Thirty minutes after entering the dungeon, I was bored.

It wasn’t that the Con organizers hadn’t done a good job. They’d transformed the hotel ballroom into a delightfully moody space suitable for the various beatings and piercings and rope work at stations scattered around. Trance music bubbled in the background—loud enough to drown out distant conversations but not so loud as to cut out the screams. The twilight level lighting didn’t hide any of the action, even in the corners where dungeon monitors flicked their flashlight beams from time to time. Each of the play areas had been set up meticulously, with antiseptic wipes and towels easily at reach. It smelled clean, unlike too many makeshift dungeons I’d been in.

But there just wasn’t anything I hadn’t seen before. Flogging on the St. Andrew’s Crosses. Flogging over a bench. Medical torture in one corner, carefully supervised. Two burly men in black leather vests boosting a naked blindfolded brunette into a suspension harness.

Bored, bored, bored.

And it was only Friday, the first night of the convention.

I flexed my fingers in my black driver’s gloves—comfortable cloth, not the cliché leather—and then balled them into fists again. As much as I’d enjoyed the Con’s afternoon presentations, and especially the one on the spirituality of BDSM, I’d begun to seriously question why I hadn’t just gone to my room to read after dinner. The rush of being in The Scene was gone.

And wandering around watching other people play wasn’t getting it back.

I paused near one scene, just finishing. A young, long-haired blonde and an older portly man in a black t-shirt and jeans were helping a thirtyish nude short-haired redhead off a St. Andrew’s Cross. Scarlet welts covered her back and ass. The man whispered in her ear, while tenderly stroking her neck, far above the stung flesh. The blonde untied the other woman’s wrists, and then the redhead sagged into the man. He lowered her to the ground and cradled her in his lap.

She shuddered, and let out a long held sob that left her lax in relief. He continued to hold her, caressing her gently, talking to her, the whole while not touching her welts.

I smiled softly. That was the magic of The Scene. I’d treasured those moments with Molly…

“Excuse me?”

I started. Lost in my memories, I hadn’t noticed the blonde approach. A short twig of a woman, she wore a translucent black chemise over a black cotton bra and panties. Her feathered hair briefly reminded me of Farrah Fawcett, but Farrah had curves. This woman looked thirty going on thirteen. Her voice fit the younger age as well—a high pitched soprano with an undertone of uncertainty.

“Master James?”

I straightened my shoulders and tilted my head. “Yes?”

“Umm…” she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked away briefly. “Umm… I just wanted to say I really liked your demonstration this morning.”

“You should tell Headmaster Jeremy. I was just an assistant.”

She blushed. “Um, but the way you caressed that woman’s back, between spanks…”

I couldn’t help smiling. I didn’t get Jeremy’s wife Angelique over my knee very often, but I loved it when I did. She squirmed so delightfully and more than once, her arousal had soaked my slacks. Jeremy was a truly lucky man.

“…and the way you varied your blows. Those soft ones, on her upper thighs…” She took a deep breath, her eyes wide.

“You enjoyed that?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. And I was wondering…” She shifted her weight again, and her eyes went puppy wide, blinking up at me.

I resisted an exasperated sigh. “You want to play.”

“Please?”

“No. I don’t play with women I’ve just met.”

Her face fell.

Beyond her, her friends continued their cuddle. The dull thudding music of the dungeon switched tunes and went up a notch in volume.

“But,” I said, “I’d be happy to get a cup of coffee and talk.” It’d certainly be more interesting than wandering around some more.

Her face became pure joy.

She told me her Scene name, Sapphira, as we walked the worn empty halls to the deserted hotel restaurant. She’d thrown on a lace wrap and slacks and in the light looked even a little pretty. Of course, it helped that she bubbled, in both her words and her energy, almost to the point of being infectious. She complimented my suit, and thought the black silk tie was sharp against my black striped shirt. She discoursed on the demos she’d seen and her experiences in The Scene. She’d joined the other club in Denver a year ago, which is why I’d never met her. Her friends had gotten her into it, she explained.

“Do you play with them?” I asked.

“Some,” she said. “Diana—oops, Artemis—won’t let me do everything with Sir that I want to.”

Like Jeremy, Angelique, and me, I thought. “What won’t she let you do?”

“Nothing more than blowjobs.”

Or not like us. Sapphira hadn’t noticed that throughout the spanking demo, my hand never came within an inch of Angelique’s pussy. Most people didn’t, except Jeremy. There was no way he’d miss it if it did.

We arrived at the restaurant—really little more than a café where they could put up warming trays of rubbery eggs and overdone sausage in the morning and call it a buffet. The smell of stale coffee permeated everything. The waitress, well past her prime as evidenced by her extra weight and stringy grey hair, was unfazed by our dress or demeanor. Somehow I suspect she’d seen it all, even before the Con rented out the entire hotel.

We took a quiet table near the back. Sapphira shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the waitress placed the laminated yet stained menus on the table in front of us. I decided to get a Coke. Sapphira asked for the same, and seemed to sit on her hands, still wiggling, as she studied the food choices. The waitress hovered nearby.

“Do you eat pork?” I asked Sapphira.

Her head snapped up and she met my eyes.

“How about some green chile cheese fries? The real Mexican stuff, not the tomato based chili kind.”

“Oh, yes!”

The waitress nodded and faded back to her station. Sapphira still shifted in her seat, bubbly mostly, but nerves seemed to be taking over.

“So,” I said, “tell me a little about yourself.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m an artist. I paint. I have a bunch of my paintings up in a gallery in Cherry Creek.”

I blinked, surprised. That was high end.

“But I don’t sell enough, so I dance two days a week at Lulu’s.”

I stifled a snort at the ironic contrast. Lulu’s was one of the low end strip clubs in town. Of course, Sapphira lacked the implants to work too much higher.

I took my gloves off and set them carefully on the end of the table, next to the rack of salt, pepper, and condiments. “Do you like it?”

“The dancing? Sometimes. If I have a good shift and sell a lot of private dances.”

I smiled and nodded.

“You’re a lawyer, right?”

“You’ve asked around.”

She blushed a little and nodded.

Our Cokes arrived, sparing more conversation while the waitress stood near, and Sapphira quickly took long drags of hers. Mine tasted a bit sweet, with a tad too much syrup and not enough bite. Sapphira didn’t seem to notice and soon had emptied half her glass.

