Of course, the next day featured an enormous row with my parents.
While surely great fodder for fans of soap operas and Jerry Springer, this was nothing I care to recount. Suffice it to say that the fact that I was ditching college and moving in with my girlfriend of less than a month (to say nothing of donating all my belongings down to the last sock to Goodwill) did not go down well.
In any case, I rode out the storm and finally showed up at Master’s door precisely as ordered at five minutes to four, with just the clothes on my back and every last cent I owned in my wallet. And there I was promptly divested of even these.
Master let me in (beautifully, heart-breakingly naked herself) and immediately demanded that I strip.
“Get those clothes off, Slut-boy! Dogs don’t wear clothes. The
