Author's note: This particular story is about five percent fiction, ninety five percent nonfiction. There will be, I imagine, many more stories about this particular pair to come. Of course, no pun intended there. In the meantime perhaps I will look in and see what Teresa and her Master have been up to. No good, I am sure.
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Michael led the slave up the metal stairs to his door, opened it and bid her entry. The girl went willingly, doing her best not to show her anxieties or fears; she had acquired this new situation by way of being released by One she had served faithfully for several years. Lifestyle changes demanded that she be let go. The deal was simple: Find another to serve or one would be found for her. It had taken a very long time for her to find the man holding the door open for her, and the reality was that she had known a long time previous to this moment that her heart swelled with love and adoration of Michael. They had 'It', and both the black-clad Dominant and the slave knew it. It thrummed in the air around them.
The girl, Lynn, was overwhelmed to the point of tears as she climbed the interior stairs that led to the apartment in the turn-of-the-previous-century house nestled into a quiet section of the city. She could feel that her face was paler than it normally was, and without her realization the pallor was further enhanced by the purple color of her hair. Hiding the burning liquid leaking from her eyes was impossible. The moment that Michael demanded her attention he would see these tears. The man knew this one was prone to such emotions, and seemed accepting and kind enough about it. Somehow this frightened Lynn even more. Her mind reeled; this man was kind and warm...by no means the kind of handler she had become accustomed to. He demanded eye contact, and she had been well trained to keep her eyes averted. Terror welled within the slave's chest, and she hoped fervently that she could learn to change.
Lynn heard the outer door close, just as she reached the top of the interior stairs. She stood aside, head down, and waited for Michael to ascend to the hallway landing. When he arrived, he took her hand and lead her to a small parlor and seated her on a small stool-like chair. One could hardly move around the room, there was so much musical equipment. Her heart sank at this: she had for years held a strict No Musicians policy. The reality was, to her, that musicians tended to hurt those they came involved with, and hurt deeply.
The profession almost demanded such, she perceived. Lynn's existing terror doubled itself as she carefully reached out and traced the edge of an obviously well used cymbal on a nearby stand; some of her fears began to dissipate, albeit slightly, as she allowed herself to look around the room and found a variety of things she found comforting...things she could relate to...such as a Native American wall-hanging, a dreamcatcher, bookshelves, a computer stand, a small ceramic sculpture of Darth Vader. Her face flared crimson as she noticed that it was her own image being used as the wallpaper on the monitor of the laptop computer.