“You must have been thirsty,” I said, gesturing toward her cup.

“Um, yeah. It was hot in there.”

I blinked. Even in my full business suit, I’d actually found the dungeon a little cool.

“Though maybe that was just me. I mean, I was watching all those scenes…” She fanned herself with her hand and grinned. “Whoo! Some of them were scorching.”

“Which ones did you like?”

She went off, monologuing about all she’d seen. I made encouraging noises here and there, honest ones, which brightened her smile as she spoke.

Our chile cheese fries arrived and she continued her stories, now turned to scenes she’d seen in the club before the Con. She alternated escapade descriptions with stuffing fries into her mouth.

I only ate a couple. While they wafted with that delicious fried spicy smell that only potatoes and chile can create, the green sauce was too watery and tart for my taste. Instead, I just studied Sapphira.

She was pretty, in a casual kind of way. Mostly because of the way she moved, and not as a result of her genes or attire. She seemed alive, in the way that eager kittens or hummingbirds are.

She didn’t hold back, I realized. Each and every emotion she felt showed instantly throughout her body, if not her face. When she spoke of her disgust at the medical torture scene, she tightened up and her shoulders collapsed, even as her words said, “but I suppose if that’s what you’re into…” When I nudged her into talking about her own experiences, her chest flushed as she gushed about the fun she had helping Sir. This woman just could not lie.

A nice change, isn’t it?

I shook myself and pushed the old demons away.

Sapphira laughed, a tinkling of pleasure. “But look at me! Going on, talking about myself. You haven’t told me a thing about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

She snatched a fry, and just before popping it in her mouth, asked, “what makes you happy?”

I crossed my arms and leaned back. “What do you think? You’re the one that asked around about me.”

She shrugged as she finished chewing. “You like giving women spankings. They say you’re one of the best, but not a real sadist.”

“No, I don’t get off on pain.” Just their reactions to being hit.

“They say you’re really into food. I heard stories about your slave feast.”

That forced me to chuckle. “That was years ago! Where’d you hear about that?”

She shrugged and ate another fry, this one dripping in sauce.

“It was more about the logistics than the food,” I said. “You try getting five subs to lie still as serving platters for an evening, and then making sure they’re taken care of when they’re done. It was…” I sighed, “it was hard.”

She giggled. “That’s what I heard, at least for the appetizers.”

I chuckled. Tommyboy had been the ‘table’ for the appetizer course, which had consisted of cheeses, pickles, chips, and some salsa. And the onion rings. Some of the female guests had loved the way I’d displayed the onion rings, stacked neatly right where they should be on a male sub. Tommyboy did too, when his Mistress invited them to ‘go ahead and eat them where they are.’

“Still,” I said, “that was a long time ago.”

“That’s what I heard, too. That you used to organize these great events, but then you stopped.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Despite the years, my gut tightened at the memories. Sapphira might not be able to lie, but I could. “I just got busy with other things.”

“Oh.”

When I didn’t expand, she finished her Coke, loudly sucking the last few drops through her straw.

“So,” I said, “you’ve been in The Scene a year. No regular Dom?”

She shook her head. “I’ve had offers…”

“But none of them were what you wanted.”

“Too many guys just want to be nasty, you know?”

I nodded. Baby Doms, who don’t get what it’s all about.

“Sir’s pretty good. He takes care of me, when he can. He just has Artemis…” She looked wistful, so I gave her a reassuring smile.

“It’s all about the caring,” I said, “in the end. The rest is just…,” I gestured my hand, indicating the Con as a whole, “…trappings.”

Her whole body relaxed and she beamed at me. Her eyes wide and shining, she tilted her head and moistened her lips. “You get it.”

I made a nonchalant shrug and smiled.

She pulled her shoulders and arms in and looked down at her plate. “That’s why I want to play with you.”

I took a deep breath. She kept wanting to look up, to meet my eyes, but just shifted nervously in her seat.

I couldn’t help smiling softly. There wasn’t an ounce of guile in her.

Why not? It’d be better than wandering around bored.

“What sort of scene do you want to do?” I asked quietly.

She looked up, her body instantly relaxing in relief. “Uh… maybe one like your demo?”

“A spanking scene?”

She nodded. “Over your lap.”

“Well, of course. Your safe words?”

“The colors, yellow and red.”

“Limits?”

“No bruises. I have to dance next weekend.” Her tone was so matter of fact, I couldn’t help smiling.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head.

“Bare-bottomed, or with your panties on?”

She bit her lip, and looked at me, searching my face. “What do you want?”

I smiled, reassuringly. “Bare gives me more things I can do.”

She took a quick breath, and I could see the color rush to her chest. “Okay,” she said with a nod.

“Do you want me to not touch your pussy?”

She trembled slightly, and the flush on her chest grew. Her nostrils flared before she answered. “Whatever you wish.”

Wow. Aroused already.

“Then let’s go back to the dungeon.”

She nodded vigorously but then caught herself. “I… I, um, need to go to the ladies’ room first.”

“Sure.”

She quickly slipped from the table.

While she was gone, I paid the check, put my gloves back on and sat quietly, tugging on a loose thread on the index finger on my right hand. What exactly was I doing?

I never played with women I’d just met. Well, except for the ones Molly had known and vouched for. Those had generally been fun. Generally.

I shuddered. The memory of Molly’s friend Kathy, in true tears, came back too quickly for me to shunt aside. I’d completely misread the situation. Completely fucked up. Molly’d helped, but…

I took a deep breath. I was the Dom. It was my responsibility. I’d truly fucked up.

So why was I rushing into things with Sapphira?

She was cute, in a Kate Moss kind of way. Generally not my taste, but not completely unappealing. She was also clearly into me, which was flattering. It had been so long…

Which was also my own damned fault. I’d had offers. I even had friends that would’ve been happy to jump into my bed or drape themselves across my lap if I’d asked. I’d just… just not been interested. Playing with Angelique and Jeremy had been enough.

It’d been safe.

Sapphira wasn’t safe. She wanted a lot more than just a pleasant sensual spanking before cuddling with her loving husband. I could tell from her body language that she hungered for so much beyond what I’d allowed myself to do recently.

But… but I was tired of the limits.

