. The Husband, acknowledging the Wife's gift of her submission, accepts her completely and covenants to provide for her sustenance, safety and well-being; to protect her up to and including his willingness to sacrifice his own blood and lay down his life for her; to nurture her both tenderly and with pain as needed for her to grow into the slave that he desires. Husband (to Wife): In recognition of this covenant between us, I offer this collar to you as a permanent symbol of the yoke of your slavery to me, and I ask that you wear it forever after with honor and pride. Wife (kneeling, to Husband): This wife joyfully accepts this collar and everything that it represents and requests you to place it upon my neck as a symbol of my eternal submission to you as your slave. From this time forward, it is my greatest desire that you lead me in the path that you would have me follow to please you in every way. Officiant: The Husband will now demonstrate his possession of his Wife as his slave. (Husband performs some sort of public action that appropriately consummates the ceremony.) In as much as the Husband and the Wife have given of themselves to each other, I now present them to you as Master and Slave.) (end of ceremony) Like I said, let me know what you think. I've got to say, the more I think about this, the more touched I am that you'd be willing and eager to do this, so, yes, let's get it on. Tenure and public opinion be damned! What right-thinking, red-blooded U.S. male wouldn't want to have his woman bound to him in this way? I just hope I'm worthy enough for it. I have somebody in mind who'd be the perfect one to be the officiant, which I'm told is the title of the person who administers the ceremony. And I know what the perfect collar ought to look like and will get to work on it ASAP. (to be continued) Please, Master Ch. 04 -she asks her husband to collar her, and he responds To: Wife From: Husband Vivienne has agreed to be the officiant at the collaring ceremony. She will be emailing you directly, and you and she can work out some of the details. I've already given her my take on the matter, but this day is really about you. Well, us. *** From: Wife To: Husband Excuse me, Sir, but exactly who might 'Vivienne' be? *** To Wife From: Husband You met her twice already. Vivienne owns the adult toy store over at the strip mall. She's the one you described as a 'patronizing hellcat.' Actually, I've had several conversations with her, and she's not like you thought. Really friendly and helpful, in fact. And she's had a lot of experience with stuff like this, so she can give us good advice. *** To: Husband From: Wife Oh. OK. I've no doubt about her 'experience.' Well, if you're sure, I'll attempt to be open-minded. After all, you're the Master. *** To; Wife From: Husband Good. Be open-minded. And yes, I am the Master! ;-) *** To: Wife From: Vivienne CC: Husband Hello, my dear. Your husband asked me to work with you regarding the collaring ceremony you're planning. I've helped with a half a dozen of these and would be pleased to offer my assistance. Why not call me (my phone number is on the business card that was stapled to the receipt you got when you bought the ball gag a little while back) and we'll see if we can't make this a memorable event. *** To: Husband From: Wife Vivienne and I talked for quite a while. I agree with your assessment of her. She is supportive and has excellent suggestions. We can conduct the ceremony here at our home by the flower garden. I'm thinking there would be somewhere between twenty and thirty guests. It just occurred to me that Vivienne probably isn't performing this service pro bono. Are you sure all of this is beneficial cost-wise? *** To: Wife From: Husband The garden 'wedding' sounds logical. As for the costs, a classy woman like you who lives in a dream house like the one we built and drives a Porsche to school doesn't need to be concerned about that. You sure ought to know that the high-end custom homebuilding business I operate provides plenty, even if I choose to drive a pickup. *** To: Vivienne From: Husband I started looking at slave collars online, and the choices out there are, wow! Very confusing! Any suggestions? *** To: Husband From: Vivienne It's obvious to me that you two intend to do this properly. Do a Google search on 'eternity gold collar.' Once you see this one, your search will be over. Mind you, it's not cheap, but given that it's the last collar you'll ever need to buy, it's worth the investment. Not only that, but an elegant woman such as your wife deserves an elegant collar for her enslavement. *** To: Vivienne From: Husband Vivienne, I just looked at this collar. OMG!! Thanks!!!! Will she ever be floored! I'm not going to let her see it until the ceremony. *** To: Husband From: Wife Well, the invitations went out this morning. Master, you and I have crossed the Rubicon now. In two weeks, I become your consensual slave for the rest of my life. As Bette Davis once said, 'Fasten your seat belts, it's going to be a bumpy night.' *** To: Wife From: Wife's Mother Baby, I got this invitation from you two in the mail today. I've never heard of a 'collaring ceremony' before, and when I researched it online, I nearly passed out! Child, are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?! YOU'RE GOING TO BE YOUR HUSBAND'S SLAVE AND WEAR A COLLAR AROUND YOUR NECK?! Whatever has possessed you, Isadora???? Tell me this is some kind of joke!!!! *** To: Wife's Mother From: Wife No, mother, it's no joke. Truth be told, Richard and I have been in a dominant/submissive