Sex slave

Recently, as I boasted to one of my coworkers whom I have established a level of comradeship that allows this sort of behavior to take place, about what’s exciting to us and how I will incorporate it into my upcoming book, I showed him an article in the New York Post about a documentary that will air tonight at ten on CBS television on Sex Slaves. I told him it was one of the most fascinating themes explored in my book, briefly, of course. Then our boss showed up and joined us in the conversation, which soon turned explicitly about sex but not in a vulgar context. Both men opened up to my argument that dominance and performance go hand in hand, that in bed perhaps it was in order to get rid of the very bed, and to follow your animal instinct balancing it out with a sense of mastery that only your intellect can give, and you will be just as fortunate as I am. I told him that my wife was my “slave” and that if I took her to the movies, she better pay the honor by blowing me off. Of course, it was pure entertainment. But they both enjoyed the conversation as I saw in their pupils the ever-so-repressed malice.
Tim went on to say that once he went out with a girl and had a blowjob in a parking lot while he was sitting in his car. I countered that I had had a similar situation many times. In fact, I told them, I once met a married woman online and when we finally decided to meet and have a few drinks, as I looked into her lusty eyes, I told her that, quite frankly, I didn’t like her enough to have sex with her but that if she wanted she could blow me in her husband’s car which she agreed to. The story is almost completely true, except for some of the chauvinistic elements added that were meant to entertain my audience.