Part of me wanted to get up from the table and walk out of the hotel. Walk to my car. Get in it and drive and never look back.

And part of me wanted to know what Sapphira’s face looked like while she was having an orgasm.

It was just a spanking. In a public dungeon. Nothing more. It’d be fine.

I stayed in my seat and fidgeted. Sapphira was taking a long time.

Sapphira returned and apologized for being delayed. We headed to the dungeon and spotted an open padded bench in a back corner. On our way to it, Sapphira saw her friends, Sir and Artemis, still cuddling together with her head on his shoulder, and gave them a wave. Sir waved back.

I sat in the middle of the bench and told Sapphira to take her outerwear off and kneel in front of me while I prepared. The dim lighting wasn’t too low and came from the front, so my body wouldn’t shade my lap. It wasn’t too cool, and Sapphira had said it was warm for her, but I decided to keep my suit coat nearby anyway. I took it off and tucked it under the bench after getting my supplies out of the various pockets. My ‘Bat-suit jacket’, Jeremy had teased once.

Vinyl covered the bench top, so I placed my disinfectant wipes on the floor within easy reach. The first aid cream went in my shirt pocket. The hairbrush went to the left. I wouldn’t use it, since we hadn’t negotiated it, but I’d found having it out and obvious made subs worry. Subs with actively running imaginations were often the most fun. Finally, I slid a latex surgical glove on my left hand before ensheathing it again in cloth driving glove. The constricted fit felt funny, but it saved time and interruption later.

Then I checked on Sapphira. She looked splendid.

She knelt in a classic pose, knees slightly parted, head bowed, wrists behind her back. Her hair hung down, obscuring her face. She wore only the black bra and t-back panties, which made her skin pale in contrast.

It was a shame I couldn’t leave marks.

I took a deep breath and centered myself. Sapphira already trembled a little. In anticipation, I hoped.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

She nodded.

“When I ask you a question,” I said quietly but firmly, “you answer either ‘Yes, Master James,’ or ‘No, Master James.’ Do you understand?”

A chill seemed to run down her spine. “Yes, Master James.”

“So are you ready?”

“Yes, Master James.”

“Then please remove your panties and place yourself across my knee.”

She stood, and for the first time looked at me. Her nostrils flared and she moistened her lips. She held eye contact as she slowly, sensually, rolled the panties down her legs and stepped out of them. Then, unbidden, she unclasped her bra and let it slide off her shoulders, exposing her small breasts and hard nipples.

Yeah, this woman was a stripper.

She straightened and posed for a moment, swiveling slightly to improve the view. She had a well trimmed landing strip and a round ass, despite the bony hips.

We shared a smile for a moment. Mine of appreciation of her body, hers of appreciation of my admiration. Then her gaze dropped to my lap.

“Which way?”

“What?”

“Which way, Master James?”

I blinked and then realized what she was asking. “Your head to my right. I’m left-handed.”

She smiled and nodded. Then she walked—strutted? sauntered?—up to me. More sensual than just walking, but not yet dancing. Like a cat about to be petted.

She draped herself across my lap. I had her shift forward until her hips nestled nicely against my left thigh, leaving her upturned ass fully exposed. I gently caressed the small of her back with my right hand, confirming she was in the right spot.

“Please put your hands under your head,” I said, “and do not reach back for any reason. Understand?”

“Yes, Master James.” She placed her cheek on her hands so I could see her face.

I stroked her back lightly with my fingers, long passes up to her shoulder blades and then back down to her tailbone. As her breathing settled, I rubbed small circles around the bumps in her spine until my right hand came to rest covering her tailbone.

My first smack was almost a kiss.

With my left hand, I hit her right asscheek just hard enough for her to know it, not hard enough to sting. Then her left asscheek. Then across the middle, both together.

She closed her eyes and sighed.

I repeated my light spanks. Right, left, middle. Right, left, middle. Peaceful. Serene.

She sighed again.

So I hauled back and smacked her hard, dead center, enough to drive her whole body forward an inch.

She yelped and her eyes went wide, but she didn’t utter a word. After a moment, she closed her eyes again.

I caressed the spot I’d hit lightly, just brushing the surface enough to dull the sting.

Then I hit her again.

She cried out, but kept her eyelids closed. She balled her hands into fists when I followed that hard stroke with another.

I switched to soft blows and gentle caresses. The scent of her arousal rose from my lap.

Yes. This is what I want.

I continued the spanking in a similar fashion for another five minutes or so. It didn’t take long to learn her expressions and body language—which twitches or grimaces meant pleasure, which meant fear. Her ass had turned pink as she ground her pussy against my thigh. I needed to stop before pink became a more lasting purple.

I paused and removed the driving glove from my left hand, leaving the surgical glove in place.

“Are you ready for more?” I asked. “Perhaps something more than turning your ass such a delightful color?

She gasped and nodded. “Yes,” she managed to spit out, “Master James.”

I smacked her once across both cheeks and then set my left hand on her ass. I gave her time to feel the latex—to realize something was different.

I slid my fingers between her thighs and along the outer lips of her pussy.

She moaned. I used my right hand to firmly strike her ass and she shrieked in surprise and bucked her head up, before lowering it once more to the bench.

I gently parted her folds and slid one finger between them. I tapped lightly on her ass at the same time.

This time, she let out a full-throated groan.

I found her clit—hard, and large—with my middle finger. I flicked it back and forth. As she squirmed and gasped, I started smacking the pinkened part of her ass with my right hand to the same rhythm.

Soon her gasps matched my strokes. There could only be one ending.

I stroked and flicked and smacked. The rhythm became a heartbeat. She cried and writhed and moaned until she suddenly went silent and stiff. I stopped, just resting my hands where they were, as she shook through the throes of her orgasm.

When she finally collapsed forward to catch her breath, I pulled my gloves off. I watched her for a bit, flushed, pinkened, and sweaty.

“When you’re ready,” I said, low and calm, “please roll over.”

She nodded, and a half dozen breaths later, did so.

I pulled her up and into my arms. She clung to me and buried her head in my chest. I cradled her like a small child. Tears wet her face and small sobs escaped between ragged breaths.

“It’s okay,” I said, “you were wonderful. You were an amazing girl.”

