You would think getting caught sleeping with the boss’ boss would’ve gotten me fired, but thanks to my quick action to save the store manager from choking on his French fry, I managed keep my job. After the big embarrassment of getting caught in such a public manner I really wasn’t interested in pursuing anything further with the district manager, but much to my chagrin, that wasn’t what she wanted. During the subsequent week, I ignored the strategically placed notes left by her or the veiled messages announced over the loudspeaker during the day. It wasn’t like she turned ugly or began to wear on me, but I was more interested in a quick fuck rather than a long, drawn-out affair. I had to send her a firm signal. Scanning the sales floor, my eyes locked onto a woman in the eye-care department. She stood looking like a young Isabella Rossellini dressed as a leather-clad beatnik. My head was suddenly drawn to her as I floated toward her direction with the rest of my body scrambling along, finger combing my hair and performing a quick breath check. I introduced myself to her. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” “You’re the portrait studio guy, aren’t you?” I acknowledged my job as the portrait photographer and suggested we talk somewhere a little more private. She put on a pair of shades and looked at me as if she were looking through X-ray specs, then asked me to follow her. The district manager jealously watched me through the security-camera monitors in the back room. I hopped into the sporty black Porsche owned by the mysterious, leather-clad beatnik woman. The car zipped down the streets as she drove like a racecar driver to a nearby restaurant. She got out and handed the keys to a valet. Sipping on wine, she asked, “What makes you think you can get a woman like me—I’m a rich bitch?” she asked. “You don’t know who I am,” I said. “Who are you?” “I’m a pornographer.” “In disguise?” “Taking a break.” “Break from what?” “I made some bad moves with some bad people.” “And now you’re just the lowly portrait guy in a department store...” “...On a break,” I reminded her. Just as I was about to go another round with her, the district manager showed up at our table. She was livid. This Angie Dickinsonesque district manager—who led a reserved, kinky lifestyle under her blouse—made it known to everyone that I was hers and no one else’s. With the flip of a hand gesture, two very built men came to our table and escorted beatnik girl out of the restaurant. The restaurant seemed a little stuffy after that. Racing off in the Porsche again, we arrived at her apartment. The leather-clad beatnik Rossellini discarded her jacket to reveal a dominatrix suit complete with bitch boots and leather corset. I knew something was a bit different about this woman and with that thought, I received a swift kick to the groin and was on the floor in a fetal position. Her name was Mistress Colette, and the Mistress felt the need to torture me. She took hold of my ear and dragged me across the marbled floor to her dungeon where she began to strip me, whip me and inflict pain like I’d never felt. It all happened so fast I really didn’t have time to process the whole experience. She had me naked in shackles with my cock in a leash. Part of me tried to get into it, maybe find something enjoyable about my first S&M experience. This just wasn’t my cup of tea. It was 10AM on a Friday and I was being dragged out of the apartment by a cock harness and into the passenger seat of the Porsche. I couldn’t see anything as my head was covered in a zippered leather hood but from the sounds of it, we were going somewhere in the suburbs. “Uh, Mistress, might I ask where we’re…” “SHUT UP!” The car’s engine revved and the gears downshifted. We came to a sudden stop and she got out of the car. I was confused and I completely turned around. The door opened, she pulled me out onto the pavement, then poured baby oil all over me and feathered me. There was a roar of laughter and I realized I was being laughed at by large group of kids. I pulled off the hood to see I was at a high school. There I stood in my cock harness, with my pubes shaved and dyed pink into a heart shape, doused in baby oil and feathered, the high school kids laughing at me hysterically. Some of them were even rolling on the ground. I could see Mistress Colette’s car in the distance driving away. I saw a pair of teachers coming over, and that’s when I made my break. I grabbed my crotch with one hand and ran as fast as I could looking for the nearest exit into the woods, but it seemed every turn was a wrong one and my condition was exacerbated by the high-school kids running alongside me, laughing at me as I ran. Some cheered me on and even tossed boxer shorts at me. At first I was followed by a dozen kids but within seconds, the crowd tripled as they eagerly followed me through my frantic sprint through the mezzanine, the lunchroom cafeteria and then through the gym. It was like a tsunami wave had broken through the doors when I entered the gym accompanied by at least a hundred kids. A track team joined in as I made my way out onto a track field. The runners easily matched my speed and stamina, leaping in unison with me over the three-foot-high hurdles. I crossed a football field where the quarterback tried to take me out with the football. A forest was in sight as I hopped a fence. The majority of the crowd stopped at the fence, but the runners kept going. By the time we entered the forest, there were only a handful of the runners sprinting alongside me. They were so ecstatic they were screaming like wild natives giving a war cry. After a while they all gave up and I managed find an old tarp to cover up. “I knew something was a bit different about this woman and with that thought, I received a swift kick to the groin and was on the floor in a fetal position.”