“Small world, isn’t it, W?” Eleanora Marshall said with a smile.“You two know each other?” the short man said.“We have a professional acqu...intance,” I said tersely. “I build specialized equipment that Ms Marshall is interested in.”“That Mistress Nora is interested in,” she said, again smiling. “Hugo knows all about me. My contacts in the scene are why I was recruited for this job.” She paused and then said, “I’m working on contract for a special operation.”“I was supposed to tell you that he. Who am I? I am a slave to a master. A boy to his man, a son to his father. And, he is that first guy to put his penis in my mouth. Several years after that first cum, I entered into an agreement, almost a kin to a marriage. I agreed to be his slave. He provides me food and shelter, as well as sexual bliss from time to time, and deep physical pain. I provide him with my love and care, the submission of my body and sexual spirit, and anything else he ever needs. It's a highly unequal. Her face has a pale, innocent, almost angelic look.In other circumstances, she could be a young college student, an artist, or the daughter of a business associate. There is nothing exceptional about her. Countless beggars like her loiter around the downtown streets asking for spare change.She is probably a drug addict, a homeless teenager, or a prostitute. Maybe, she's one of those cocaine whores that Fuller has read about in the X-Rated Men's magazines. The other pedestrians flow around. I picked up a stapled stack of sheets. My eyes floated lightly over the quarter-memorized words on them.I spent the morning thus reading. The words in the articles entered into a dialogue with ideas half-formed in the back corner of my mind. A trance fell deep over me through lunch and into the early afternoon as, occasionally, I quietly sang a line or two of something mellow on the radio to myself. Looking at the clock, I broke and grabbed a tattered notebook and a folder into which I crammed.