Slave Lover by Marco Vassi Page B

eyes.
    “Sorry,” she said, “but you didn’t hear me knocking. It’s time for you to go on duty.”
    “Whaa . . .” Constance said, still fuzzy.
    She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and then remembered, remembered where she was and what the woman was talking about. Her heart sank. A taste of cold lead lay on her tongue. Dread tugged at the backs of her eyeballs. Waking up in the middle of the afternoon after a fitful sleep is always traumatic, but to wake up into such a situation, and to feel the first actual impact of it, is indescribable. Constance realized for the first time that her predicament was not an episode but a permanent state, and accepting it intellectually was relatively easy, and even a bit of conceptual fun. But to live it, day by day, hour by hour, endlessly, was something else again.
    The maid put her hand in her apron pocket and pulled out a green, cylindrical pill.
    “You might want to take this,” she whispered. “It’ll get you over the worst part.”
    “What is it?” Constance asked.
    “It’s got a couple of things in it. Something to give you energy, something to relax your muscles, something to make what’s happening feel like a hallucination, something to turn you on just a taste.”
    Despite herself, Constance opened her eyes in appreciation of the description.
    “Oh, it’s a nice one,” the maid said.
    “Why are you being nice to me?” Constance asked.
    “I work here,” she said. “I like things to be as pleasant as possible. It’s part of the policy of the management. And maybe you’ll want to do something for me someday.”
    “What could I do for you?” Constance said.
    “Some day, when you have a full day off, we might take one of these together and . . . play.”
    “Never something for nothing, is there?” Constance said, shaking her head.
    “First law of the cosmos,” the woman replied. “And I don’t make the laws, I just obey them.”
    Constance smiled and sniffed and stood up and stretched.
    “All right,” she said, “let me have the happy pill. And one day you come by and we’ll get it on. Why the fuck not?”
    “Yeah,” the woman grinned. “You gettin’ the idea.”
    Constance took the pill, plopped it on her tongue, and washed it down with a glass of water from the bathroom sink.
    “How long?” she asked.
    “You got twenty minutes to get to the dressing room. The pill will start to come on in about thirty. By that time they should just be bringing you in. They’ll tell you what to expect this time.” The woman looked at Constance’s body appraisingly. “For now, just put on a robe and slippers, brush your teeth if you want to, and comb your hair, and I’ll take you to the place.”
    Constance watched herself in front of the mirror as she did her elementary toilette. Five feet seven, black hair which fell down between her shoulder blades, green eyes, narrow but very full lips, breasts each the size of a small cantaloupe, and a thick, curly bush of oddly coarse pubic hair . . . all combined to make her a compellingly erotically beautiful woman. But far and beyond all these features, it was the swell of her high, broad, and deeply curved buttocks which caused men to turn and stare wherever she went. Her ass transcended the ordinary category and had to be ranked as a primary sex characteristic. The number of men who had wined, dined, and covered her with presents in order to place their hands, tongues and cocks into the tantalizing crevice numbered well over a hundred. The number that succeeded were a twentieth of that. And prior to the previous afternoon, only one had fucked her there, and then most unsuccessfully.
    She became aware that she was standing there staring at herself in a trance by a knock on the bathroom door. It was the maid. Constance walked out and tittered when she saw the other woman.
    “You look ridiculous in that outfit,” she said. “What is your name, anyway?”
    “Carla,” the woman said.
    Constance was entranced by