“Yes, Master. May I go now?”
He frowned. She was following his orders but her earlier arousal was no longer evident. He’d thought she was a submissive type 3, the kind who needed to be reassured that the man dominating her was more powerful than her in all ways, who would struggle and protest only so that he could defeat her and force her to his will. Yet if that were so, she should be growing excited at the thought of a future battle of wills.
Still, that was a puzzle he could work out later. He didn’t want to cause trouble for her by keeping her longer than necessary.
“You may go. Return tonight, after all around you are in bed for the night. And bring me a dinner.”
He released her chin and she nodded briskly, her gaze falling to the floor. “Yes, Master.”
He nodded. “Go now.”
She turned and ran from the room, snatching up her purse as she passed it. The door slammed, her shoes tapped rapidly down the wooden stairs then he heard the faint crunch and rustle of her footsteps against a shifting surface. Pebbles? Shells?
He shook his head, dismissing the question as unimportant. First he needed to determine exactly when and where he was. Then he could worry about such minor details.
There was no way to tell time in the monastery, every agony stretching out for an eternity with no artificial intervals of mealtimes or sleep breaks to interrupt their lessons. He didn’t know how many years had passed since his death, but from what he’d seen in his quick glances as the mist of mastery cleared, the world had seemed little changed.
Obviously, he’d been wrong. That glowing plastic device she’d pulled from her purse was like nothing he’d ever seen before. Considerably more time had passed than he’d first suspected.
He examined the contents of the room he’d mistaken for a studio apartment. The television was recognizably a television, although smaller and lacking a wooden cabinet to protect it. The recliner was larger and operated more smoothly but otherwise seemed much as he remembered them. He had no familiarity with the sport of fishing to judge if the rods and reels along the wall were contemporary but the books and knitting supplies seemed perfectly ordinary. Even Sam’s clothing, jeans and a T-shirt, had been a common outfit for young American women in his time.
Stalking over to the television, he studied the buttons for a moment before switching it on. He was going to keep making stupid mistakes until he understood the world in which he now found himself, and mistakes were inevitably paid for in blood and pain. It was time to start learning.
* * * * *
Sam tiptoed past the den, peeking in to check on her still-sleeping mother. Letting her breath out in a relieved sigh, she hurried into the kitchen and began preparations for dinner.
Nothing too complicated. The way her arms were still trembling, she didn’t trust herself to chop vegetables without taking off a finger. And browning meat would probably end up with the meat either burned or splattered across the stove. Basic boiled pasta was about the limit of her culinary skill tonight.
She bent down to pull the four-quart pot out from the back of the cabinet where her mother kept it and her jeans tugged against her swollen pussy. Clenching the countertop above her head, she bit her lip to stifle a moan of pleasure.
Her breasts throbbed, the nipples longing to be tweaked and pulled at Giacomo’s direction. Panting softly, she rocked her hips, flexing against the taut seam of her jeans. She was still wet and needy. She could hardly wait until tonight when she could see him again. Just knowing he was in the workshop waiting for her kept her body humming in a constant state of readiness as she boiled the pasta, heated a jar of sauce and microwaved a frozen loaf of garlic bread.
The buzz of the microwave woke her mother or perhaps the cloud of garlic-butter-scented steam released when she opened the door did it. But whatever the cause, by the time Sam had everything turned out into serving bowls and on the table, her mother was already entering the kitchen.
Falling into her Good Daughter role with ease, Sam’s body high faded beneath the weight of her responsibilities as she helped her mother sit down, filled her plate and poured her water. She expertly sliced the garlic bread in thick diagonal slices, stuffing one in her mouth before setting the basket beside her mother’s plate.
“Did you have a good time reading, dear?”
Sam colored and pointed at her mouth full of garlic bread. Saved by Emily Post.
Her mother tsked. “How many times have I told you not to put the whole slice in your mouth at once? Break it into ladylike pieces first.”
Sam grunted a noise her mother took for assent.
Dodging the landmine of how Sam had spent her afternoon, her mother launched into a detailed planning session for the next day. She had an appointment with her hair stylist at 11:45 and didn’t want to be late. After her cut, color and set, they would have lunch and if she was up to it, shop for Melinda’s youngest boy’s birthday present. She preferred shopping at the Gray Goose children’s store but the cramped, crowded store would be beyond her capability now. They’d have to drive outside of town to shop at the Toys “R” Us where the store offered electric shopping carts for their patrons.
Sam dutifully nodded her agreement and the rest of the meal was spent discussing what kind of toy Toby would enjoy the most that still met with his parents’ approval.
She cleaned up, wrapping the leftovers to be reheated for Master Giacomo while her mother rambled on about Toby’s upcoming birthday and other birthday parties of her children and grandchildren.
They retired to the den where her mother watched a prime-time drama on television while Sam knitted. As her needles slid rhythmically in and out of the growing swath of fabric, she felt her pulse and breathing steadying and stabling, her normal demeanor returning. The last of the evening’s tensions drained away, released from her body and bound into her knitting.
When the show was over, Sam helped her mother upstairs. Her mother didn’t actually need any help to climb the stairs but she felt nervous about the possibility of a fall so Sam had to walk behind her, gripping the banisters tightly so she could catch her mother in the case of a misstep.
It took another hour before her mother finished getting ready for bed, changing into one of her delicate lace peignoir sets, washing up then applying her nightly regime of creams and lotions. The pile of vitamins, supplements and prescription medications was a recent and grudging addition to the routine.
Sam finished her own routine in half the time, changing into lightweight boxer shorts in a blue and yellow monkey print and a yellow tank top with a blue monke