relationship for years. The only difference is that now we're announcing it formally and publicly. I'm tired of pretending we are both something other than what we are. I want this, and I need this, and Richard supports me, as he always does. Mom, do we seem unhappy to you and dad? Don't you notice the serenity of our relationship? We never fight. Never! I defer to him in everything because I totally trust him to do what is best for us both, and he always does. Yes, he asks for my opinion, but he makes the decisions, and I accept them. It's so much easier that way. Can you not see how much we adore each other? I won't even begin to do the 'too-much-information' thing and tell you about our sex life, other than to say that Richard can transport me to the moon and does so just about every day and night. Our household is one of peace and bliss, and I am proud to say I worship that man. And, yes, I accept his painful but loving discipline when he feels the need to administer it. You may think I'm insane, but I find it comforting. Mother, please, you and dad come down and be a part of this. I'll understand if you cannot find it in yourselves to be enthusiastic supporters, but you ought to at least be able to be unbiased observers. It's going to happen anyway, so you may as well attend. Richard and I both send our love. *** *** To: Master Richard From: Slave Isadora Good morning, Master. Wasn't the ceremony wonderful? The weather was perfect, the flower garden was blooming, the guests were charming, and my heart was singing! You looked so put together in the gray suit, and what a perfect crease in those trousers. I thought the solid black necktie and the gold cufflinks added the perfect touches of sophistication. Oh, Master, my collar is so exquisite, so wonderfully simple and elegant! One has to really inspect it well to discover that it can be removed, not that I ever want to do so. You were correct in not allowing me to see it before the ceremony, because you'd have had to whip me to shreds to keep me from putting it on then and there. When Vivienne brought out the velvet kneeling cushion with the collar on it, all shimmering and glittering in the sunshine, well, it took my breath away. I didn't know anybody could love me that much to give me something so utterly beautiful. I got misty eyed then, but when I was kneeling before you, and you began to speak your vows, I was bawling like a branded calf. It took every bit of concentration for me to reply to you, and I nearly swooned when you fastened it around my neck. Vivienne was so good! She always seemed to know exactly what to do and what to say. She had a handkerchief ready and waiting for you to administer, and of course, I certainly couldn't wipe my own eyes with my hands tied behind my back. And then you lifted me to my feet and kissed me with such passion. And then, oh my God, you had me stand with my feet apart and ran your finger between my legs and felt my drenching wetness. And then brought your finger to your lips and savored the taste of me! Your eyes locked into mine, and I came right then and there. And then the ceremony ended with the playing of the adagio from Rodrigo's 'Concierto de Aranjuez,' my all time favorite discipline music. I'm glad my parents decided to attend. I'm sorry that yours are no longer with us and couldn't be there in body to witness it, but I have no doubt that they were part of the band of angels who were participating in spirit. Master, I have to tell you this: I love you so much it frightens me at times. Whatever will I do when something happens to you? My world will shatter. Judging from the way you look at me, I expect you feel the same. *** From: Master Richard To: Slave Isadora Yep. Sure was a magic weekend, my precious ladyslave. The golden collar was the perfect complement to your golden hair. You were gorgeous in that long cape thing you were wearing. And then you surprised me and everyone else when Vivienne removed it in a flash when the collar was presented and you knelt on that cushion naked. Did you hear the crowd sucking in a breath of air? Woman, you are so brave! It was all I could do to keep from taking you right then and there! It felt like the rest of the universe just kind of faded away, and all there was, was you and me. Or is it 'you and I?' You're the Professor of English Lit. Baby, don't worry about the future. Just take life day by day and be grateful for what we have. And when the time that you dread comes, don't worry about that either. I gave my covenant to provide for ALL your needs, and I mean to fulfill it. I have a plan. We will always be together! Hold on, phone call. . . Well! Who'd 'a' thunk it? That was your dad calling. Asked me where I got your collar. Seems your mom was a little too up front with her take on our relationship for your dad's liking. Told her to hush up. When she didn't, took her over his knee and whacked her ass good, long and proper. Seems she had an attitude adjustment and then some. They want us to come up late next month for their collaring ceremony. 