She nodded and sagged against me in relief. I squeezed her tight. She pulled back for a moment and looked up at me. Her teary eyes glowed with happiness and… gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said softly, before lowering her head to my chest once again.

I kissed her forehead. “No, thank you.”

I held her, and rocked her, and just marveled at how amazing she’d been. When I looked up, I saw Sir and Artemis watching. He gave me a thumbs up. She just smiled.

I pulled Sapphira closer to me and held her tight.

The next morning I slept late, and by the time I arrived at the hotel breakfast, the warming pan of scrambled eggs didn’t even look yellow. More like pale porcelain. I took some bacon and some toast and made one of the instant waffles in the iron that beeped every three minutes. With enough peanut butter and syrup, I knew it’d be fine. At least this time the coffee smelled good.

After getting my food, I picked the same table Sapphira and I had sat at the night before. The Formica felt cool to the touch, a side effect of not wearing gloves this time. I hadn’t dressed full Dom, just jeans and a black button-down shirt, because frankly I wasn’t feeling it.

Last night had been… well, it had thrown me off my game.

Not the spanking, and not even Sapphira’s orgasm, but the cuddling. That didn’t happen. Yeah, I sometimes held the sub closely while she surfaced back to the active world, but not… not like that. Not with the sub practically molded into my body, filling every crevice in my arms. My blood still quickened at the memory.

I didn’t get much chance to consider it. As I took my fourth mouthful of waffle, Sapphira entered the restaurant. She looked sweetly innocent this morning, wearing a knee-length sky blue summer dress and white leggings, with her hair pulled back under a band. She shifted her weight from side to side on her feet as she glanced around.

I motioned her over, and her face lit up.

“Master James!” she cried.

She practically bounded to my table. I gestured to the seat across from me and she slid on in.

“How are you doing this fine morning?” I asked.

“Wonderful!” She made a happy sigh. “Last night was, wow. Just wow.”

I chuckled. “So you liked it?”

“I kept thinking about it all night. I could barely sleep.” She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “At least until I took care of things with my favorite toy.”

I couldn’t help laughing. Her saucy tone was completely at odds with her innocent look. Sapphira looked pleased, so I guessed the dissonance was intentional.

“Grab some food and join me?”

“Love to!”

I gestured toward the so-called buffet, and she was on it in a flash. She brought back a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, an English muffin, and even some fruit.

“No waffle?” I teased.

“It’s cooking.”

I chuckled. “You must’ve worked up an appetite last night.”

She made a show of glancing around conspiratorially before leaning forward. “Yes, I did. But food will have to suffice.”

I chuckled and rolled my eyes, but wasn’t dismayed. I was flattered, honestly. Not every play partner expressed interest in doing more.

We made small talk. I finished my food and sipped my coffee—at least the restaurant had gotten that right. The warm roast smelled inviting and it actually washed down without any tannic aftertaste. Sapphira devoured everything she’d gotten, often trying to talk with her mouth partially full, until she caught a glance from me and stopped.

I learned a little more about her. The usual divorced parents, though hers had managed to get along afterwards. School and an attempt at college before dropping out. “Too much drinking,” Sapphira had said, and quickly added that she rarely drank at all these days, and never to the point of getting sick, like she had done in college.

I related some of my own college experiences, though the drinking ones all involved other people. Even then, long before I’d been introduced to BDSM, I’d had a thing about control. If alcohol could make me lose control, I wanted nothing to do with it. Of course, later I learned how to drink socially just enough to be part of the group, but not enough to get a buzz. Sex gave me enough of a high to not need anything else. Spankings gave me even more.

But I encouraged Sapphira to talk, though occasionally she insisted in drawing me out. We bantered delightfully until the food was gone and Sapphira said she needed to use the ladies’ room.

“Shouldn’t be long,” she said as she stood.

I nodded, and settled back to wait, nursing my remaining inch of coffee.

I waited quite a while. The check came, and once again I paid for both of us, but I was getting annoyed. The Con sessions were starting up again, and while there weren’t any I was dying to see that morning, I didn’t want to just sit around the hotel restaurant either.

Finally, with a huff, I got up and went to check on Sapphira.

I hesitated outside the ladies’ room. After a moment, a zaftig woman in a tight scarlet and black corset came out. She looked at me with a furrowed brow.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Is there a thin blonde woman in a blue dress in there?”

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s throwing up in one of the stalls.”

“What?”

The woman just shook her head dismissively. “She said it was something she ate and she’d be fine.” Then she strode off.

Something she ate. I’d heard those words before. Everything fell into place—her gorging at meals, her bony thinness. I seethed impatiently.

The door swung open and Sapphira stepped through. She looked fine until she saw my expression. Then she blanched.

“What were you doing?” I said through gritted teeth.

She glanced behind her. “Using the toilet.”

“Don’t. Lie. To me. What were you doing?”

Her face fell and she hung her head. The way her shoulders sagged, she seemed on the edge of crying.

“You were vomiting up your breakfast. You’re bulimic.”

She started crying and then shyly looked up at me between muted sobs. “How’d you know?”

I sighed and stared in frustration at the ceiling for a moment. At least she admitted it.

I looked back at her, my anger draining away. “My sister was bulimic, as a teenager. I learned to recognize the signs. I don’t like seeing them in you.”

She nodded, but then began sniffling. She wiped the tears from her eyes and lowered her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She made to push past me. “I’ll just go.”

I seized her arm. “No.”

She pulled back, but I held her fast. “We go find your friends. Together.”

She sighed, but let me herd her down the hall.

We found Sir and Artemis in the dealers’ room looking at some silky Japanese rope, which seemed to shine in the warm fluorescent overhead lights. Both dressed mundanely, t-shirts and slacks, other than being in black. They stood close together, casually bumping thighs and hips. The low hubbub of the conversations around the room kept them from hearing our approach, but they turned when we were three feet away.

Sapphira sniffled and Artemis’s eyes went wide.

“Oh, honey, are you okay?” she asked. Her arms opened wide.

Sapphira flowed into them and started to openly cry.

“She was vomiting up her breakfast,” I said.

Sir looked at me, his eyebrow raised in a question. I nodded in reply. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“Oh sweetie, oh sweetie,” Artemis said as she fussed over Sapphira, “you promised you wouldn’t.”

Sapphira nodded and tried to speak but her words were swallowed by a sob.

