..Stacy has now been married for almost five years to a man she hates and during that time she has had sex a handful of times when she was either drun... or in a rare moment when she didn't find her husband repulsive. I've met him and he's a male chauvinist pig and afterwards I found myself questioning how anyone would marry someone that awful. She did and she is stuck with a house, a k** and an asshole. She's miserable and as of a few months ago, open sexually to seeing other people because. "A-a question?" Yes, honey," she purred, playfully brushing her lips over mine and making my whole body sing out with demands that I knew I must not voice. "You will ask me, simply, 'how may I serve you, Mistress?' and then you will wait for me to tell you. Do you understand?"I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath, tried to calm the galloping stampede of my heart, tried to harness the fireball that burned in my sex. "Of course I understand," I wanted to shout, "of course I'll do. Perhaps it’s what it lacked as much as what it contained that struck me. There was no pretence, no pleasant veneer; it was a look of lust, pure and simple. Not theatrical, not flirty, her eyes just bored into mine with a simple, animal look.When she brought the drinks over the look had gone and I got her talking about some youth group she helped to run. The fun they had had planting an orchard, the chasing of girls by boys, the laughter and the puffing and panting and the removing of sweaters. But something seemed a bit fishy about it… After classes, I went back to the dorms to see Bradley waiting impatiently outside the door. ‘You took the only key, fuckface,’ he announced. Without answering, I gave him a chummy smile and unlocked the door. As I slipped the keys back into my pocket, I felt the rustle of a small bit of folded paper. I took it to my bed, sat down and unfolded the little bugger. Inside, I found a note scrawled on the paper. It read: Outside the fountain 10:35. Be there.