'Course, I said 'Yes.' Can't wait to see that! *** The author thanks his readers, especially those of you who've been with this series from the beginning. It was fun to imagine and fun to write. It is my intention to add one final chapter to this story, an epilogue entitled, "We are still together." It should be sent up for posting in a week or so. The format of that chapter will be quite different, so be forewarned. -ham_sandwich Please, Master Ch. 05 "We are still together" For years after their collaring ceremony, Richard and Isadora enjoyed an idyllic relationship. His homebuilding business continued to thrive and to provide a comfortable style of living for them both. He'd always believed in the benefit of hiring promising employees and nurturing them to their full potential. As such, less and less of the day-to-day responsibilities fell upon his shoulders. He had both a trusted office manager and an excellent general superintendent for such as those. Isadora achieved a full professorship at her university and recognition well beyond the academic community. They had the financial means to travel if they wished, but their primary contentment was an ever-deepening affection and understanding of each other. Indeed, some of their most satisfying activities were simple evenings spent at home in their living room listening to music, reading, or just talking to each other. Richard liked his favorite chair, but Isadora preferred to be naked at his feet, kneeling or cross-legged on her favorite velvet cushion. Sometimes she would fix the drinks or brew the coffee, and sometimes he would. Really, they doted on one another and were both thankful that that they'd been blessed in finding genuine soul mates. Their love life mellowed over time. The whip play became more ritualistic and less frequent, but Richard was nevertheless pleased to be able to lovingly give Isadora that which provided her with the tranquility and grounding she craved. He found it nothing short of amazing that her pulse rate would actually drop a little lower than normal during the croppings. Isadora, in turn, never hesitated to enthusiastically satisfy him regardless of the effort required. She loved sucking him off and would playfully pout if she couldn't have his semen in the mornings before he went off to work. Anal intercourse was so commonplace that she was just as easily accessible there as with vaginal. And some of their most enjoyable times were spent simply cuddling each other at night as they slept after making love. They became rather famous because of the frequency and intensity of their public displays of affection. Richard unfailingly opened the car door for Isadora whenever they went out somewhere, and she would just as unfailingly reward him with a passionate kiss. They simply tuned out those people who disapproved. "No, seriously, have I become a whore?" she asked him. "A whore?" he replied with a chuckle. "No way. Nope. Not possible." He laughed loudly and explained his reasoning: "Ladyslave, a wife can't be a whore with her husband. Somebody else has to be involved somehow for you to be a whore. And that's just not gonna happen, 'cause I won't ever give you to another man. You belong to me. Your golden collar says so. I want you all for myself. What HAS happened is that we've become extensions of each other. I think that's what SHOULD happen between us." *** The years passed slowly for them, but they did pass. When it started to dawn on Isadora that they had less years to look forward to than the years that had already passed, she began to worry. It had always been a nagging fear, but she'd been able to push it into the far corners of her mind, until now. "Look, who's the boss around here?" Richard asked when she voiced her concern. "You leave that stuff in my hands. I said I'd provide for you. I will. I told you, I have a plan." "Well, what's your plan?" she countered. "Inquiring minds want to. . ." "That's for me to know and you to find out!" he responded with a grin, and then he lifted her off her feet and raced into the bedroom carrying her in his arms. Once she was on the bed and naked, wrists tied to the headboard, and he was between her legs with his tongue working on her clitoris, she forgot what the question had been. *** Her health problems began gradually. She began occasionally having difficulty keeping her balance. Their doctor ran some tests, the results of which showed nothing in particular. Some other symptoms developed. Richard was concerned and arranged to talk to the doctor on his own without Isadora's knowledge. "You say the tests have come back negative, but she still seems to be having these problems," said Richard, somewhat exasperated. "Well," explained the doctor, "there are some conditions that are like that, and some of those are diagnosed by ruling out the other possibilities." He paused, not sure if he should continue and then said, "some of them are bad. The one I'm thinking of that might be the cause, and I stress, MIGHT be, is called PSP. That stands for progressive supranuclear palsy. It's not a common neurological condition, but her symptoms are consistent with it. We'll just have to wait and see." "If that's what she has, how do we fix it?" asked Richard. "I'm sorry to say that it's not anything that's curable at this time. We're not even sure what causes it. It could be caused by some virus we haven't discovered yet. It could be exposure to some environmental factor yet to be identified. It doesn't seem to be hereditary or contagious. The good news, if it can be called good news, is that it's not fatal in and of itself. The bad news is that it predisposes its victims to pneumonia, choking, loss of mobility, trouble seeing, trouble speaking, and certain other things." "So it's incapacitating at the least," said Richard, and his heart sank. Isadora would go into desperation and panic for sure. Maybe she doesn't have it, he thought hopefully, but if not that, then what? "We'll do as you suggest and wait and see. In the meantime, you won't mention this to Isadora. You don't know what it is for certain, or even if it's something