"Yes?" He nodded, not trusting his voice. She tipped the glass enough
for him to take a small sip of ale. "I am in control," she said,
looking down at him. She was close, almost touching. She smelled of
honeysuckle. "You will learn to please me, to care only for _my_
pleasure. You will suffer for me. When you are good, you will be
rewarded. But you must prove yourself." There was a practiced sound to
her words.
To his surprise, he wanted to prove himself. He wanted to please her.
"Well?"
"Yes," he promised.
"You will serve me without question. Then, you will be happy." She
freed him. "Come back Friday at six o'clock. Bring a heavy wooden ruler
that you have decorated. You are to buy it at an office supply store,
saying that it is for your mistress. You may go. Oh, and take the rest
of that steak sandwich with you." She went into a bathroom and closed
the door.
Oliver drove away shaking his head. What was that all about? He
couldn't deny the urge he had to surrender to her, to obey her. It
pulled at him like an undertow as he crossed the bridge. He walked down
to Deweys.
Mark was holding up one corner of the bar. "Hey Buddy, how's your love
life?" Intuitive bastard.
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