“C’mon,” Artemis said. “Your makeup’s running. Let’s go to the ladies’ room.” She glanced quickly at Sir for agreement and after he nodded, led the crying woman toward the hall.

Sir’s shoulders sagged in resignation. He gave me a ‘what can you do?’ sheepish smile.

“She’s bulimic,” I stated.

He hesitated, but then nodded. “We thought she was getting better…”

I snorted. “Seen that before.” My sister had relapsed a dozen times before she’d finally gotten to a better headspace.

“Oh?”

I shrugged off his question. “Yeah.”

“She really is a great woman and in great shape,” he said, “other than this—of course. She’s kind, generous, and when she’s happy, it’s contagious.”

I could see that.

The rope vendor came over and stood quietly, watching us.

“Let’s find somewhere else to talk,” Sir said. He gestured toward the door, inviting me to lead the way.

We found an unoccupied spot in the hall within sight of the restrooms, where other Con attendees only walked by every now and then. We couldn’t see the women, but I suspected they wouldn’t come out until Sapphira was back in control.

“So,” I said, “you’ve known about her ‘condition.’”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ve been trying to help. I got her into Overeaters Anonymous and for a while made sure she was seeing a counselor, but she hasn’t been able to go in a month.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t afford it.” He tensed, his jaw set. “She’s… not very good at managing her money. Or her contracts. The last gallery owner ripped her off because she didn’t read the fine print.”

I snorted. I’d seen plenty of that in my career.

“And Artemis and I have a toddler, and, well, money’s tight. We do what we can…”

“She live with you?”

He shook his head. “She’s over a lot, and she babysits, which we love, but she’s got her own apartment. At least she’s paid rent on time.”

I nodded, as I began to get the picture. I’d known a few subs who’d needed a strong hand to keep their life in order. Not my ex, though. She’d been plenty strong at all the wrong times.

“She’s also not too bad,” he said. “I mean, she’s not losing more weight. I think she’s come to believe she’s at her ideal body shape, even if the rest of us think it’s too thin.”

“She’s too thin,” I agreed.

“Yeah,” he said, “but her binge and purge is better than starving to death.”

I grimaced, not sure what to say.

“The thing is,” he continued, “Sapphira’s really a great woman. I mean, you should see her paintings. She should be hanging in the museum and not some tiny gallery! And she’s so giving…”

He paused and took a breath.

“A few months ago, Artemis got really sick. She was so bad she had to be in the hospital for a few days. Sapphira dropped everything to take care of her, or to take care of our son so I could be with my wife. She even got herself fired from her part time job because she skipped work to pick our daughter up from daycare.”

“Her job dancing?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

I nodded.

“Yeah. And that’s another thing she’s amazing at. You should see her dance. Hell, you should make her dance for you.”

That idea gave me pause. With the way she wiggled on my lap, I could easily imagine her on stage.

Sir let the silence linger for a bit before pulling himself up straight and looking me in the eye. “She’s a great woman,” he said. “She just needs a Dom who cares about her, and not just about fucking her.”

I barely resisted rolling my eyes. Don’t they all?

“And,” Sir continued, “she’d give herself without reservations to the Dom who did.”

My throat caught. Without reservations. Molly had never done that. There was always something she was holding back, always a bit of control she refused to give up.

I’d accepted it. Until it bit me in the ass.

Hell, I mused, Molly was the opposite of most subs. She cared more about who was fucking her than who actually cared about her.

I pushed those thoughts aside.

Sir and I just waited silently until the women returned.

They came out slowly, cautiously. Artemis spotted us first, and tugged on Sapphira’s arm. Sapphira dropped her eyes, but allowed herself to be led over to us. Artemis nudged her until she stood in front of me. She bowed her head and clasped her hands behind her back.

“I apologize, Master James, for my behavior.”

My eyebrows went up in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” Sapphira continued, “that I deceived you. I’m sorry that I threw up the meals you generously bought for me and wasted your time.”

Her voice was firm and sincere, with only a slight tremor. She paused, and surprisingly didn’t shift her weight around as she waited.

She was beautiful standing there.

“And?” I asked.

“And…” She quickly glanced up, but then lowered her head again. “And…”

“Who else did you hurt worse than me?” I gently prompted.

“Myself,” she said. “I’m sorry I hurt myself.”

Right answer.

“You’re forgiven.” I said. “Now look at me.”

Her eyes met mine, hers full of hope and wonder but no pleading.

“This needs to stop.”

She nodded.

“We should get you home, sweetie,” Artemis said, placing her hand protectively on Sapphira’s arm. Artemis looked at her husband. “I’ll take her since you wanted to see that suspension demonstration.”

“But you wanted to attend the knife play seminar,” he replied.

I held up my hand, palm out. “Stop. Sapphira’s not a child. She doesn’t need to be taken home. She just needs to not slip off to throw up.”

“Well…” Artemis said, “she could come with me.”

Sapphira puckered her face in disgust. “Knife play? No, thanks.”

Before Artemis could say anything, I raised my hand again. I looked at Sapphira. “What do you want to do?”

She seemed momentarily taken aback that I’d actually asked her opinion, but recovered quickly.

“I want to go with you.”

“Sounds good.” I turned to Sir. “I’ve seen most of today’s presentations before anyway. How about we meet you for dinner?”

He hesitated and tensed. I was sure he knew my reputation, but probably still had doubts.

“We won’t leave the hotel,” I promised.

That seemed to persuade him. “Okay. We’ll meet you right here at six.”

We had about five minutes until the next Con sessions, so we said our farewells, with one last long hug between the women, and then walked off toward different conference rooms.

Sapphira and I sat through Mistress Charisse’s rope bondage demo. The basic hotel meeting room was a little too bright and the corporate carpet and faded deco wallpaper a little too dull to give the demo the mood it needed. Sapphira was enrapt. My mind drifted.

After a few years in The Scene, I’d gotten enough of a reputation to get offers from women I barely knew to play. I’d learned to put them off, at least until I knew them better. There’d been some hard lessons there, but good.

And now I’d volunteered to babysit a woman I’d known less than twenty-four hours. Well, ‘babysit’ wasn’t really the right word. ‘Take care of?’ ‘Accompany?’

Accompany. I liked that. It made it more social than anything. Like a date, except she wasn’t allowed to go the restroom alone after meals.