serious, and that's what you're going to say. If you don't know what it is, then in all honesty, you can say that it's something that might just go away on its own, can't you?" "Well, sir, ethically, I'm not sure I can do all that," he protested. "Doctor, look in her records. I have a medical power of attorney on her. She has one on me. I'm not asking you to do this. I'm telling you to do this under the authority she gave me. If this really is what Isadora has, she's not going to be able to handle it without a lot of preparation. That's my job. To take care of her. To protect her." *** When the symptoms got worse and were fully consistent with the diagnosis of PSP, Richard went doctor shopping and found an MD who was willing to give Isadora his learned "second opinion" that she was most likely suffering from some kind of vitamin deficiency and that taking some high-potency supplements ought to do the trick, cautioning her that it would take a while for them to begin to have a good effect. She'd probably feel worse before she began to feel better. Meanwhile, Richard set himself to work. He made appointments with his accountant and his lawyer. He had specific requests that they were astonished to hear, and they protested that what was asked of them would be hard to accomplish, but he was insistent that they figure out how to make them happen, and soon. And quietly. He contacted Isadora's university to inquire about endowments, also discreetly. And he made some other calls, too. Isadora's mounting concerns about her health were repeatedly met with Richard's calming assurances that everything would be alright. After all, the doctor had said so, hadn't he? She just had to wait it out. "Very well," she shrugged. "You're the Master." "That's right," he echoed. "I'm the Master." And I'll never let anything cause you to fear, he thought to himself. *** It took several months to finish the preparations, but finally they were done to his satisfaction. On a Thursday, he asked his office manager to arrange an employee meeting the following Monday at 10:00 in the morning. Everybody was to come in to the office for it. He would only say that it would be a significant announcement but not a cause for worry. The company was in good shape, in good hands. Nobody was getting laid off or anything like that. Efforts made on Friday to get him to shed some light on the subject matter got nowhere, but he did ask that both his office manager and his general superintendent arrive punctually at 9:00 am Monday to go over some things in preparation for the meeting. And he deflected having to handle questions at the end-of-the-workweek whiskey party by canceling it for that week, saying he needed to leave early. *** Saturday at Richard's and Isadora's was quiet. Isadora figured something at work was on his mind because he'd had to go into the office for a while first thing in the morning, unusual for a weekend, but by the time evening rolled around, he was his romantic self once again. "Why don't you and I get a shower, go upstairs and enjoy each other?" he suggested, and she was only too glad to agree. "You really do look lovely tonight, my dear," he said once they'd settled themselves in the bedroom. "Let me drink in the sight of your glorious naked body." She smiled and did a slow pirouette for him. "Now, let me drink in the taste of you, too." He positioned her onto the bed and knelt between her legs. He savored her aroma and her growing wetness. Nothing in this world was as delicious to him as the flavor of her! It only took a few minutes for Richard to bring Isadora up to operating temperature. He surprised her by taking her in a missionary position. He took both her hands in his, and propped himself up on his elbows, and Isadora saw what she could only describe as a look of pure adoration on Richard's face as he gazed deeply into her eyes while he slowly, ever so slowly, moved in and out of her. "I want to never forget this," he confessed to her, "for as long as I live." She was struck by the intensity of the moment and felt her orgasm approaching. "No, don't look away," he insisted, still with her hands in his, "Look at me when you come. I want to be as close to you as I can tonight." His words and his sincerity were what hit her, and they catapulted her over the edge with overwhelming force. She couldn't take her eyes off of him and screamed in ecstasy. He came immediately after, anointing her with his seed. They lay there for a while, arms around each other. Richard was still gasping for air. "Oh, God, woman, I love you so much," he said with ragged breaths. After both of them had returned to earth, they made inconsequential conversation until it was time to sleep. "I'll get your vitamin capsules for you. By the way, did you forget to take them this morning?" I'll bet you did!" he said. "Well, of course I forgot, because you weren't there to remind me, Master," she countered. "Not a problem. I'll just get you a double dose." She had to be careful taking them. Swallowing had become a little difficult. *** She was in bed using Richard as a back rest while she tried to read, but waves upon waves of languor soon began to crash over her. After fighting them for a few minutes, she came to the conclusion that she might as well lay down and go to sleep and told Richard as much. "Yes," he said in a most profound way. "It's time to go to sleep, my love. Let me hold you; go to sleep." And he kissed her, over and over again. Richard wrapped his strong arms around Isadora, and they both settled in. He was sure she was out, but she suddenly sat up and