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"North American?" she asked, as her nimble fingers spread the lotion on the spots that I'd missed."Uh, yeah. How'd you know?" I was really being suave today!She showed me the label on the sunblock I'd brought with me without speaking. Of course."Are you from around here?" I asked"I've lived in Rio de Janeiro all my life," she replied, "but I went to school in the States - UCLA. Now I live here in Ipanema. I find people here to be, shall we say, a bit more open minded." What do you do here?" I have a specialty medical practice." She finished her ministrations and turned me around with gentle pressure of her deeply tanned hands on my shoulders."Oh? What specialty?" My curiosity was finally helping me forget my earlier clumsiness.She smiled indulgently before replying, "I suspect you would be shocked if I told you."My curiosity was really aroused now. "Ok. Then shock me!"She gave a little shrug. "I help men, and sometimes women, change their sex." Really!" I was a little surprised, but I. She started with the cleaning-up after dinner and dogged her until late in the evening. Diane could do no right. Cheryl brought her to tears several times. Cheryl reminded me of a drill sergeant at boot camp: loud, degrading, demeaning, and authoritative. What's more, Diane reminded me of a young trainee: frightened, nervous, unsure, moldable.Jason and I cringed when Cheryl first slapped Diane across the face for not addressing her as ma'am. We left the room when Cheryl forced Diane's nose into some gravy she'd spilled on the floor. After three days, Cheryl had Diane stepping and fetching. She had her calling her ma'am, calling me, sir, and calling Jason, master. Jason loved his title.On the fourth day, after breaking a cheap vase, Cheryl instituted spanking. She took Diane by the elbow and marched her into the garage. We heard the smacks and cries. Right after the spanking, Jason disappeared into his room for an hour. I later learned that Cheryl had administered the spanking on.
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With a heavy, rubber seal he stamped the envelope shut and left the room with it in hand. He would use one of the patrons at the Tavern to deliver it in Drakalen’s absence. And yet something disturbed him. What he had written in the letter was appalling enough it would still send the girl down to inspect the situation. Even if he’d pleaded with her not to come, she would investigate, and likely try her hand at mangling Drak where he could not. Poor Ashlee. Poor poor Ashlee fucking Micalo, for the mercenary of lust, sadism and sardonic repertoire seemed to have fallen into a strangling net of unsated desire with so many others. Those slaves (even if he himself were taken aback by Ana), that cousin, the strangers who resided in that god-awful castle… So many of them grated on his nerves, forcing a hush over his throat, even though he’d not even spoken for a solid two, maybe three hours now? The letter was enclosed in his pocket by the time he reached the kitchen to pull a bottle.

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