It felt more like a date as we chatted between the morning sessions, and then again on our way to lunch. We even flirted a little, in that casual way play partners often do. I suppressed my annoyance at myself for promising to stay on hotel grounds. I would’ve loved to have taken Sapphira to a nearby casual Italian restaurant I knew.

That gave me pause. Just outside the hotel restaurant I turned to Sapphira. I bent my head so I could speak quietly into her ear without the passersby hearing.

“So,” I said, “what do you eat that you’ll keep down?”

Her eyes grew mischievous, and she gestured for me to turn my head so she could whisper back.

“Semen,” she said.

I barked in laughter. Her eyes were merry and she nodded.

“Really?” I said.

She nodded, her wide eyes betraying her attempt to be serious. “My favorite food.”

I chuckled. That gave me an idea.

The restaurant had a small takeout case of pre-made glop, but there were sandwiches and salads. I snagged us two of each and some bottles of iced tea.

“Let’s eat in my room,” I said.

Sapphira waggled her eyebrows and moistened her lips. I held out my free arm and she looped hers inside of mine before we sauntered toward the elevators.

I ushered Sapphira into my tidy mini-suite. It wasn’t a suite, really, despite the hotel’s shameless use of that name, but I liked the additional space that made a couch, coffee table, and workable desk possible. The maids had changed the sheets on the king-sized bed, but this wasn’t the kind of place that left chocolates on the pillow. Instead, I kept a few peppermint patties on the ornate wooden desk sitting next to my MacBook and tea mug. I didn’t bring the good chocolate on weekends away.

Sapphira glanced around, her head craning as she appeared to be looking for something specific, but other than the laptop, all my personal stuff was tucked away in drawers or the closet. BDSM gear in suitcases doesn’t draw questions from housekeeping. I smiled, and gestured toward the bathroom entrance.

“If you need to use the facilities, now’s a good time,” I said. “Just leave the door open, please.”

She grimaced. “I may be a few minutes.”

“That’s fine.”

She excused herself and I turned to meal preparation.

I unwrapped the sandwiches—processed turkey, white cheese, some wilted lettuce and tomatoes—and left them in their plastic on the table. I mentally chided myself for not picking up any little packets of mayonnaise. The tossed salad similarly left my taste buds cold. At least the shaved carrots gave it some nice color.

I heard the toilet flush, but no vomiting. Then the sink running, before Sapphira returned. She glanced askance at the food and raised an eyebrow. “We’re eating that?”

“Yes, but not until after we add some ‘special sauce’ to yours.”

Her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open.

“Maybe the semen will help you keep the salad down,” I said with a casual shrug of my shoulders.

Her face tightened up and she glared at me. My breath caught. Uh oh…

Sapphira put her hands on her hips and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they met mine.

She almost spat her next word: “Yellow.”

My gut dropped like an old fruitcake lacking rum. Her first safeword.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I said. I sagged back onto the couch. “I… I thought…”

“You were being clever,” she said, her tone firm even as the muscles in her face softened, giving her a wiser look than I’d seen before. “I don’t need clever.”

I took a deep breath nodded. “You’ve been bulimic for… how long?” I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. You’ve tried all the tricks.”

“My relationship with food is bad enough without…” She gestured toward the salad with a frown.

“Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” I let out another sigh. “I’ll make it up to you.”

She looked at my face, as if studying me for signs of earnestness, and nodded after a bit.

“Can we have something else for lunch, Master James?”

My mind raced through options, since I’d agreed we wouldn’t leave the hotel. “How about if I order a pizza delivered? Can you wait that long?”

“Okay. With vegetables?”

“But of course,” I said with my best fake English accent. Well, it wasn’t “best” by any standard but mine, but Sapphira still smiled.

I quickly took care of the logistics. Fortunately, there was a Papa John’s nearby, and they promised thirty minute delivery straight to my room. Sapphira watched, her body relaxing more and more as I talked. When the ordering was done, I rejoined her on the couch.

I needed to regain her trust.

“So,” I asked, “what’s the funniest thing that’s happened to you as a result of the bulimia?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Funniest?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve told dozens of people about all the bad stuff, and all your struggles, but I know there are moments where it’s just kooky.”

She tittered. “Kooky?”

I nodded with mock seriousness. “This one time, my sister didn’t notice that she’d gotten some vomit on her shirt. She was in a hurry to get back to the table at the restaurant, you see, and hadn’t checked the mirror. Anyway, her date, some clueless teenage boy, noticed and asked if it was ketchup.”

That brought a full guffaw. “But… but they’re nothing alike!”

“Clueless teenage boy, remember?”

She chuckled and shook her head.

“Completely clueless.” I couldn’t help catching Sapphira’s contagious smile and felt the corners of my mouth turn up. “So what’s yours?”

“Ummm… uh…” She chuckled. “Well, there’s one, but it’s kinda gross.”

“You can’t gross me out.”

She rolled her eyes but continued. “Well, I gag easily.”

I nodded. “Comes with all the practice making yourself do it.”

“So I was blowing my boyfriend. One of my first ones. I must’ve been, oh, fifteen? Sixteen? Anyway, he decided to push his cock into my mouth instead of letting me do it—”

“He didn’t!” My eyes went wide in mock shock.

“He did!”

“And you didn’t!”

“I did! Vomit all over him!”

We both started laughing hard. I put my arm around her and pulled her into me as we did so. The bounce of her shoulder against me felt nice, as did the press of her breasts against my side.

“Wow,” I said when I’d calmed down enough to catch my breath. “Just wow.”

“Yeah,” she said, then her face grew somber. “He dumped me for that.”

I sighed and pulled her tighter into me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitated for a second, but then she began to speak, first about the boyfriend, and then about other boyfriends, and interwoven among all of it, her struggle with her disorder. I nodded and asked her to clarify things from time to time, but mostly let her talk.

It was indeed a familiar story. Pudgy as a pre-teen, teased by her classmates, then a strong interest in boys with an accompanying strong libido—a no-no for girls at that age. The praise for being beautiful and the switch, after chiding from her mom, from just dieting to the more secretive vomiting, until she hit her ‘ideal’ weight. And then the struggle to break the pattern ever since.

I just held her and let her talk.