said, "You know, Master, I've often wondered why God didn't make sex between a husband and wife a sacrament, like holy communion or baptism." Richard was stunned and at a loss for words for a moment. Finally, he replied, "He did, for us." Then she was back in his arms once again. He listened carefully, and when he thought that her breathing had become a little more shallow, he quickly and carefully got out of bed. He raced downstairs and guzzled down the even greater number of capsules he'd prepared for himself. One of the tasks he'd accomplished at work that morning was replacing the vitamin mix inside the capsules with something else. I just hope and pray that the big dose I'm taking will allow me to arrive there before she does, he thought. So I can be the one who greets her, if He allows it. There, on that far and distant shore. I've asked Him. I've begged and pleaded tearfully. She didn't know, I reminded Him. She's innocent. I'm the guilty one. I'm not worthy, I didn't have enough faith. Please, please, let us be together in Your heaven for all of eternity, but, if not both of us, then at least her, because You can protect her better than I ever could. The clock struck twelve midnight. He hurried upstairs and got back into bed. Isadora was unresponsive but still breathing when he put his arms around her once more, and he stayed stock still until he, too, slept. Then all was quiet. *** Almost precisely at 8:30 on Monday morning, the owner of the housecleaning service that Richard had contracted arrived at their home as instructed. She intended to personally take care of this first visit to her new, prestigious clients in the hope of securing some repeat business and quality referrals. She entered the pass code she'd been given into the home security system's key pad and heard the solenoid click to allow her to go in. Only the slow ticking of the tall case clock in the hallway disturbed the silence, which she found a bit odd considering that both vehicles were parked in the garage, implying that the residents were still at home. She saw the large manila envelope on the hall table that she'd been told to find, which contained the instructions she would need. On the outside were written the words, "OPEN IMMEDIATELY." Inside, the first thing she found was a brand new $100 bill with a Post-it note attached, saying, "Keep this cash for your trouble and do not mention it. It might be confiscated as evidence if you do." Next was a sheet of paper on which was written these words, which stopped her in her tracks: "DO NOT proceed further into the house. Please use the telephone on the hall table to call 9-1-1 and report that there are two fatalities at this address and that a medical examiner is needed. Find the sealed white envelope enclosed inside the manila envelope and be prepared to hand it to the authorities when they arrive. Don't take it out of the plastic bag. It will explain everything. They will have questions for you, and once you have answered them, you are free to leave. You've been paid for a month's services which will not be needed now, but you are welcome to keep the payment as my thanks for your cooperation and my apology for your inconvenience. (signed) - Richard Hayes" Inside the manila envelope was a sealed plastic food storage bag with the white envelope inside. She picked up the phone and made the call as instructed. A police cruiser arrived ten minutes after. The uniformed officer on duty carefully took the plastic bag and was impressed that somebody had already considered the need to preserve what was in all probability evidence regarding a crime. Putting on gloves, he extracted and opened the white envelope. Several documents were inside. A formal letter, "to whom it may concern," stated that he, Richard, had taken it upon himself to cause his terminally ill wife, Isadora, to die from an overdose of sedatives. She'd had no idea that this was being done, so she was legally and morally innocent, he explained. Having administered the capsules to her, he had also taken his own lethal dose secretly. Then, he lay down on the bed next to her and held her in his arms until they both fell asleep. Having provided for his wife's final needs, he now had neither the need nor the desire to continue this life. He suggested that a simple blood test would confirm these statements and that a more intensive examination would only waste their time and the taxpayers' money. He requested that their bodies be transported together, in tact, just as they were found, and even provided the contact information for a local funeral home. This guy thinks of everything, concluded the policeman. The letter concluded: Don't even bother attempting to find out how I got the sleeping pills, boys! Then there was Richard's notarized signature -he'd gotten the damn thing notarized, for Pete's sake, the sergeant thought. A quick and careful search of the premises found both Richard and Isadora, dead in their bed together, naked, Richard's arms around her, still protectively holding her. The bodies showed no sign of warmth to his touch. He pulled the hand-held radio from his belt and called it in. No need to get the neighborhood all excited with sirens, he advised. No need at all, now. *** At a quarter before nine that morning, Bethany, Richard's office manager arrived at work to discover that Richard wasn't in as of yet. And with this meeting coming up. Well, that's no surprise. I'll bet anything he's still in bed with Isadora doing you-know-what, she thought, a sly smile appearing on her face. Well, who could blame them, she continued. Isadora's