HOW WE SERVE MASTER

Gretchen said not long after Etta showed up,

she took Kwesi away to meet other people,

but the couple came back to Gretchen

before the reception was over

“We are hoping you’d be interested in coming over to our place,” Etta said to me.

“Maybe continuing our discussion about … what I’m being forced to wear,” the no longer shy Kwesi added.

I looked from one wife to the other and said …

“If I’m going to be fucked tonight, I need something to eat.”

“Other than us,” Etta asked in faux confusion.

Kwesi suggested a nearby sidewalk sushi joint. After I agreed, Etta asked if would do something for her before we left.

I said yes.

She went into her purse and took out a small light brown velvet bag.

She handed it to me.

I could tell by the shape and weight as I held the soft bag in my hand.

A butt plug.

“OK,” I said.

Etta’s eyes narrowed.

“What you meant to say was ‘Yes, ma’am,’ correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I am sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She nodded and said, “It would be best for you if it didn’t.”

She put an arm around Kwesi and said …

“Sweetie, tell tonight’s plaything what I use when I have to make a correction.”

Kwesi’s voice was back to the haunted whisper from earlier.

“A whip. A single-tail whip.”

The national pastime, so to speak.

We headed out to get a bite. By the end of the evening, we’d all need the extra energy that meal provided.