I blew onto my hands and shuffled my feet nervously before knocking again. It had begun to feel a lot more like January in the last to days. The door opened up just a tiny bit, and I only got the briefest of glimpses of Camille’s face before she tried to slam it shut again. I hadn’t really expected her to throw open the door and embrace me passionately, but I’d hoped at least to get out a sentence or two. Acting on instinct, never my forte, I thrust my foot inside the jamb; my Reeboks providing zero protection against the crushing impact of the door. Yelping in pain, I jerked my foot back and did an awkward, hopping back-step before tumbling backwards. I clipped the back of my head against the railing, and my butt connected with the hard pine decking with bone-rattling force. I sat there, stunned. All I could see was one big blurry mass of Camille’s house and the gray skies above. Then suddenly everything snapped back in focus, and I looked up to see her towering over me; her hands on her hips and her face florid with rage, matching the red of her jacket. She was more or less dressed exactly the same way as when I’d last seen her, back on New Year’s Day, except that several strands of her dark hair had come loose from the tight bun, and her jacket was open, exposing the silk camisole she wore beneath. “Don’t they have one night stands on the sorry-ass slacker planet you live on?” she demanded angrily. “Sorry.” “You sure as hell are!” She watched, without offering to help, as I hoisted myself back on my feet. Or, rather, foot, since my right foot was still throbbing. She said nothing, but held her ground and leveled her intense brown eyes on me, as if she could push me away with sheer will. I suddenly remembered what I had in my back pocket, and was gripped with momentary panic at the thought that it might have been damaged in the fall. As I reached around and pulled it out, she made no indication of being interested in anything other than my immediate departure. “Here,” I said weakly, handing the little bear over when I was sure I hadn’t ruptured any seams. “It’s for you.” She took it from me uncertainly; her fingers gently stroking the lavender fur, as if expecting it to rub off and reveal me for a fraud. Her fingernail traced the contours of the white rose embroidered in its chest. “Princess,” she whispered. “Yeah, I noticed you had a bunch of those in your bedroom when we, uh...” I broke off, embarrassed. She didn’t say anything, just kept staring at it. I started to limp away slowly when she looked up sharply and seemed to suddenly see me again. Pressing the bear to her chest with one hand, she reached out to me with the other. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice full of more emotion than I’d expected. “Please, come inside.” When she saw me hobbling, she offered me her arm and apologized again. I was no less impressed upon my second visit inside her house. If anything, her incredible living room, with walls open all the way to the roof, looked even more impressive when you looked at the sliding glass doors at the southern end and saw steam rising off the flat gray surface of the lake. She guided me to the sofa, helped me sit and, carefully as possible, removed my worthless sneaker. We both winced at the bruised mass at the end of my foot. All I could think of to say was, “Ouch!” “I’ll get an ice pack,” she said and gave my shoulder a squeeze as she moved around the couch. I gazed around the room idly for a moment. I turned myself around on the sofa, more to look at the fish tank behind me than any other reason, but I noticed she wasn’t in the kitchen. A second later, I saw her start to emerge from the lower depths of the stairwell. She returned to me, handed me an ice pack as promised, and then sat down in one of the easy chairs flanking the couch, cradling her newest Beanie Baby like it was a real one. “How did you get this,” she asked. “I’ve been looking for weeks. It’s not possible.” I chuckled a little, then stopped abruptly as I pressed the pack against my mashed toes. “You never asked me what I did for a living.” I stressed the word “I” since I’d asked her that morning. Not that I’d gotten a response. “I didn’t care,” she murmured distractedly. Then she looked up and stared directly into my eyes with that electrifying gaze of hers. “What do you do for a living?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Well, on my sorry-ass slacker planet, I wear the proud blue apron of a ‘Toyz B’ We’ minimum wageslave.” She laughed and for a moment even my toes felt good. “They told me on the phone that they didn’t get any in,” she snorted indignantly. “We’re supposed to lie about stuff like that,” I admitted. She gaped at me, shocked and upset. “Anyway, someone had a few of these guys...” “Girls,” she corrected me. “Girls... stashed in the back. I guess they were waiting for prices in the after market to get high enough.” “I bet they’ll be happy!” she said sarcastically, still running her fingers over the toy. “Fuck ‘em!” I said, and she turned her head back towards me again, beaming. We sat quietly for some time after that. Finally I got a little edgy and said, “I guess I wanted to say ‘Thanks.’ I mean, I know it was just a one night stand for you, but it meant a lot to me.” “I kind of gathered that when you tried to make me French toast yesterday morning.” “Tried? Hey, I make good French toast!” She made a little grimace, unimpressed. I started eyeing the door sadly. “Well, I guess I should go.” She sighed, brushed the stray ribbons of hair from her face and fixed me with a mysterious look, her eyes hooded and unusually subdued. “Jordan?” “Yes?” “Would you like to know what I do for a living?” “Yes.” She reached out her hand. I took the pack off my foot. Standing, I wobbled uncertainly and had to lean on her a little. