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now, she liked that curve—a pretty line, and a nice combination of strength and softness. Her skin felt warmer than usual, more sensitive. Each touch was intensified, as if someone else was touching her instead of her own familiar hand. As if Drake were touching her, stroking her, teasing his way down to her mound.
    Her hand took that path. She hadn’t bothered with underwear when she got dressed again. It made it all too easy to stroke her soft pubic curls, imagining Drake’s hand there. Somehow in their play, he’d never done that. Would he be gentle or would he pull? Probably both. She gave a tentative tug and decided that it might feel good if he did it, but it didn’t work as masturbation. Then again, she didn’t think spanking herself would be the same either. She petted her soft fur idly, enjoying the sensation as her arousal built. She could hardly see the bathroom’s retro black-and-white tiles and magnificent tub over the red-and-purple swirls in her mind. Images of Drake and her entwined, fucking—of Drake tying her up—of Drake spanking her, or using that mysterious crop on her—danced among the colorful swirls. He’d said something about being cruel, about some of his desires being “alarming”. What else might he be into—and more to the point, would she like it?
    It was her fantasy, and in her fantasy, she knew she would. She didn’t go into specifics, but every tantalizing, erotic, harsh image she’d ever seen or read about flashed into her mind in hot succession. Ropes. Chains. Whips. Paddles. Silk stockings and black leather. Hands on her body, manipulating her, holding her down, making her feel small and helpless, yet desirable and desired and loved.
    She slid her fingers down to her clit, began to circle it as she imagined Drake’s finger where hers was. She was getting slicker as her pleasure built. The rich reds and purples in her mind moved like lava. Some dim part of her brain prompted her to pause long enough to unzip her jeans and let them pool around her ankles so they didn’t get soaked with her juices, a practical maneuver since she wasn’t entirely sure where her other jeans were. Trash bags didn’t come in enough colors for her to color code her packing effectively.
    Putting one foot up on the tub, she sank two fingers of her left hand into her pussy, gasping at the hot, slick grasp. Poor, silly Drake. He should be sorry his cock wasn’t where her fingers were.
    Of course she’d rather have his cock than her own fingers, too. Fingers were all very well, but that cock she’d felt through his clothes, and had seen outlined in those shorts, would be more satisfying, since it was attached to six-two of gorgeous, sensual, kinky man. She could picture it from all angles, him sunk balls-deep into her, his weight and strength holding her down. She could see all the muscles of his arms and chest and abs delineated, but at the same time she could imagine the ass she’d never seen or even groped, flexing and relaxing as he pumped into her. Filled her. Fucked her.
    She worked in and out of her pussy in the rhythm she imagined Drake using, circling her clit frantically as she did. Pressure built in her lower body, and the colors spiraled frantically. She clenched hard, feeling the firm pressure on her fingers and picturing how Drake would react, how he’d groan in a throaty, animalistic way and look astonished by how his control was cracking. How he’d cry out as he surged into her, filling her with hot come, his body jerking, his face turning red, looking alarming and warriorlike and sexy as hell.
    That image sent her tumbling into the lava pools of her mind. Light filled her, light of a color she couldn’t name, and she shattered. As the orgasm seized her, she cried out “Drake!”
    At that moment, the front door opened.

Chapter Six
    Going to the dojo had been a good plan, Drake reflected, enjoying the pleasant warmth of his muscles after a good workout. His instructor, Makoto,