drop-dead gorgeous, and Richard's a hunky, healthy guy. The door opened, and Bethany expected Richard to walk in, but it was Jacob, the general superintendent instead, the tall black man whom Richard had first met while his company was volunteering on a Habitat For Humanity housebuilding project. The angry young man from the ghetto whom Richard had mentored and was now his strong, confidant, reliable right-hand. Jacob looked around. "Richard not here yet?" he inquired. "Nope!" replied Bethany, and Jacob immediately and correctly understood the implications of her smile. His smile back at her told her he'd come to the same conclusion about Richard's likely whereabouts. "Well, I suppose we'll start the coffee brewing and wait," she said. "I guess so." Precisely at nine, the door opened once again, but instead of Richard swaggering in, it was Richard's lawyer. "Well, hello, counselor," said Bethany. "What a surprise to see you here this morning." "A surprise?" he responded. "Richard didn't tell you that I would be coming in to go over the transition and get you both to sign the paperwork?" "All we know is that there's supposed to be a big meeting today, and we were told to be here in preparation for it," said Jacob. "And Richard's not even here yet!" added Bethany. It was the attorney's turn to be surprised. "Now, how could Richard possibly be here this morning? He and Isadora left for their ocean cruise yesterday." "OCEAN CRUISE?" exclaimed Bethany and Jacob together. "WHAT ocean cruise?" "Well, I assume it was an ocean cruise," he replied. "Actually, Richard called it their 'voyage,' as I remember. He left letters for each of you and asked that I give them to you before we began the formalities." He handed a letter each to Bethany and Jacob. "I thought you knew." They tore open their respective envelopes and began to read. If Jacob had been capable of turning white as a proverbial sheet, he would have done so once he got halfway through the first paragraph. Instead, he quietly said, "Mother of God!" and slumped into the closest chair. "They're gone!" sobbed Bethany. And that was how they learned that Richard and Isadora were both dead. Both of them wanted to jump into their cars and get to Richard's house to be a part of what they imagined was going on there, but their responsibilities to the business kept them in place at the office. A half an hour later, a call to the office from Richard's and Isadora's residence, made by a police detective, swept away any lingering doubts as to the reality of this nightmare. When the initial shock had cleared away, they learned that Richard had somehow managed to convert his "small business" construction company into a privately held corporation with Jacob as its president and Bethany as secretary. More amazingly, he'd done it in a way that required neither of them to contribute any cash or to be burdened with any immediate tax liabilities. Please, Master Ch. 05 "Well, I guess the one good thing about this is that we'll still have jobs," offered Jacob, laconically. "Oh, more than that," replied the lawyer. "You're rich now, what with the stock you own. Both of you." They learned that there were certain stipulations on how the new corporation was to be run. Richard's business philosophy was to be maintained, of putting the needs of both the employees and the customers first, providing quality of construction that went beyond expectations, and always adding that special personal touch to everything. Neither Jacob nor Bethany would have had it any other way. They began talking about the most positive way to break the news to the team at the 10:00. It would be traumatic, but the company was in good shape, and, as usual, Richard had paved the way for continuing success and growth already. *** The dean had called a quick meeting of the faculty of the English Lit department. "I've just received a hand delivered letter messaged to me from Professor Hayes' husband, Richard, whom many of you know. It informs me that he's arranged for a sum of money to endow the 'Isadora Blanton Hayes Chair of English Literature,' which will provide for the continuing maintenance of a full professorship," he announced. There were surprised and pleased reactions all around. A hand was raised in the back, and the dean acknowledged it. "Geoffrey, given Isadora's and Richard's proclivities, shouldn't they have endowed a bed rather than a chair?" Grins and laughter broke out among them. After a short while, the dean was hastily summoned from the room. He returned a minute later, ashen-faced and in shock. *** The minister took a deep breath and began to speak to those assembled. It was a large and varied gathering including both learned academics and working-class folks. An oversized casket was nestled among an entire wall of floral arrangements. Inside the casket, still together, were the earthly remains of Mr.Richard and Dr. Isadora Hayes, with Richard's arms still cradling his wife. No clothing dishonored the naked display of their humanity other than a white sheet discreetly covering them below the shoulders. Naturally, Isadora's trademark golden collar was still fastened around her neck. The riding crop that had been placed in Richard's hand was not as obvious, but it was there nonetheless in accordance with his final instructions. "We are here today, gathered together in the name of The Lord, to celebrate the lives of Richard and Isadora Hayes. All of you who knew them were well aware of the passion that Richard had for his wife, and vice-versa. He considered protecting and providing for Isadora the most