"Thank you, miss," he said in the manner she had taught him long ago. Standing behind him she grabbed a hair and pulled his head back hard, "Who owns ...ou, bitch?" she whispered in his ear as she held him in the uncomfortable position. "You do, mistress," he whimpered in reply. "Then who the hell gave you permission to behave the way you did, bitch?" she yanked his hair harder and he stumbled back and landed on his ass as she stepped back. "No one miss. I was a very bad slut, miss," he. Late that night, after returning home, while sitting on my terrace, I did have a long heart-to-heart talk with my soul, my emotions (guilt being one of them), a full moon and the ocean waves. We all came to the conclusion that there was nothing wrong in my behavior. Just so long as I didn't step over any boundaries, everything was okay. If a man kisses me, then that doesn't make me gay. Anyway, they kissed me, not me them.Dr. Johnston and I did have then a new topic of discussion. Her major. More

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