The following week Friday night she texted me one line:
Valentina: Pack an overnight bag. Actually, don’t, you won’t need clothes.
I showed up at her door at 8 p.m. with nothing but my phone, keys, and the shortest silk robe I owned underneath my coat. She opened the door wearing just a black boxer briefs and a harness, and nothing else.
The thick black strap-on was already in place, pointing out straight. My mouth went dry.
“Strip in the hallway,” she said, voice calm. “Leave the robe on the floor. You won’t see it again until Monday.”
I obeyed, shaking, until I stood naked in her doorway, my n*****s hard from arousal and cold marble under my bare feet. She looked at me over slowly, top to bottom, then crooked a finger.
“Crawl.”
I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled inside.
