She actually doesn't remember opening the door. How had he gotten this time free? She never knew, never asked him, and it didn't really matter, did it...She remembers flitting about the house in only her light, silk robe, the red, patterned one that shows her pubic hair if she leaves it untied, but covers her nipples. She still has that robe.Does she remember hearing the car in the garage? Or running down the stairs so that the robe opened entirely in her breeze, her pale, dancer's body. She desperatelywanted to ask him about his control, but something was holding her back,and she wasn't sure what it was. All the time she had spent with himtoday had almost seemed... surreal - so different than their relationshipin the past. And it was hard to figure out how to handle it... and notcross the imaginary line that marked the boundary between a normalfriendship and a mistress - submissive relationship."You know," she said after a few moments of more awkward silence,"you're welcome. More

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