When the pizza arrived, we ate at the coffee table, our knees still touching as we sat on the couch. She asked me about my sister, and I answered as best I could without violating confidentiality. Sapphira seemed satisfied when I said I couldn’t discuss something. The mood was lighter, and more than once I caught her eyes dancing as she watched me struggle with a mouthful of cheese and sauce and peppers just when she’d asked her latest question.

Sapphira ate two slices and I had four before putting the rest of the box in the mini-fridge that came with the suite. I stood before her as she sat primly on the couch, her knees together and her hands clasped on her thighs.

“So, how are you feeling?” I asked. From her body language, I sensed we were past my screw up, but it was still worth checking.

“Good, Master James, very good.”

“No urge to run to the restroom?”

“It’s there,” she admitted, “but not strong.”

“What can I do to help you fight it?”

She tilted her head and slyly smiled. “Well… how about some dessert?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, if I might be presumptuous, Master James, could I have the one thing I know I’ll keep down? Straight from the source?”

I blinked in surprise, but realized I shouldn’t have been. She’d dropped hints earlier… and as I thought about it, my cock stiffened in my slacks. But I had to be sure…

I chuckled. “Is that what you really want?”

She nodded vigorously and her eyes went wide and open, like an innocent child’s.

“And the fact that you just met me doesn’t bother you?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

“Green, dammit, Master James, green!”

I laughed. She had gumption, for a sub, but not so much she was topping from below.

“Okay.”

I pushed the coffee table away as Sapphira let out a small ‘yeep!’ of pleasure and slid from the couch to her knees. She shifted in front of me and reached for my belt.

I helped her get my pants undone and pulled down to my ankles. Sapphira appreciably moaned as my erection came into sight. She grasped it, tentatively at first, and then tighter. After a long, slow stroke, she looked up.

“Thank you,” she said.

I nodded, and she lowered her head.

She started with a kiss on the crown, and then began sucking. Long, smooth strokes, with just the right amount of tightness. Better than Molly’d ever managed…

Not the time to be thinking of your ex…

I focused on Sapphira’s cheeks, forehead, and her eyes when I could see them. She used both her hands as well, one cupping my balls, the other holding the base of my shaft. Her blonde hair cascaded everywhere, a golden veil covering the pleasure she was producing below.

My breathing shallowed. Sapphira’s smooth motion only varied when she took pauses to swirl her tongue everywhere it could reach. She never looked up—her body curled around the task that held all her focus.

Bringing me pleasure.

She sped up, just a notch, and I gasped. Somehow her mouth seemed ten degrees hotter. She tightened her lips and I gasped again.

If her mouth’s this good, imagine what her pussy will feel like…

With a long shudder, I came. It had been too long, and her mouth… wow. Shot after shot as the pleasure screamed through my body. I collapsed back, my eyes closing.

When I opened them, Sapphira still knelt before me and rested her head on my thigh. She smiled.

“Nice dessert?” I teased.

“The best!”

“So now what? More fooling around, or back to the Con?”

Her eyes twinkled. “Well, there is a panel on roleplaying at two.”

I chuckled. If we hurried, we could just make it.

I didn’t pay much attention to the panel discussions. My mind was… well, floating. Sapphira pretty clearly wanted me, or at least who she thought I was. But did I want her?

She was pretty, and would be prettier if she wasn’t so skinny. It wasn’t hard to see where a little weight would round out her curves nicely. She was also fun to talk to, and really nestled into my side well. That blowjob had been damned good, too, as was the spanking the night before.

But most of all… she just felt right. Yeah, she needed someone to take charge of her life, but she didn’t stint on showing her appreciation. That was nice. It was more than nice. I didn’t want another relationship where my partner lied to me without a twitch of a muscle. I couldn’t go through that again.

Sapphira wasn’t a weakling, either. How many subs would’ve folded at that stupid salad request? Gone through with it without saying how much they hated it? Eaten bite after bite while grimacing and holding a grudge for later?

I knew the grudges. I knew getting blindsided by something I’d done wrong, a month after the infraction. No, not again. Not again.

The more I thought about it, the more I was sure I wanted to get to know Sapphira better.

But did she want me?

All signs pointed to yes. She’d certainly done her homework on me, and everything we’d done together so far showed she wanted me. She’d been the one to suggest the blowjob, after all.

But she only knew The Scene me. Master James. Not Jim, the man who left the black clothing and floggers behind when he went to the law office. Not Jimmy, the overgrown kid in a man’s body who still had to have a nightlight so he could sleep without the bad dreams.

Would she want them as well?

That question made my gut churn. Fortunately, I was old enough to know that rejection wasn’t the end of the world.

So, when the session ended and Sapphira said none of the next ones particularly appealed to her, I suggested we find somewhere to just sit and talk. She agreed with a smile.

We found ourselves in the hotel bar, if you could really call it a bar. It was more of a little alcove off the main lobby. Tall plastic ferns and a three-quarter high faux wood paneled wall segregated three small tables and a smattering of bar stools from the larger room. It wasn’t enough to block out the hubbub of distant voices or the clatter of footsteps. The bartender sat on a small stool behind the tarnished brass railed bar reading a magazine. He only looked up at us once when we entered and took the farthest table from him. The place smelled of stale peanuts and disinfectant quality booze.

At least it was better than the hotel restaurant.

Sapphira sat across from me. She crossed her legs, which drew my eye to her bare knees. The corners of her mouth turned up when she caught me peeking.

“So,” she asked, “what did you think?”

I leaned back in my own chair, careful of my balance in its ricketiness. “Of the panel?”

She nodded.

“I wasn’t paying much attention,” I admitted.

“I noticed.”

I sighed and leaned back. “Yeah, my mind was elsewhere.”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, as if about to speak, but then didn’t.

I cleared my throat. No point in taking anything but the direct route. I’d learned that from my years in BDSM, if nothing else.

“So,” I said, “why me? You sought me out and we’ve had a great weekend so far, but… what are you looking for?”

Her face turned to ice and she crossed her arms, tight across her chest. “This talk, already.”

“No, no!” I said. “Well, I mean, I don’t know exactly what ‘this talk’ means, but I like you and I’m just trying to figure some things out.”

“Well, I’d heard you were a good Dom. One of the best. But now I’m not so sure.”

