The Slave by Laura Antoniou Page A

You had to be an artist, a
critic, or a business person. And business seemed the way to
go.
    But the work was hard and tedious, and
crammed into an already crowded schedule, so she needed the release
of orgasm more than ever. Luckily, Donna was home for the weekend,
not due back until Sunday night. There would be plenty of privacy
for a deluxe session. Maybe she would come twice, or three times.
She had two new newspapers to read through, that she had been
saving for a night just like this.
    So within minutes of getting in, she was
stripped, collared, and lying on the floor, the short, rough carpet
abrading her nipples. With sighs of pleasure, she read through the
letter columns, full of patently false personal adventure stories,
and then continued on to the features, some of which were
illustrated. They were, without an exception, awfully written. She
could usually ignore much of the clumsy, ham-handedness of the
writers. But for some reason, tonight of all nights, the stark
vacancy of the words made the images behind them ludicrous. Robin
flipped pages in frustration, trying to get the proper frame of
mind back, and ended up tossing the cheap newsprint onto the floor
in front of her.
    I’ll just switch to the
books , she
thought, feeling the pang of more money wasted on this trash. But
as she reached for the box, her eye fell on an advertisement on the
back page of one of the newspapers.
    It read:
    “ Find the mistress or
master of your dreams tonight!”
    She pulled it over and read. Under a drawing
of a physically impossible woman wearing boots that could earn a
mention in the Amnesty International annual, was a series of phone
numbers. Some were in different area codes, some were 800 numbers.
In fine print below each one was a description. She read, “Hot
Masters and their Rough Boys for Wild Masculine Encounters,” and
“Large and Lovely Ladies for Mounds of Pleasure!” and “Threesomes,
Foursomes and Moresomes; the Swingers Line,” and then, finally,
“The Dial-In-Dungeon, Masters, Mistresses and their Willing
Slaves.”
    All this, the ad promised, for 10 cents a
minute.
    Ten cents a minute? Robin
thought. That’s not much. If it’s just a stupid recording, it’ll
still cost less than calling home to say “hi.” She dug her toes into the
carpet while she considered. What could it possibly be? What would
she say if someone actually answered? Could they trace her
number?
    Oh, don’t be stupid. It can’t
hurt, not for a few minutes. No sense in getting paranoid over
this. So she
reached over to her table and pulled the phone down on to the
floor. When her call connected, she heard:
    “ Welcome to the Dial-in-Dungeon, where
your hot Mistress or Master awaits. Your call will be 30 cents for
the first minute and 10 cents each additional minute. If you are
under eighteen years old, hang up now. And if you’re old enough and
bold enough, you may now enter the Dungeon!”
    What is this, a computer
game? Robin
asked herself . I wonder when I have to tell them whether I want a master
or a mistress? But before she could actually giggle, she heard someone
speaking.
    “ ...so we ended up going to the movies
while she had a plug up her ass. I kept pinching her nipples all
through the show. Thea was wet as a fucking river! Weren’t you,
babe?”
    The voice was masculine, but slightly
muffled. Robin pushed the phone closer to her ear, fascinated.
    “ Yeah!” came an enthusiastic response.
Thea’s voice also sounded slightly muffled. Robin figured that it
must be the connection. “I was so sore when we got back! Master had
to soothe me all night.” She laughed, and her laughter was joined
by several other people on the telephone line.
    “ So what did you do this weekend,
Cutiepie?” Another man’s voice cut through the laughter. For a
split second, Robin thought that he meant her, although how he
would even know she was there was a mystery. But a different woman,
her voice making her seem older then the first,