I'm writing for my Master tonight.
He knows that I've been writing again.
Writing at all.
And given that he owns me
he thinks - rightfully so -
that he has a right to some of my produce.
The fruits of his fields.
It's a collaborative effort. He is presenting me with little scenarios, each involving one of his friends, and I am to finish the scenes. He plants the seeds, partially sprouted, and I shine my light on them until they blossom into a small pornographic gem.
There is a bondage component to the exercise.
I am allowed only 3-4 sentences.
He is a cruel man, my Master.
It's not for nothing that I call him the sadist.
He is one.
In many different ways.
How lucky I am!