”“Mom,” she said with a detectable bit of exasperation, “okay ... I LIKE Derek. He LIKES me. She heaved a heavy sigh. I was being indulged. “IN much the same fashion that you and Dad like each other...”At that point in the conversation, I thought that I suffered both massive cardiac arrest and the rupture of a brain aneurism.“WHAT?!?!?”“Mooo-ooommmmm!” Two syllables.“Are you and Derek doing things?!?”First expression to cross her face was horror. “Noooooo!” Second was like she was explaining things to one of the Community babies. “We hold hands, Mom. We have kissed. EVERYBODY KNOWS he’s my boyfriend...”‘Everybody EXCEPT your mother,’ I thought.“This ‘boyfriend’ thing. Explain it to me...”“Mooo-ooommmm.” Two syllables again. “He’s just RIGHT. Didn’t you tell me one time that Dad was just RIGHT?”“Baby,” I said, “yes, I did. But I was graduating college and your dad had just gotten his first teaching position.” And when the words came out of my mouth I knew EXACTLY how my Munchkin would. The next week, she told me that she wanted to become a dominatrix, shehad always been more dominant whenever all of the pets got together andin her mind, I was the perfect one to practise on. I told her I would,but the speed of her timetable surprised even me. The very next morning,I woke up and turned over in my bed. The first thing I felt was a collararound my neck, then the familiar feeling of my arms laced into somethingbehind me. The soft clink of a chain near my ankles let me know that myankles had been shackled, and a soft ache in my feet let me know thatthey were in ballet boots.I hadn't worn any since I had been freed, and the sight of my feet inthem made me moisten up immediately. As I sat up, I noticed a chain frommy right ankle to the bed, long enough to reach the bathroom but not therest of my apartment."Ah, your awake, I trust you like how I dressed you," I heard her say asshe stood in the doorway, wearing a black leather skirt, bra and 4inheeled boots. Her hair was.
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