I wear Boss, Armani. Designer jeans. I frequent three star restaurants, rock concerts, operas. I travel abroad, meet the rich and famous (okay, let's ...ay the well to do and the local snobs). Isn't it lovely, my life? Yeah, exactly who am I fooling? Truth is that I do have all that. But one icy glance of a gorgeous beauty and all of it slides off me like flesh off a skeleton in a horror movie. It leaves me as naked and ugly as fifteen years back — fumbling, stuttering. Believe me: men like me. ‘Just relax for me now Mike.’ ‘Who’s that?’ ‘Mistress. Obey me.’ Mike felt himself drift into hypnotic trance for his mistress. Jemma now stood naked in front of him, squeezing her breasts and playing with herself while looking Mike in the eyes. ‘You’re such a good slave Mike.’ Jemma leaned over him, partly straddling him, and kissed her slave softly on the neck. ‘Lye down and sleep for me Mike. Sleep for your mistress.’ Within seconds of Jemma whispering these commands in his ears, Mike had. More

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