Sometimes, when she was alone in the museum like this, she thought of the collection as something she could hear. Most of the artifacts were made to be vessels for some ancient god or spirit, after all, so the building should be crawling with the sounds of old ghosts and gods. If she listened carefully enough, would she hear the ancient priests touching the possessions they were buried with or caressing the outlines of their own mummified bodies? Would she hear them ask what became of their sacred tombs? Would she hear their prayers? She took her glasses off and pinched the brow of her nose. God, I’ve been working here too long, she thought. She drank her cold coffee and looked around the cluttered office. I should go home. It’s too late to be here. Too late to be surrounded by all these dead people and their dead things. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the job, bigger museums had offered her jobs with better money and more prestige, but she always turned them down. She stayed because. I knew I wasn't ready. She didn't care. She couldn't get enough collar time. She craved it after having done without for so long. She was like a kid with a sweet tooth locked in a candy store at night with no one else there. She was an addict and it changed her. It scared the shit out of me.I knew she thought she was trying to help me by being the perfect submissive, but unfortunately, I wasn't even close to being the perfect Master. It wasn't a 'fit' that would work. I needed the love of my life to be the love of my life. I was willing to make changes, drastic ones to keep her, but I would not risk losing her.I was caught on the horns of a dilemma, with both of my choices having a high probability of losing the type of relationship with Sally that I needed. It angered me that Sally now seemed to 'go sub' with anyone to get her 'fix', even another woman, in this case, Bala, the sub and wife of my friend. I didn't know or recognize at that time that women — and men — could be either.
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