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From: "Charles Thain" <okiquit@hotmail.com>
Subject: Chapter 2
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My Weekend in Portland -- Chapter 2 of 30 (mf ff mff)

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But she didn't know that. It was clear Ruth carried a big burden of
guilt over her role in getting me downsized. In fact, she talked for 
quite
a while, explaining in detail what an cruel backstabber she had been. 
Tears
glistened in her beautiful dark eyes.

Finally she fell silent, sitting across the dining table from me, 
staring 
down at her hands clasped in her lap. I couldn't think of anything much 
to  
say, so I stayed silent. After a few moments she took a deep breath and 
spoke again.

"I know you're angry, and you have every right to be," Ruth said meekly. 
"Nobody would blame you if you beat the crap out of me and left me 
bleeding
in the street, not even me.

"If you want, I'd like to do something to make up for the horrible 
things 
I've done to you," she said.

I laughed bitterly.

"There's nothing you can do that would change anything," I said a 
little sharply. "Unless you can turn back time."

"I know, I KNOW, there's nothing I can really do that will fix the 
past!" 
Ruth said, staring at me desperately. "But there IS something I can do 
that would even the scales a little."

At this point I began to think she was talking about money, which struck 
me as 
ridiculous, so I didn't quite hear what she said next.

"Would you say that again." 

"I could be your slave," Ruth said, barely above a whisper.

This time I heard just fine, but didn't understand. 

"What do you mean, you could be my slave?"

"For the next 48 hours I would do anything you told me to do," Ruth 
said, her voice growing stronger. "Anything that wasn't illegal or 
life-threatening."

She didn't act or sound like she was joking, but I still wasn't sure. 

"You mean if I ordered you to clean my house or give me a back rub, or 
drive out to Astoria for fresh salmon you'd do it?" I asked. 

"Yes," she said, pausing, "anything."

"What if I ordered you to do something you wouldn't ordinarily do?" I 
taunted, still not really believing. "What if I ordered you to take off
your blouse?"

"Is that an order?" she asked quietly, her eyes cast down.

"Yes, that's an order," I said, beginning to wonder how far she would 
go.

She made no reply, but her hands moved up to her throat and began
unbuttoning the first of the tiny round buttons. Barely breathing, my 
mouth was suddenly dry. I watched her unfasten one after another until, 
finally, they were all undone and she pulled the tail of her blouse with 
difficulty out of the 
waistband of her skirt. Then she unbuttoned another dozen tiny buttons 
at the cuffs and a few seconds later she dropped her blouse to the 
floor. 
I could see from the heave of her breasts in her bra that she was 
breathing heavily, almost panting. A flush spread across the smooth, 
bare skin of her shoulders and neck.

"Stand up," I said, feeling bolder, and she stood, still looking down at
the table. 

"Take off your skirt," I ordered, and when her skirt dropped to the 
floor, "Take off your bra." Seconds later her large, pale breasts swung 
free, her big, dark brown nipples already pointing stiffly.  
         
I stood and walked around the table to her. "Look at me," and her eyes 
locked on mine. Hers were full of fear. My mind was racing, full of 
ideas.

"Do you want to be my slave for the next 48 hours," I asked. She tried 
to
speak, her eyes boring into mine, and finally managed a choked, "Yes."

"Suck me."
         
(End of Chapter 2)


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