Michael looked helpless as he stood over the computers and the pile of cables. We had just emptied the boxes and we needed to make room for these new additions to his office.

“I’ve never had a color monitor.”

“You’ll like it. Where do you want it?”

He scooped the old monitor off of his desk and set it on the floor. “Right here.”

“Shouldn’t we dust it?”

He grinned. “Good idea.” His desk, he proudly told me once, was once owned by Truman. “I’ve got some polish around here.”

“Do you use it much?”

“This might be the first time.”

I helped him clean his desk and we set the heavy, CRT monitor gently on the antique wood.

“Where does the other one go?”

He pointed to an empty corner. “Over there.”

“Where’s the desk?”

“I’m waiting for you to buy it.” He grinned. “That’s for you.”

“I’m going to work here?”

“You’ll have your own trading station. You can use my office like it’s yours and ask me for advice.”

“That’s generous.”

“My kids aren’t interested in trading, and I’d like to pass on the business. If you stick around, I’ll help and I’ll take… say, 2% of your earnings.”

“That’s really, really–“

“I like you, Jason. But promise me you’ll get me over this technical hurdle.”

He held out his hand and I shook it hard.

The rest of the day we got CommodiTrade up and running and he worked with his broker to set up an online profile.

“I’m still gonna use the phone.”

Friday was slow so Michael and I closed early. This gave me time to head to the apartment gym. With Rebecca around, I wanted to look better for her. I didn’t like lifting weights but if it made her more attracted to me, I’d do it.

A package, in shiny black paper with a blood-red ribbon, leaned against the door. Under the bow, tucked away, was a small, red card. “Jason” was written in black ink.

Still covered in sweat, I set the package on the counter and jumped in the shower. The spray of cool water invigorated my sweaty skin and I scrubbed myself clean.

It could only have come from Rebecca. I let the water run through my hair while I played with my cock. She had such gorgeous soft lips. I fondled a nipple and surprisingly my cock got harder. She was doing things to me I’d never wondered of before. Pain was at all times something I’d avoided, until last week.

“No!” I shouted, surprising myself. Lustful thoughts about Rebecca didn’t seem right. I didn’t want to look at her that way.

I barely toweled off and stood on the carpet still dripping with water. I pulled the ribbon, undoing the bow and set it apart. Gently pulling the tape, I pulled out a black cardboard box with ‘The Crypt’ embedded in silver letters on the top.

Inside, a PVC shirt sat nicely folded with a pair of PVC pants underneath. On the top was another card, with the same handwriting as the other card.

“Look sexy for me. You’re MY slut. Be at my place at seven thirty. Don’t be late. But don’t be early.” I could hear her laughing as she wrote that.

My hand ran across the shirt, sliding across the slick fabric. My stomach churned. I was being told what to wear, like a slut. Dress for her pleasure, like a good boy. That’s what she wanted. I was a little turned off by that, but the clothes looked hot.

Fingers trembled undoing the buttons. I rubbed it across my face and let the cool vinyl run across my lips. I was gonna be sexy. But seven thirty was still six hours away. I needed to pass the time.

Back at Barnes and Noble I read more of the CommodiTrade manual. If Michael wanted me there, I needed to up my game. Fortunately there were a few books on technical trading.

I glanced at my watch. Only a couple of hours had gone by. I’d seen a hair salon in the mall. Yes! I’d get a haircut. It would make Rebecca happy. She’d see I was trying to look good.

A goth was thumbing through a magazine. “Haircut?”

“Yes.”

She tossed the magazine apart and swung her chair around.

As she put on the apron, she asked “What do you want?”

“What’s in?” I asked.

“What’s not in? It’s the nineties.” Her black bangs draped close to dark mascara. She had intense blue eyes. She tousled my hair in that way only stylists know how to do. “Long or short?”

“Short.” Short was professional and I’m sure Rebecca wanted short hair.

“We’ll cut it short on the sides and longer on the top so you can add pomade to slick it back.”

“I like that. Slick hair.”

She grabbed both sides of my head and pulled my head up. “Don’t be shy, bashful.”

I didn’t realize I had kept my eyes down. “Sorry.”

She clipped the razor guard with a snap and ran the razor up my neck. “Got plans tonight? Looking to slick up your hair?”

“Uh….”

“I’ll make sure you look cute, don’t worry.” She pressed her breasts in while she moved the razor to the sides. Dark rose and musk wrapped around my head.

“Him or her?”

“Huh?”

“You looking good for him or her?”

This was one of those weird things about returning to America after 2 years. Things were really different. I didn’t know if she was prying or this was casual conversation. “Her.”

“She’s lucky.”

She pulled my bangs up and put her fingers about a quarter inch down. “This much?”

“Yeah, that looks good.”

“Still should be enough to slick it up.”

The perfume was intoxicating and with her breasts pushing against me, my cock got uncomfortably hard. She might have noticed, but didn’t look down. The next ten minutes were unbearably embarrassing as I felt the cock try to press through the pants.

“How does that look?” She held up a mirror.

“Wow! I like that!” She had really shortened the sides.

“You’ve got a strong chin and cheekbones. Short hair makes you look more regal.”

She came back with some pomade. “Here’s how you use this.”

Her fingers pulled up a small, sticky dab of pomade. She ran it through her fingers and ran it through my hair. Clinically, she worked her fingers through the hair. It was like a massage. Then she combed it to the side.

“All slicked up, boy.”

I liked it. I liked her. “Thanks…?”

“Cara. And I’ll call you, Slick.”

I thought if she was angling for a date. “Thanks, Cara. Do you recommend any colognes for someone like me?”

