Liz took the belt, as Cass crawled back onto her lap. “Whose belt is that?” Liz asked. “It’s Eric’s.” She replied. Liz brought the folded ...eather belt down hard on her ass. WAP! “Whose?” “Eric’s, Mistress.” She corrected herself. WAP! “Whose?” The fire that was enveloping her upturned behind was only cooled by Liz forcing her to say his name. “Eric’s Mistress.” Cass replied again. WAP! WAP! WAP! “Is that what you call your Master?” “He’s not my Master anymore, Mistress.” A single tear formed. He looked around the room and asked, “Does that include John?”Looking up from his journal, John answered, “Yes it does.”With an audible groan, Nevada looked at Ed wondering if he had joined some weird cult. Then he wondered if Ed was actually sleeping with John. Was Ed a closet faggot? To everyone in the room, the thoughts that were going through his head were clear. John said, “There’s a lot about Ed that you don’t know. He’s taken a few days off from work, but I bet you don’t know what he was. We ... I’ve determined that you just don’t have a firm enough grasp on things right now. I’m convinced it’s important that we do things a certain way and your way isn’t it. Until I’m sure that we’re not going to have any other radio call-ins or television commercials, I just can’t have you in charge of this section.”I bit my tongue and nodded.“I’ll find someplace else for you,” Liz continued.“The fuck you will,” I said. “I’ve got an opt-out at 90 days. It’s fucking shame I didn’t set it for 20. He had a frog in his throat when the one email that followed directions actually hit his inbox. He almost did not want to open it because there was only so much one could take before having to give up everything and just say that Craigslist was bullshit.It was not that long of an email, but it said enough to make him want to reply. Whoever wrote this was looking for the same thing that he was. He was pretty sure that was a good thing. There were no glaring spelling or grammatical errors. (Not.