After we both signed the contract, I impulsively tossed the pages up in the air. We smiled and laughed as the papers swayed above our heads to and fro, drifting to a soft landing on the floor and at the foot of my bed. I slipped back under the sheets and took her in my arms, cuddling up with her. I pressed my cheek to hers and noticed it was wet from her tears.
“I’m so happy, Mr. Anderson,” she said.
“Me too,” I said.
I handed her a tissue from the table and she dried her eyes and cheeks.
“Oh boy, my makeup’s a mess.”
I cupped my palms over her soft luscious breasts and squeezed them.
“Do you mind if I call you my little slave girl now?”
“I don’t mind at all. In fact, I don’t want to be called anything else, My Lord.”
After all the excitement of the police visit and the signing of
