Trask was gone, gone for another month. I could breathe again. Could I start thinking again? That was the question, because it didn't seem like I did much of that when he showed up. For twenty four hours or so it was like my mind was submerged in this dark miasma of overheated sexual hunger and desire.

Now he'd gone away to - wherever it was he disappeared to, maybe L.A., maybe New York. I was alone again in this amazing, multimillion dollar condo on the shore, alone in my head, too, trying to get settled the wild, outrageous memories his latest visit left in my mind.

I spent some time trying to settle what had happened in my mind, did some writing, stared out at the sunsets on the Pacific, and tried to come to grips with what I wanted to do next.

The memories of what had happened were filled with shocked pleasure. It was impossible not to think about it and not feel that sense of almost gleeful outrage at the perverted and kinky things I had done. I masturbated frequently, several times a day now, and mostly, I thought about what had happened with Trask - and maybe his buddy.

I settled into my routine of exercise, writing, and surfing the internet, then chatting with or going out to dinner with friends. It was hard dealing with them, though, for I had this incredible experience and couldn't talk about it, couldn't ask for advice. This wasn't something I could tell anyone I knew about!

Trask was a pervert, and I should leave. That's what the intellectual side of my mind said, without any doubt or hesitation. But then there was the emotional side of me. The emotional side of me was caught up in the turbulent sexual emotions of what he'd done to me, or with me.

The sexual experiences I'd had with him were so wild and intense, and despite things like painful spankings, or even a whipping(!) there was such a crescendo of thrilled excitement and pleasure attached to every memory that it made me long for more!

And the condo was so incredible! And I didn't have to work! And I had this glorious view every morning, not to mention the sunsets! How could I give this up?!

A week after he'd left I got an email from him, which was a bit weird given I'd never told him what my email address was. He told me a Mister Flanch would be coming at ten thirty sharp every Tuesday from then on. Mr. Flanch was a chef, and would teach me how to make some of Trask's favorite meals.

I snorted derisively. What an arrogant jerk he was!

The email went on to say that Ms. Saunders would be coming at Two the same day, to help teach me massage techniques.

"Oh God!" I said to myself, shaking my head.

Well, he had mentioned the massage tutor when he was there, so that wasn't all that big a surprise. Still, I resented the email, and its brusque, businesslike nature. He could at least have said hi!

But Flanch was a funny guy and he obviously was dedicated to great cooking. I was aware I wasn't exactly the best in that category, so grudgingly decided I might as well learn whatever he was going to teach me, even if I never used it for Trask.

Saunders was more of a shock, for she brought a guy with her to be our teaching dummy. He was young and slim and hot looking, and grinned a lot. His name was Allan, and she set him up in the master suite bathroom with its little mini-spa that contained a massage table.

I was... reluctant, but they acted very professional, so I went along, and found the lesson rather interesting, and kind of exciting, to be honest. I mean, sliding my slick hands over this guy's nice, firm body, well... I had to be careful and try to keep it, uhm, professional, you know?

Two days later another email from Trask giving me the name of another tutor, one to teach me how to make drinks, like a bartender. I was very interested in this one, because it offered a job opportunity if I could become any good at it! Maybe I could work as a bartender somewhere.

Of course, I was still doing the exercise thing, and still had the very toned trainer Karen, who was working on my upper body strength and abs.

None of it was boring, and all of it was worthwhile, but a part of me still fumed at Trask's making assumptions about what he could make me do or what he could make me learn. The man was so arrogant!

The fact that his visits were accompanied by a wall of sensation and emotions, though, made them unforgettable. Yes, they made me feel guilty, but not so much about being a slut. I mean, the sex was just too good to be guilty over that. No, I felt guilty about letting him treat me like, well, a sex slave!