When I see Luisa, memories of the previous night come rushing to the front of my brain. The bitch had been a good fuck, yeah, but then she started talking about me becoming her slave. Maybe my mistake was listening, maybe it was somking her pot. I don't know. I don't care.

"Come on Luisa, you owe me some answers. Where the fuck did you get this collar that you slapped on me? More importantly, what made you think you could slap it on me in the first place? And where are my clothes?"

The wily girl doesn't answer me at all, at least not until she twists free from my grasp, and deftly pins my offending arm beghind my back. As she applies still more pressure, intense pain shoots from my wrist to my shoulder. "'Ere, 'ere now Jason," she purrs, "can we talk calmly about this or must I break your arm?"

"We, we can talk calmly Lusia, I promise. Don't break my arm," I whimper. "I'll carry her pack," I add, sniffling, as I look at the feet of the new arrival.