important responsibility of his life, and when he learned that she was dying from a cruel disease, he secretly began making arrangements to mercifully send her on her way to 'that far away and distant shore,' as he put it in a letter he posted to me, and for him to go with her. I do not personally believe that Richard's actions were proper, but I was not asked. Nobody was, to my knowledge, and, anyway, what was done is done. "Both of them were long-time members of this church, but for personal reasons chose to use their gifts to minister to people indirectly rather than through the formal organizational structure. They had their own reasons for this, as I will speak to later. "Isadora Hayes was a beautiful woman. She was a Professor of English Literature here at the university, and she lectured with enthusiasm about the subject. Her classes were consistently filled to capacity, and she was a respected scholar in her own right. I understand that Richard established the 'Isadora Blanton Hayes Chair of English Literature' at the school just before their demise. "Richard owned and operated a very successful construction company, having obtained his start in the building trade while enlisted in the Navy's Construction Battalion, the famous 'seabees.' He was known for the quality of his workmanship, and he made it a point to donate a good portion of his company's labor to Habitat For Humanity, which helps build homes for first-time buyers who would most likely not qualify for conventional means of home ownership. He also helped a good many of his own employees obtain their own homes. "He was a down-to-earth sort of guy who was nevertheless proud of his wife's academic aspirations and achievements. To say that they had a 'passionate relationship' is a gross understatement. They were famous, or infamous, depending upon your point of view, for their love life. I heard rumors about their unusual relationship soon after I became the pastor here, and when I had an opportunity to ask Richard about them in private, I did. "Richard was frank concerning the views that he and Isadora shared on that subject. He said that contrary to popular belief, sex wasn't something that Hugh Hefner had invented in 1953. It was created by God, and for three reasons, in Richard's opinion: First, to create and multiply; second, to be a picture of Christ and His Church; and third, to be heavenly pleasure for a husband and wife. I never found out why Richard and Isadora had no children, but they evidently couldn't, so they concentrated on Number Two and Number Three. "Especially Number Three. "Richard told me once, years ago, that he often wondered why God hadn't made sex between a husband and a wife a sacrament, just like holy communion or baptism. I said I didn't know, but his question has often caused me to wonder if perhaps we as The Church might not have as good an understanding of the role of sexual love within Christianity as we think. "Rest in peace, Richard and Isadora. Let us pray. . . " From over the PA system, the sound of Christopher Parkening's version of Johann Sebastian Bach's "Sheep May Safely Graze," with orchestral background, was played. Richard had specified it, knowing how much Isadora loved the sound of the classical guitar. Once those assembled had departed, the pallbearers began to move the casket. *** Epilogue Friday evening rolled around once more, just as it always had. The work week was over, and the key people at the company gathered together for their ritual shot of whiskey that marked the official beginning of the weekend. It had taken place in Richard's office for as long as anybody could remember, but this week, it was being held at the foot of Richard's and Isadora's grave. Everybody thought that the change of venue seemed appropriate for this special occasion. "You bring the bottle?" Jacob asked Bethany. "You bet," she replied. "Real glasses, too." Bethany handed out the glasses, and Jacob poured. "Bushmills," remarked Jacob. "Damn good Irish whiskey, if you all will excuse my French." "Man, it's been a long time since I did this! Four years now, but I can still remember," an older man said. "Tiny," actually a giant of a man, had been Richard's first and long-time general superintendent before he retired, and Jacob had taken his place. He'd been asked to come back part-time until everything could be sorted out, and he had not hesitated a second to answer the call. "Tiny, were you the first one Richard hired?" asked Bethany. "Yep. He was just starting out back then. He had this idea that we'd volunteer at least two days a month doing work for Habitat For Humanity. 'Course, he paid me for my time. He said it'd be a win-win deal. We'd help people get houses who couldn't afford them otherwise, and we'd work with volunteer labor and select the best ones that we'd train and hire. "I thought it was a bad idea, and I told him as much. But we tried it, and, by golly, it worked! We found a lot of good men, and we trained 'em ourselves the way we wanted 'em, before they got bad habits working for somebody else. Lots of good folks! 