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Oh God,” she moaned,” that’s your good foot, isn’t it?” “It’s not broken or anything. And it’s okay, Camille. My leg isn’t always like that. Just when it rains. Okay?” “Okay,” she agreed, uncharacteristically sheepish. She led me down the stairs and stopped at a small landing where a door had been added sometime after the house was built. At least, the exposed framing looked new and out-of place with the otherwise elegant construction. It was ajar, but several serious-looking locks, including a heavy deadbolt hinted that wasn’t always the case. A second, short flight of steps deposited us into a narrow strip of corridor, ending with a door at one end and opening up into a room at the other. A second door faced the steps directly, but first she led me into the open room to the right. The walls were painted in ugly, institutional green, with matching floor tiles. There was a sink and cabinets and a fridge, but the most noticeable element of the room was the big medical examining table in the center. There were little knitted cozies on the stirrups, and one of those big halogen lights mounted on a swivel arm bolted to the floor next to it. “What? You’re a doctor?” “I can be,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she smiled at me. The next room she showed me was even more puzzling. It was a fourteen by thirteen square with blue tiles on the walls and a aquamarine mosaic floor. There were shower heads mounted in the corners, and a rusty drain in the middle of the floor. It reminded me of the showers in the locker room at high school. Lastly, in one forlorn corner sat a toilet, and next to it a little black box that sported a similar seat. I still didn’t get it, not until that last room. It had probably been meant as a garage, it was huge. It spanned the length of the house, and took out fully half it’s width. Still, it felt smaller, largely due to all the equipment crammed into it. Two imposing x-frames made from black, lacquered wood stood side by side against the faux brick facade covering the walls. There were benches and a pillory and some tubular frame that looked like a jungle gym designed by Dante. The centerpiece of the collection had to be a seven foot long box/table, covered in padded black leather and sporting winches at either end. That wasn’t all it had. The man must have been in his forties or fifties. He had pale, loose skin and his spindly limbs were all stretched out to their limits. At first I thought he had some kind of skin disease because his chest was covered in little red spots and his nipples were grotesque. Then I saw the candle lying unlit at his side. His cock was struggling gamely to get erect, despite the excruciating latticework of kite string tied around it. She’d placed a pair of black satin panties ass-backwards over his head, effectively blindfolding him. Yet, he seemed to sense something, and suddenly called out, “Mistress Eurydice? Is that you?” She grinned at me and put her finger to her lips. Brushing past me through the doorway, she strutted over to the table, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete floor. “That’s right, Mr. Anderson. Mistress has returned.” Her voice was a silky purr that caused the hairs on my arms to stand on end. She pried the wax off one of his nipples with her nails and he groaned. “I got so tired of looking at that pathetic peanut between your legs that I decided to get some of the real thing,” she taunted. He moaned some more and tried to writhe around. “So while you’ve been down here, wriggling around like the little maggot you are, I’ve been upstairs...” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper that had me squirming. “Fucking...” She turned to look at me, cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Fucking my new houseboy,” she said cheerily, “Lars.” I raised my eyebrow at that. Lars? “Isn’t that right, Lars?” she asked me sweetly. “Uh... Ja?” One hand flew to her mouth while the other clutched frantically at the table as she doubled over with laughter. Tears were streaming from her eyes from the effort to keep from making a sound, and an unsightly yellow stain began to seep down her white stockings. Fortunately, her barely contained giggles were drowned out by Mr. Anderson’s renewed struggling and cries of protest. After Camille regained control, she slapped him across the chest and snarled at him to shut up. Then she glided back towards me, weaving her way around the various bits of bondage furniture. She pressed her body into mine and gave me a long, lingering wet kiss while Mr. Anderson snuffled unhappily. “Lars,” she said loudly, pushing Princess back into my hands, “be a love and take my new toy to my bedchambers and wait for me there, would you?” “Ja,” I replied, causing her to clutch at me as she fought through another laughing fit. Meanwhile Mr. Anderson started pissing and groaning even louder than before. I turned around and started to walk away when I was startled by a sudden, sharp slap against my backside. I wheeled around and she flashed me another quick, pixieish grin before slowly closing the door to her playroom. About twenty minutes later I heard a car horn outside. The only windows upstairs were in the bathroom, and through them I saw a yellow taxi parked behind my Rabbit on the gravel drive. Not too long after, Mr. Anderson came swaggering out, dressed in some kind of gray suit. I