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All the while we were there, we kept looking at each other but never spoke.A couple of days after this incident, she texted me on Tinder, saying she saw me at a pub. Initially, I thought she was just messing with me. I asked her to describe the place and the songs that were being played. She got that right and also mentioned what I was wearing and where I was seated.The obvious question I then asked her is why she didn’t come to speak to me if she was sure it was me. She said she tried but couldn’t gather the courage to approach me as I was in a big group.I was disappointed that I couldn’t see her and she saw me. It was then she said that I was staring at her all through the evening. To confirm, I asked her if she was the lady in the black crop top and blue denim. When she said yes, I was thanking my stars that I knew this stunning lady and could meet her again.We finally decided to meet for lunch one fine weekend. The same day my car broke down, and I had to take my two-wheeler. I. She looked up at him, and Phil could see the trust and contentment in her eyes.That she was enjoying her own degradation was something Phil could not comprehend, could not fathom. But the asymmetry drove him wild. This was not an exchange of equals. He was master and she was slave. He was to be served, she was to serve. The patriarchy of it thrilled him. The rules were gone, shredded to ribbons.He took the leash and walked his dog, taking her all the way around the room. "I can't believe you'd crawl like a dog." I'm your little bitch, master." Bark for me, bitch." Phil amused himself by having her make a variety of dog sounds: yelps, barks, and whines. "Now you know what to do with what we bought at the pet store."She took the water bowl out of the bag. He had her fill it with water from the bathroom tap. "Now drink, bitch."God! An unclothed, shackled woman on her hands and knees, lapping up water out of a bowl, like a dog. The sight of water brought an odd feeling to his bladder..
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