"Hands behind your back, slave."Jan did as he was told.He heard the snap of the cuffs click shut."Get up, slave." she whispered with a smirk.He didn't...get up.She had whispered it deliberately.Her hand smacked his muscled back. "I SAID GET UP SLAVE!"She grabbed him by his hair and yanked him up."I'm sorry, Mistress!" Jan said right after.Two quick slaps to his ass cheeks from the whip."It's not okay, slave. I see how they look at you. Sometimes you look back at them and I see that muscle in your. I'll leave the details of clothing, underwear and padding to your imagination. Since the Fashion Gods have decreed that cigars are no longer smelly, cancer causing, evil and disgusting, we can be politically correct in imagining our agent leaning back in an enormous chair, telephone in one hand and cigar in the other, with a client on the line. It might go something like this:"Good morning, George, how's life in the Big Yellow Box? Say, George, now that Santa is done with Dennis and you have. More

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