"The Music Man doesn't have a weekend date for a couple of weeks, which means not until you're in Hartford." Thursday works for me," I answered. "And ...nytime you want to repeat that last little bit is fine with me too." I'm sure," She said with a light little laugh that was too musical to be called a giggle. "How about you escort me to lunch today, and we'll see if we can find an appropriate moment."The remainder of my morning was a blur. Lunch was a local sandwich shop, one of the usual. As I hurry past row after row of books, turn into the stairwell and race up the steps, my pussy is throbbing. I can almost hear it whispering in my ear that I should just stop by the public restroom on the main floor and slip into a cubicle to rub out a few more quick (although much weaker) orgasms before I leave the building and return to my car. The part of me that is mortified by my behaviour just wants to rush out and get home.I make a beeline for the outside doors, passing quickly through. (It's her! The one who said she'd hurt Lana! She said she enjoyed hurting people!)"See this golden collar around my neck. It means I'm woman number one. You call me Mistress. I'm in charge of training and discipline. When he lets me have you, I'll get inside you. In your mind. In your soul. Men think they can do it, but they can't. They can't get inside a woman like another woman can. Like I can. It won't take long. A week. Maybe two. You'll eat your own shit to please me."(She can't do it. She. To make things interesting we decided to place a small wager, winner decides what fate is bestowed on the loser. After a close game, she pocketed the nine ball in the corner pocket. Tracy let out a loud yes and pumped her fist in victory. With defeat, I ordered up two more beers and asked her for my punishment. Tracy sat for a while with no suggestions of repayment but continued to talk about the evening. She apologized again for the spilling my beer and mentioned what a nice night it turned.