didn’t actually get to see him get in the cab, because without warning, surprisingly strong arms encircled my waist, and I was dragged back into the bedroom; my ears filled with girlish giggling. She wrestled me around in front of the bed, before finally shoving me face up upon it. Then she climbed on top of me. She was hot, and sweaty, but she smelled like spring flowers. “So?” she asked. I tried to think of some way to sum up what I was feeling at that exact moment. “Wow?” “wow,” she repeated softly. She leaned in close and kissed me aggressively, she reared herself backwards, so that she was straddling my thighs, her skirt bunch up along her midriff. She began to unfasten my belt and said in a low, commanding tone, “We’ve got to make this fast. I’ve got another client in a half an hour.” She broke into a sweet smile. “Okay... Lars?” “Ja,” I said, and her eyes rolled back and she collapsed into hysterical laughter. * * * * “Eurydice,” I whispered softly, seeing how the name felt as it passed my lips. Camille snuggled up next to me under the sheets. “It’s from Greek mythology,” she said. “I know that,” I replied, a little hurt that she thought she had to tell me. She sighed and snuggled even closer. “I’m sorry. It’s just most of the time I get: Yuri-who?” She adopted a ‘stupid’ voice. “Is that Russian or something?” I gently brushed away some hair that had spilled onto her forehead, and kissed her. “Eurydice,” I repeated, grinning. She’d had two more clients that day. Both, like Mr. Anderson, were middle aged men, who looked fairly prosperous in their sharp, expensive suits. The first was into watersports, and I politely asked if Lars could sit out that session. Camille seemed a little disappointed, but she booted up her computer and let me poke around her web site, which proved an eye opening experience in itself. Her last client was from England, and had overdosed as a younger man on Dallas reruns. By the time Lars was trotted out, the guy was on his hands and knees with a saddle strapped to his back. She’d blindfolded him, like the first gentleman, which was helpful since ‘Lars’ didn’t much look at all the way she was describing him/me, flattering as it was to think of myself as a champion weightlifter with a thirteen-inch penis. On the other hand, Camille looked absolutely the part, clad only in a ten gallon hat, snakeskin boots and a wicked set of spurs. She took great delight in having her new houseboy run around fetching her various items from different parts of the room: a crop here, a bridle there. She took a truly monstrous dildo off the wall and moved towards me with a disquieting smirk. I took a frightened step backwards, which caused a pained expression to cross her face. When she was close enough, she whispered that she just wanted me to hold it between my legs until she was ready for it; then she went pack to her “pony” and climbed into the saddle. I have to say, for a guy probably twice my age, he was in incredible shape. He carried her from one end of the dungeon to the other, enduring the occasional touch of the spurs or slap of the whip with little more than a grunt. She finally hitched him to the punishment bench, and fastened his wrists to cuffs at the bottom, locking him down on all fours. She came back to me and retrieved the dildo, performing a little fellatio routine on it before returning to her client. Her game became clear when she began to prod his exposed ass with the rubber cock, still holding my body heat. He began to yammer excitedly, much as Anderson had upon hearing that first “Ja.” I could imagine him picturing some muscle-bound Nordic stud about to give him the ride of his life. She just laughed cruelly, slapped his ass and shoved it deep into his struggling body. He screeched, but when she twisted the little cap at the end, starting it to vibrate, he realized he’d been had and he dropped his head down and let out a little sob. Whether it was relief, or disappointment, I couldn’t say. She then shooed me away to back upstairs while she finished up. I waited for the now familiar honk of the taxi and the slamming of the front door. A few minutes later she came clomping up the stairs, still in her minimalist “cowgirl” outfit. She spun around in front of the bed, and dropped down heavily on it, letting out a deep breath as she did. “I’m beat,” she grumbled. I let the obvious pun pass. “I bet I know what you need,” I said instead, waggling my eyebrows suggestively. She eyed me skeptically. “Do tell.” I sat down on the mattress and leaned down over her body, affectionately kissing her bare navel. I heard her sigh again, and her body relaxed as my tongue flickered in and out of her belly button. I trailed my lips down the remainder of her abdomen and through the dense black fur of her pubis. Sliding off the bed, I knelt between her legs, tenderly teasing her lips open with my mouth. She was a little damp already, and I resolved to make her wetter still, slowly playing my tongue in and out of her body, my hands gently massaging her thighs. I glanced up to see if she was still skeptical, and noticed that she was lying absolutely still. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest gave any indication that she was alive. “Camille?” She just mumbled under her breath, rolled onto her side and drew her legs up. I smiled wearily. I took one of her feet in hand and carefully removed the boot, then the other. Each time she mumbled something incoherent and then pulled her leg back when I was done. I picked up one of the sheets had fallen off the bed during our earlier lovemaking, and, crawling into bed beside her, covered us both.