“You are not allowed to come. Do you understand me?” “Yes.” The word in isolation sounded odd. “Mistress.” Justine actually stopped in mid...step and looked at me. “What did you call me?” “Mistress?” Justine smiled. “You know what? I like the sound of that. Yes, ‘Mistress’. That’s good. No one has ever had cause to say that to me before. ‘Yes, Mistress’.” I couldn’t believe that Justine wasn’t raging; here I was masturbating in her bedroom into a pair of her knickers and she was chuckling to. That left me wearing shorts and running shoes. Sitting down on the grass in the shade of our largest tree, I took a long swig from my water bottle and surveyed the yard. After weeks of being too busy with other stuff, I had managed to pick the hottest, muggiest day of the summer to get caught up on the yard work. In four hours, I had fixed up the shed, weeded our flower beds, cut the grass and dug out a couple dead bushes. “Damn, you’ve been busy, Nick,” sang out my wife’s familiar voice. I. More

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