I tensed up. I could sense the whine that had started to seep into my voice, which meant I was sure she could, too. I took a moment to compose myself before looking her straight in the eye, with as much emotional calmness as I could muster.

“Look, I’m sorry about the salad. I thought we were good.”

She shook her head dismissively. “It’s more than that.”

I leaned forward. “Go on.”

She looked away.

“Please.”

She let out a long exasperated sigh. “When I first got into BDSM, people told me stories about your parties, and about the demos you did. Like the one with the chili peppers. And the one where you made a girl into an ice cream sundae.”

I chuckled. “Those were fun.”

“They were about food, so you can imagine I was interested. But… what people kept saying was how much in control you were. One guy said you used to own the room. Even with naked women at your feet, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. You were in charge.”

I deflated a bit. That was a while ago.

“I’ve seen dancers who were like that. I could be stroking some guy’s cock through his pants and his eyes would be on her. It’s… it’s, well, I thought you still had it.”

I wish I did.

She still refused to meet my eyes.

“I see,” I said. And I did see, as much as I didn’t like it.

“Well, let’s go find your friends.”

Sapphira nodded.

I stood and extended my hand. She took it and let me pull her to her feet. Neither of us said anything, but we didn’t let go of each other’s hand either, as we walked back toward the Con.

We wandered through the halls near the conference rooms and through the dealer’s area. We wiggled through clusters of black leather clad folk chatting in front of the flogger table but didn’t catch sight of Sir or Artemis. We even poked our heads into the back of some of the seminars and looked for them in the audience to no avail.

I kept thinking about Sapphira’s words as we hunted. Was it that obvious that I’d lost it? I knew things had been off since Molly left, but I didn’t think it showed, especially to someone who’d just met me.

Except it didn’t feel like Sapphira had just met me. Maybe it was because she knew so much about me already. Maybe it was the way she seemed so open.

But it ate at me. If I was honest with myself—and really, what other choice was there?—I’d just been going through the motions for some time. No true creativity. No true presence.

It bothered me that I’d failed her. Failed to be what she was looking for.

When the early afternoon sessions began to let out, we stood in the hallway near the restrooms, close to where we’d stood before. It turned out to be the right move, because Sir and Artemis appeared a few minutes later. The women greeted each other with a big hug.

Sapphira turned to me. “Um, I need to use the facilities. If Artemis comes with me…?”

I nodded and waved them on.

Sir rolled his eyes as he stepped to the side of the hall next to me. “I think this is one of the few times I’m glad they go in pairs.”

I chuckled and nodded.

“So,” he said, “how’s it going?”

I grimaced. “Not great. Well, okay. We’ve had some fun, but I think things aren’t going to work out beyond that.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I’m not what she’s looking for.”

“Really? I thought you were exactly what she was looking for.”

He turned and looked at me hard, and I avoided his eyes.

“Yeah, well…”

“Hmmm.”

The silence between us became uncomfortable. I kept my eyes on the bathroom door, waiting for the women to return.

“You know,” Sir finally said, with a tone that sounded like forced casualness, “she doesn’t give her heart away easily. Oh, maybe her attention is easy, and even a blowjob is easy now and then, but not her heart. You have to be worthy.”

That knife to the gut struck home. Sir studiously didn’t look at me, which was enough to twist the blade further.

Worthy? Fuck them, I’m worthy! I’ll show them…!

I caught myself and chuckled. My admiration for Sir went up—apparently Sapphira wasn’t the only one who’d studied up on me.

I’d accept his implied challenge.

“Say,” I said, “I was thinking, before this weekend mind you, of doing a dinner scene, like the ones I used to do, during the Con. Would you and Artemis be interested in joining me and Sapphira?”

This caught Sir’s attention. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Intriguing. What’d you have in mind?”

I filled him in briefly, hitting the high points, and his smile grew as he listened. He nodded and suggested a couple of refinements. He also agreed to have Sapphira stay with them while I made preparations.

When the women returned, Sapphira smiled at me. That big smile as if nothing was wrong.

“So,” I said to her, “I would like to do a dinner scene tonight, like the ones I used to do. Would you be willing to submit to me for that?”

She blinked rapidly, but then her grin stretched wide. Her face glowed as she nodded.

“Then why don’t you three,” I gestured to indicate them all, “meet me in the dungeon at eight?”

A round of assent was followed by a hug goodbye from Sapphira, which surprised me. It also scared me, because I wasn’t really sure what I was going to do.

Pulling everything together at the last minute frustrated me to no end. I briefly considered driving home, all the way across town and back, but decided I’d lose as much time that way as I would scrounging through the hotel.

Fortunately, the hotel manager helped, especially once I said I’d rent the equipment at a premium rate. I soon had two tables, four chairs, place settings, serving dishes, warming pans, and table linens. I politely declined his suggestion that the hotel restaurant cater the food. I could do better with a hotplate and a microwave up in my room, if I wanted to.

Instead, I used the internet to track down an Asian Market not too far away, and one of the top sushi restaurants in the city was within a short drive. Once again, I had to pay premium rates and pick it up myself, but quick tastes confirmed the quality was excellent. I stopped by a craft store on my way back to the hotel for my last finishing touches.

The dungeon opened at 7:30. By 7:55, I had everything arranged. I took a deep breath and gave everything one last look over.

I’d chosen a back corner to allow some semi-privacy. I’d seen surreptitious blow jobs happening in the shadows there the night before, but no major equipment set ups. Two shaded floor lamps from the hotel storage room brightened the space now, though not enough to change the overall ambience from cool to warm.

The serving table, with its chafing dishes and food platters spread out across the white table cloth, nestled against the wall. I’d set the main table, a square four person replica of the restaurant’s standard fare, about five yards away. Close enough to get food easily, but far enough to be beyond the general perception of my guests. I also carefully arranged my other toys on a towel beneath the serving table, where the table cloth would obscure them but they’d be easy to get.

I’d decorated the main table itself as elegantly as I could, under the circumstances. It too had a white table cloth, this one nearly to the floor. I hadn’t been able to get fine china for the plates and bowls, but the hotel dishware was adequate enough. The centerpiece bouquet of lavender roses and Stargazer lilies wasn’t so high that Sir and I wouldn’t be able to see each other across the table easily, or the women each other. Not that the women would spend much time sitting…

That was a preview of Hungry. To read the rest purchase the book.

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