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I had dropped immediately to my knees, head still down as he had not given me permission to look at him. I heard a soft chuckle and the words “very good, stand up”, and I rose back to my feet to stand before the man who had claimed me as his slave several months ago, and just now arrived to collect me. He’d had me get into the truck, where he’d removed the collar he’d had me get myself, replacing it with one he had brought with him and the instructions that it was to be worn at all times. Since he changed the collars from behind me, I had still not seen his face, and was fighting the natural tendency to look up at him as he spoke to me, but knew that that would be punished; no matter how much I wanted to see him, he would decide if it would be permitted. He then had me lead him back to the car and as we got in, he quietly told me that I was not to look directly at him as I drove, only at the mirrors as necessary to see the traffic. I drove us home to my place, a matter of maybe two. Though her back was rigidly straight, she moved like flowing water beneath his hands. She drifted into each turn with soft little footfalls, keeping her face diverted just so that her profile was presented to him. The column of her throat was long, the skin so fine that he could see the light, steady beating of her pulse. “Where is your husband, Madame?” Jessamine turned her head slightly so that she could see his face, “Oh, he’s over by the buffet table with Madame and Monsieur Le roux.” Luc glanced over and saw a tall man speaking with the hosting couple. He was old – nearly sixty years in age – and looked every minute of it. His face sagged with age, his hair, still fully black, was nothing but a wisp that was combed over his age spotted skull. Though Luc had never actually met the man, he knew that Monsieur Rousseau was reputed to be a ruthless man in business, yet impeccably pious in the church. “My dear, you have my complete admiration.” “How so?” Luc swung her closer to.
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