Chapter 1

The window was open, and the sounds of the city danced into my bedroom ... moving to a beat that is both familiar and sublime. A car alarm blared its unheeded warnings shrilly in a back alley, as a News helicopter thudded over a city made of glass and dreams.

Brave birds attempted to share their songs from their rooftop perches, while the horns of angry cabbies occasionally raised their voices ... eager not to be forgotten. My drapes fluttered gracefully in the city breeze ... carrying with them the stench of urban life.

New York City is my home and my prison ... depending upon my mood ... depending on my job.

In a fold of leather resting on my bedside table is an ID card and a badge that identifies me as Jonathan Creed, an FBI agent.

The Bureau demands hard hours from its employees. The pay is slim and the work is taxing ... both mentally and emotionally. For the longest time my identity as an agent was the role that defined me.

However, in the past half a month, a beam of happiness disrupted me from wallowing in my own depression.

In the bathroom of my townhouse was a girl named Sarah Gale.

She is new in my life. Circumstances brought us together ... but we have made the best of our situation, and it is because of her ... a girl who claims to be my slave ... that I see myself with different eyes. Sometimes, when I see her look at me with adoration ... with worship ... I find myself believing that I can fill the role of 'Master.' But roles change. Sometimes they deepen and become an inseparable part of you, and sometimes they disappear, leaving nothing in their wake but emptiness.

I was lying on the bed when the phone rang.

The melodious unassuming ring jarred me from my musings.

I had been contemplating life, a dangerous subject to be sure. But nonetheless, I had been contemplating something that a dear friend and mentor had once said to me. He had said that a normal life wasn't worth having, and I agreed with him.

The phone ringing seemed like a normal enough occurrence, though ... and I thought it best that I answer it ... despite the fact that I wasn't expecting any callers.

"Hello, this is Jonathan Creed," I said.

"Um? Hello? Mr. Creed it's Rachel."

I groaned to myself mentally. Rachel Lebrie was my newly appointed secretary. Mr. Jones had decided that due to my 'excellent' work apprehending the corporate criminal Ronald Turner, I was due for a promotion.

Personally, I didn't really think I did much in the way of 'apprehending' Turner. It would be more accurate to say that he 'apprehended' me, and I just happened to get away and raise a few alarms in the process.

Regardless, my new promotion meant two things.

A bigger office that was the size of a bedroom rather than a closet, and a secretary whose purpose would be to answer my calls, deal with annoying subordinates seeking my help, and keep track of me.

I really hated that last part of her job description. If Ms. Lebrie was calling me, then it meant I was needed at the office ... after I had specifically told Jones, my supervisor, that I would be taking two weeks off.

"Ms. Lebrie," I said rather curtly. "Is this urgent? I am five days into a much needed vacation, and would prefer not to be disturbed."

I smiled to myself. This particular disturbance was preventing me from checking in on my showering redheaded slave.

Ms. Lebrie cleared her throat and worked up her courage. "Yes sir, I know that. But we've had an unidentified caller attempt to reach you via your private FBI number."

Private FBI number? Well shit.

There were very few people who had my private contact number and none of them called 'just to chat.' All of them were underground contacts, who were in situations where it was not in their best interest to call a public FBI telephone number.

I sighed, "Did he leave a name?" I asked.

"No sir," Rachel replied earnestly.

"Did he say what he was calling about?"

"No," she said again.

"Did he leave any kind of message at all? I asked exasperatedly. I felt like I was being forced to drag the information out of her.

Rachel cleared her throat nervously again, "Um, yes sir. He asked for you personally, and said that it was urgent you call him back immediately."

Strange, I thought to myself. But I could envision one or three of the more eccentric people on my rolodex acting in such a way.

In the background I heard the shower turn off.

If I hurried I could enjoy a very wet and slippery moment with Sarah before breakfast.

"Rachel, have someone else call him back. Tell him I'm indisposed or something."

I moved to hang up the phone.

"Mr. Creed wait!" Rachel shouted into the phone.

I reluctantly pulled the receiver back to my ear.

"Yes Ms. Lebrie?" I said frostily.

She was slightly out of kilter from yelling. Her desk was positioned just outside my door in the big room called 'the bullpen.' Twenty people were probably looking at her funny right now because she had just shouted.

That was probably why she started whispering.

"It's just ... Mr. Creed. I already had Mr. Scott try and call him back. He lasted two seconds on the phone when your man told him in no uncertain terms that he would only talk to you. He said something about you knowing 'the deal.'"

The connection clicked in my head.

There was only one person who had such a 'deal' with me.

Pietro Moretti, a powerful figure in the New York mob, and probably one of the highest profile information sources I had at my disposal.

I was a little more than surprised that he had called. I usually had to hunt him down when I needed information.

Moretti usually liked to pretend I didn't exist. If he wanted to talk to me, it was important. If Pietro thought it was important, then I needed to talk to him.

