Carrie's Story: An Erotic S/M Novel Read Online Free PDF

like it?"
    "How would I know?" he said, laughing. He had a surprisingly pleasant, ordinary laugh. "I've never asked her.
I haven't got the slightest idea. I pay her a lot and we're very
nice and friendly with each other. It would be a whole lot
harder for me to keep all the rules I like to keep without her. Listen, Carrie, I can see that Mrs. Branden was a shock to
you, but don't you want to know anything else?"

    "Okay," I said, "tell me some of these rules you keep
around here."
    "You are always here when you say you'll be here. With
school, what would you say that means? Two weekday evenings, late Saturday afternoon through midday Sunday?
I won't take more time than a boyfriend. Less, probably.
You come to the side door. Mrs. Branden lets you into the
kitchen. You undress, and she puts on your leash and collar
and whatever else I want you to wear. She leads you in here.
You're tethered and waiting at attention for me when I come
in. And then you do absolutely everything I say. That's the
easy part."
    "That's disingenuous," I said, trying to hide my discomfort and, yes, my excitement. Tethered and waiting...
    "You're right," he said. "It's not easy at all. But I think
it'll be worth it for you. I'm a very responsible, methodical
person. Stuffy, when you get right down to it, but the good
side of that is that I'm consistent, detail-oriented, and very
dependable. It's a good deal, really-you do everything I say,
and you get a lot, quite a lot, of what you want."
    "How do you know what I want?" I asked.
    "Well, it doesn't take a rocket scientist," he said. "I mean,
you're here, aren't you?"
    I nodded grimly.
    "Sorry," he smiled, "that was a cheap shot."
    "But I do know whatyou want," he continued, "in essence
if not yet in all its particulars. I can recognize it in your eyes
and in your open mouth. You do like to be looked at: admired
or belittled, adored or punished. You want to be daze to, by a desire that's more selfish and specific than your own. You
want that blank, floating moment of release, of submission, of
knowing that it's useless to resist. Free fall, happening faster
than even a motormouth like you can describe it.

    "And you'll put up with the trite details, the silly redundancy of what we'll do, because I'll be showing you ways to
capture that moment, again and again and again. I'll give it
narrative shape, I'll keep it going, I'll figure out the particulars as we go along. And I'll stay ahead of you. You won't
have to worry about that."
    The fire hissed just then, and one of the logs fell over,
punctuating what he'd said with a little flourish and fanfare of
sparks. I sat stock-still, trying my damnedest to believe that
this was really happening. I rubbed the painful welt on my
hand, glad to be reminded of corporeal reality. I looked at him
hard and he looked back serenely. He knew he had me.
    I shuddered, but realized that I was also nodding my
assent. Still, I wasn't ready to stop questioning him. "And
suppose I call it all off," I said.
    "Hey," he shrugged, "you know my address. I'll give you
my phone number. I don't have yours and that's fine. I don't
need it. So you can end this thing whenever-and howeveryou want. Write me a letter. Or you can call me up anytime
and tell me you're not coming anymore. You can leave a message on my machine. Fax me, e-mail me, whatever. Or you
can simply never show up again. But when you do come," he
continued, "you'd better be prompt."
    He pulled a card out of his pocket, very businesslike now,
and rummaged around the table until he found an envelope.
"Here's my doctor's card. Make an appointment for an HIV
test. Get a complete checkup, too. I'll pay. And here's a copy of my latest HIV test. You can verify it with him. You can see
one from me every month."

    "So you get tested every month," I said. "Suppose I start
fucking somebody else?"
    "You won't," he said.
    I was amazed. "That's an outrageous thing to say. Why not?
I mean,