'Course we had to take Jacob, too," he added with a grin and ducked a mock punch that Jacob threw at him. "Hey!" he told Jacob, with an obvious simulation of severity, "you best pack your lunch if you wanna mess with me!" "Yo' mama!" Jacob shot back in his best recollection of a ghetto accent, and they both laughed. "The first time I ever met Richard," Jacob recalled, "was on one of those Habitat homes. My mama made me go over there and work-for FREE, now-with these here two WHITE BOYS! And I'm complaining about how bad things are and how much it costs to buy something as basic as a loaf of bread. "And Richard says: 'Well, you could always bake your own bread,' and I come back with, 'It takes a LONG TIME to bake a loaf of bread, so it's just not worth it.'" "'So, what you're saying is that the dollar that a loaf of bread costs is worth less to you than the loaf of bread,' Richard says. "And then he says, 'so, trading your dollar for the bread was a win for you, a good deal,' "and that gets me to thinking: I traded my dollar for the bread and won, and the bakery traded their bread for my dollar and they won, too. It was a win-win. That's when I decided that Richard was somebody I could learn from, and that's when I started to realize that I had power over my life." "Oh, that sounds just like Richard," Bethany exclaimed. "I remember, I think it might have been the third day on the job for me working for the company. Isadora had come in to visit, and she was in his office with him. I'd gotten all wrapped up in something or other and needed to ask Richard about it, so I just absentmindedly opened the door to his office and stepped inside. "And just then, I remembered that Isadora was in there with him and started to apologize for the interruption. And as the words were coming out of my mouth, I noticed that she wasn't there, so I apologized for that." But Richard said, "No, Bethany, my wife's still here," and about that time, I heard some scraping coming from under Richard's desk, and a foot attached to a high heel came out from under the modesty panel of the desk and waved 'hello' at me. "Oh!" I said and pointed at it, "and then it occurred to me what had been going on down there. She was giving him some 'head.' Richard later told me that the expression on my red face, with eyes suddenly as big as Moon Pies, as he put it, and my hands covering my mouth, was so funny that he couldn't help but roar with laughter. "Well, that caused his 'thing' to jump around some, and that caused Isadora to choke on it. And that caused her to bang her head on the underside of the top of his desk with a 'thunk,' followed by an 'ow!' and Richard immediately said, 'Oh, baby, are you alright?' And then she started laughing, and then he started laughing again. And by and by, I did, too, until all three of us were having a hysterical fit. "I backed out of the room, and Richard said, 'uh, Bethany, the door, please?' so I shut it. "I swear, I had the giggles for fifteen minutes afterward," she recalled, "and I couldn't remember what I'd gone in there for in the first place. Isadora came out half an hour later, all composed, and winked at me on her way to the main lobby." They all sipped at their whiskey until it was gone. Jacob produced a boom box and played a CD of Kenny Rogers singing "Let's Go Out in a Blaze of Glory." He told everyone, "It's a song Richard always said he wanted played when he passed away." Then it was time to leave. Jacob was the last to go. He collected the glasses and started to walk toward his truck, but halfway there, he turned around and came back. He retrieved the bottle and filled a glass with the expensive liquor. He poured the shot onto the gravesite. "Here's the last one for you, boss," he said. "Thanks for everything." The setting sun turned everything golden and illuminated the granite headstone favorably with its warm light as if to bless it. On the stone, these words were incised: AD PERPETUAM MEMORIAM Richard Elliot Hayes, born November 27, 1957 Isadora Blanton Hayes, D.Lit. born March 15, 1962 United into Matrimony June 1, 1982 M/f Collaring August 14, 2002 United into Eternity July 20, 2014 "WE ARE STILL TOGETHER" *** (the end) Well! I had no idea that the conclusion of the tale would end up being longer than the tale itself. Maybe it should have been posted somewhere other than under BDSM, but all of the preceding chapters were posted there, so I was afraid it wouldn't be found within its context if it were not there, too. Sorry if there wasn't enough juicy sex in it, but what you've just read was what I felt I needed to say. I just hope it was at least mildly entertaining and not too preachy. If it made you cry, welcome. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I cried writing it, and I KNOW all these people are fictitious. Progressive Supranuclear Palsy, or PSP, however, is no fiction. It's a real disease, and insidious, too. I know-it just killed my sister. I had to make some changes to how it usually progresses as far as the symptoms are concerned, to make the story work, so please forgive me for the medical inaccuracies. I also don't believe suicide is the answer to anything, but Richard, bless his heart, was desperate, and I can understand his reasoning even if I don't agree with his actions. I want to thank my loving wife for her indulgence and encouragement while writing. She's a wonderful woman. She wants me to get her an Eternity Gold Collar now. Guys, if you have a good woman, make sure you tell her how much you love her and how much she means to you every chance you get, because some day, one of you won't be there to say it or to hear it. And if she's not a good woman, tell her anyway, and maybe her hearing it will make her want to become one. An especial thanks to Adam Smith, author of "An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations," for teaching us what a simple loaf of bread is worth. And a final, most heartfelt thanks to Shysub412, who proofread the story and was moved by it. Just for her, the Glenfiddich Scotch whisky became Bushmills Irish whiskey. Peace! -HS