"I'll need about forty minutes to get to the office, depending on traffic," I said.

"Yes sir, Mr. Creed. Would you like coffee waiting for you? Or perhaps today's news vid?

"No Rachel, I don't intend to stay long."

"Very well Mr. Creed."

"Goodbye."

I dropped the phone onto the bed.

I sighed.

Hopefully this could be resolved quickly, whatever it was.

The bathroom door creaked open, and a wall of steam rushed into the bedroom.

"Who was that Master?"

I turned.

Sarah's fiery red hair was tied up in a towel turban ... woven in that special pattern only girls know how to make. Apart from that, she was naked.

Sarah's neural processor, serial number X18, had altered Sarah's appearance. It had taken a beautiful teenage model, and turned her into a pale flawless goddess.

The gentle swell of her bust glistened with residual moisture, and her bare shaven vulva pouted deliciously at the juncture of her legs. Her green eyes peered up at me, sparkling with mischief.

Sarah's neural processor had a slave fantasy written on it. I don't know the specifics, or how exactly it made her feel, but the long and short of it, is this delicious teenager wanted ... demanded, to be my slave.

And I had promised her I'd try and be the Master she desired.

I took and deep breath, and closed my eyes.

Before she got in the shower, we had talked about me being sterner with her. We talked about me treating her like a real slave. I would have to go back to work ... but I didn't want to go before I addressed this properly.

You can do this Jonathan ... be the Master that she needs.

Something clicked in the back of my head, and I felt a rush of energy pour into my veins. Thoughts, emotions and ideas expanded from nothing out the recesses of my consciousness.

I was her Master, she should be happy to serve me ... there was nothing more desirable than a perfectly submissive, pliant, slave girl ... and this little red head would be mine.

I could feel blood rushing to my cock ... suddenly the thought of dominating Sarah, of subjecting her to my will completely ... made me crazy with lust. I wanted to make her dependent on me. I wanted her to make her anticipate my orders and control like a junkie anticipates heroin.

I opened my eyes, and peered down at my girl.

Sarah's mouth opened slightly in shock. Whatever she saw on my face, hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Why are you addressing me on your feet girl?" I said softly. "Does a slave think herself good enough to stand in her Master's presence?"

Sarah dropped her eyes to the carpet, and shivered. "No Master," she said shakily.

"On your knees girl, and take that towel out of your hair ... I'm already going to punish you, don't provoke me further by wearing clothes I haven't approved for you."

My voice sounded very, very cold.

Sarah slide gracefully down to her knees ... her eyes carefully on my feet, "But Master, my hair won't dry correctly without the towel."

"It will dry naturally girl," I said mercilessly. "If you behave for the next few weeks, perhaps you will earn that towel as a privilege."

Sarah whimpered and took the towel out of her auburn locks, "Yes Master."

I nodded. "Good girl," I said. I put my hand to her cheek, and she nuzzled her head into my palm. "Next time, when you are in my presence, I expect you to stop whatever you were doing, and kneel. I will give you your orders then."

"Yes Master."

I took my hand away from her face, "The only words you are allowed to say without permission are 'Yes Master, ' if you wish to say something else, you will ask me first."

Sarah's eyes widened at the sudden influx of new rules.

"Do you understand girl?" I asked impatiently.

She nodded, "Yes Master."

"Good." I said. "Now, to answer your question, that was my new secretary, she needs me to pop into the office for a quick phone call."

Sarah nodded, "Master may I speak?"

"You may."

"How long will you be gone Master?" Sarah asked huskily.

"Why do you ask girl?" I said.

Sarah looked flustered; a subtle red flush crept up her neck and colored her cheeks. The back of my head tingled and a realization dawned upon me.

"You're not horny are you my little girl?"

Sarah sucked in a tiny gasp, I watched her beautiful pale flanks inflate.

I smiled, "If I reached between those legs of yours, would I find you wet and ready for me? Is my slave having trouble controlling her sweet cunt?"

Sarah quivered at my harsh language. The regular Jonathan didn't talk like that. He didn't degrade women in a voice as calm as a summer breeze.

"Answer me girl."

"Yes Master, I am ... very aroused."

"And you'd like to know if I have time to satisfy your little urges before I go to the office ... is that right?"

She nodded again.

"What's made you so hot and heavy little girl? You may speak."

Sarah's voice was unsteady and laden with lust, "Y ... you ... Master ... your being so firm with me ... and I feel like ... like ... nothing more than a little disobedient slave girl."

I smiled. "Continue."

Sarah took a shaky breath, "Well ... it's ... it's just that ... I want this all the time ... I feel so ... servile ... it's making me drip ... please ... Master ... fuck me before you go ... please I'll do anything."

I laughed, "You'll have to get used to this treatment girl. I'm going to be treating you like this as often as I can ... and you'll have to control yourself, you can't beg for sex every time I demand service from my slave ... from my property."