Understand?’ he said. ‘Yes.’ I replied. He slapped my face. ‘Don’t you know that you’re supposed to call your superiors SIR?!’ he asked,...no, he demanded. ‘A AH, Aaah, yes SIR.’ ‘Good bitch!’ He stood up, ‘Strip off my clothes’. I removed his shoes and socks. My hands went to his belt and I lowered his pants, he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Now standing naked before me, his hard cock sticking out straight at me, and me on my knees. He looked so imposing, so superior I had no will of my own. I. I could have been braver at the Forks. His eyes burn me in the old hotel suite, and I know what I’ve become. He tells me to turn around. He wants to see my back. ‘Perfect skin. Perfect curves. Perfect face,’ he says. And I hate what I’ve become. ‘The perfect beauty,’ he tells me. I hate who I am. ‘My perfect Sophie,’ he whispers. * * * Michael is not the man I dreamed about this morning. I can’t see that man’s face, and I’ve never been in such a situation, so I pick the dream apart. More

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