"Well, she is my Mistress. Shall we get this in the open." I confessed, "She knows it is inevitable that I will encounter other women and of course sh... would want me to be polite and respectful to them. I have to tell her of course. She introduces me to other women too sometimes. It's good training." How do you mean Mistress?" she queried, "that's an old sort of a term isn't it, especially if you're not married." She is my Mistress. She owns me." I replied simply."Owns you?" I am her slave. It. This was not helped by the number of daily posts on one of the blogs Isubscribed to showing pictures of so many of the girls having so much funat the bars each night. What kept me inside was the fear of being stoppedby the police, having a flat tire or even getting in and out of the housewithout the nosy neighbor seeing me. Both men and women look at otherwomen and these stares, even if I could pass, were unnerving to say theleast. So fear was keeping me inside but the longing to go out. The single-wide trailer behind the truck-stop on I-20 west of Fort Worth did not boast comm service. And it would be a chilly day in Hades before Chris’ mother would use the comm inside the convenience store / gas station / restaurant.Now, a normal moderately financially sound person wouldn’t think of using an external comm device. Everybody who was anybody had a chip that was implanted and handled comm traffic quickly, easily and silently -- they called it a head comm. Chris was a poor student. The morning flew by since I was so busy, it seemed like twenty minutes went by, I looked at the clock, and it was lunchtime already. I left my office and made my way to the cafeteria. As I turned the corner towards the cafe, I ran smack into Paula. My eyes bulged out of their eye sockets. When I saw Paula this morning, she had a coat on, and I didn't see the short black skirt, black heels, and a low cut white blouse.I stopped dead in my tracks; Paula smiled, telling me, "We have to stop.