Alcohol mixed with my primal need to mate overrode my dislike of physical contact with another, except for you. It matters not that my body has been t...mporarily rendered unable to procreate. As you have noticed, I’m verbally communicating with you. My brain is hormonally overloaded, with my need to mate, to the point of permitting us to speak. Jon temporarily sated my needs sufficiently for us to succumb to a deep sleep in each other’s arms. I now need your unique talents to copulate with me. ..." My words confused her, and she couldn't think of anything to respond with except, "I'm your Mistress, you're my slave." "No... Penny.... Must help." "Shhhh," she said, rubbing her torso against my dick. "See how good that feels? Call me Mistress and I will let you feel it again." "Slave.... You... Slave." "No. Me Mistress, you slave. You very horny slave. " "Penny!" I cried. "No, now be quiet. You don't want my Master hearing you." I struggled to get free, then just as I was about to cry. The first was an antique leather-bound journal with a worn strap holding its covers shut, the second was a heavy envelope with my name, Melissa Gordon, written on it in neat (if old-fashioned) cursive hand. The letter inside was typed on expensive heavy-weight paper that had the company watermark in the center of the page. The letter explained that the law firm had been retained by a small, independent museum to find and return the accompanying diary to the nearest living heir of the doner.. “Peter Jones. You’re a strange man. Not like other husbands at all. But I love you.”I was still holding the expensive necklace Francis had bought her, so she barely had to move to kiss my cheek. She kissed it twice, gently whispering afterward, “Are you still okay if I stay overnight?”This had been Sue’s earlier request which I’d agreed to. I was glad she was checking I was still okay with this arrangement. She looked into my eyes and the way her expression changed I was sure she’d seen.