I snapped my fingers and Marie stood next to the chair. I gestured at her clothes. She stripped. With a spin of a finger I ordered Marie to turn around and found a tattoo on her ass with the initials MLS that looked kind of sloppy. The whole thing seemed rough, and the initials were like on a backward slant.
“Who’s MLS?” I said, as I shook out the coiled ropes.
“Mistress Lorin,” Marie said. “The ‘S’ is for slave. I belong to her.”
“Oh? I don’t remember her saying anything about you before. But then I haven’t been here in a while.”
“She’s been training me, sir.” Then more to herself she repeated, almost like a mantra, Marie said, “I belong to her. I belong to her.”
“Yes. I heard you the first time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Wrists,” I said.
She crossed them at the small of her back.
“No, highe
