Chapter Seven
Mrs. Dalton
I arise Thursday morning with no intention of going to the office. The hours of plunging the huge phallus into Ted’s backside has tired me. The orgasms were countless.
I finally drag myself out of bed and while making coffee retrieve the newspaper. Propped against the apartment door is a package, evidently forwarded by the doorman. A simple return address rubber stamped on the upper left corner indicates it is from the ASBM, the acronym for the American Society for Behavior Modification. There are no other markings except my name.
The newspaper can wait. I sit at the kitchen table and open the plainly wrapped package. It has been hand delivered and is intriguing in its relative anonymity.
I sip my coffee and inspect.
Inside is a catalogue accompanied by a co