She ran her fingernails through my hair, patting it down. “A boy like you should go for something fresher, more naive. Nothing dark. I think that’s for her.” She tapped my head. “Go with Cool Water. That’ll tell her you’re not going to be aggressive.”

I made sure to tip her well and carried my little bag of pomade while I browsed the rest of the mall. I found a department store that sold the cologne. It was time to go home and look sexy.

I glanced at my watch. Just ten minutes left. I liked the look in the mirror. My dark hair slicked to the side. The PVC clothes clung tightly to my shoulders and hips. A leather belt hung more as ornamentation than functionality, but it worked. They were very tight. The vinyl creaked as I moved. There was a tight resistance with each step and it felt great. How did she understand my size?

I sprayed the Cool Water up in the air and let it settle on me.

I gave myself fifteen seconds.

A note on the door said, “Come in.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t such a fancy setup in this apartment complex. Everything looked like it cost a grand or more. The couch was embroidered in silver and gold. Brass lamps sat on ornate end tables. A coffee table with a pattern of gray tile sat before the couch.

“I’m here.” I said a little loud.

“Be right there. Just stay where you are. I don’t want your shoes on the carpet.”

“Okay.”

No issue with that. I got stuck in that habit in Korea.

Paintings on her walls looked original. At least it seemed so. I could see real paint. But they were abstract with lots of swirls in muted colors that matched the furniture.

“Oh, you cut your hair.”

I turned and nearly fell back against the door. She wore a black, leather catsuit that hugged her curvy hips and clung tightly around her waist, arms and legs. A zipper ran from her belly up to her neck, but she only pulled it halfway up, revealing a deep cleavage. Black, leather boots molded her calves. I’d never seen her in anything but a t-shirt and this was stunning. But she had changed. Her face now took a stricter look. Auburn hair flowed over her leathered shoulders but blood red lips and dark mascara intimidated me.

She came towards me and reached out, a hand clothed in black leather brushed my hair and then my cheek.

“I like the cut. But didn’t I say you didn’t need a haircut?”

“I wanted to surprise you. I thought you’d like it.”

She ran a finger along the slick hair. “I do like it. But I’m disappointed that you didn’t ask me first.”

She was getting a little bossy about a stupid haircut.

“It’s my hair.”

She frowned. The first time I’d seen that. I put my eyes down.

“I know. Where did you get it cut?”

“At the mall. The salon in there.” I was meek. Embarrassed to even talk.

“Who cut it?”

“Cara,” I whispered.

“Who?”

“Cara.”

‘What does she look like?”

“She’s a goth.”

“That should be easy.”

What did she mean by that?

She slapped my ass. “Your other clothes didn’t flatter you. This compliments your bod. I want everyone to look at my slut.”

She grabbed her keys off the end table. “C’mon.”

I followed her to the carport where a red BMW convertible waited.

“You never told me what you do,” I said after buckling the seat belt.

“I’m a graphic designer for You Know Who. You see my icons every time you begin up your computer.”

The BMW rumbled to life.

Her leathered hand stroked the stick, and she put it in reverse. A clutch. No surprise.

“That explains the tasteful apartment.”

“Oh? Did you like the paintings?”

“They’re original, aren’t they?”

“I have lots of artist friends. Now that I have an income, I can support their work.”

“What’s his name?”

“Her name. All my art is by women.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s Nadine Sturm. You’ll see her tonight. But don’t talk to her unless she talks to you. And she goes by Mistress Sturm.”

“A domme?”

She ran her hand along my thigh. “A real domme. And a real bitch.”

She slammed the accelerator and we sped out of the complex.

I knew the way to the highway, but just a few blocks down she pulled into a coffee shop.

“Do me a favor? Get me a grande mocha?”

It wasn’t a request.

“What? In this getup?”

“It’s gonna be a long night and I need some caffeine. Please. No one will care. It’s late. It’ll be empty anyway.”

She was right about that. I could see the lobby and nobody was inside.

I turned to look once more, just to see if she would burst into a smile and say, ‘Just Kidding!’

“I want to watch your ass in those tight pants, so hurry up.”

I sighed. “Okay.”

The walk to the door was agonizing enough. Did the cars slow down as they watched me?

C’mon, Jason, nobody cares. You’re just another weirdo on a Friday night.

I opened the door. The air conditioning felt good on my face. I was sweating from nerves.

“Welcome! What can I get you?”

“Uh, a grande mocha and an Americano… grande.”

“Sure. “Five fifty seven.”

My hands slipped on the billfold as I pulled it out. I was too embarrassed to look at her. I gave her a ten.

“Thanks. Here’s your change.”

I shoved a couple dollars in the tip jar and shuffled to the other side of the counter.

Rebecca had parked facing the windows, so I could see her in the car. She was motioning with her hand, turn around! Turn around!

I turned around. The two young baristas were totally immersed in their work.

Finally, after an eternity of hearing my heart pounding, she said, “Grande mocha and Americano.”

I grabbed the coffees.

“By the way,”

Uh oh.

She looked a little mischievous.

“You look great! What’s the occasion?”

“We’re ah…. going to The Catwalk.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really? That’s the trendiest club in Seattle!”

“I didn’t know.” Her approval really threw me and I suddenly smiled. “Yes, I’m going with a friend.”

“You have a cool friend.” She leaned against the counter and dropped her head melodramatically. “Ohhh, my friends won’t go with me. Tell me about it sometime!”

“Thanks! I will!”

One of them whistled as I walked out the door.

I handed Rebecca her mocha and clicked the belt.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.”

“No. She was jealous.”

“I knew it would be okay.”

She sped off towards the highway. “We have to walk six blocks to the club, so you’ll get a lot more looks than that.”

“I don’t care. I feel a lot better now.”