I,...............................................having been born on ......................... certify that I am a legal adult and competent to enter into contractual agreements. I have, of my own free will, agreed to undertake a course of instruction in interpersonal  relationships under the strict tutelage of a qualified instructor.

   The course will last from the time of my signing this agreement until noon of the second day following such signing, unless the instructor chooses to end it sooner.  I agree to abide totally by all the rules and regulations of the instructor. 

    I further certify that I am in good health and not presently taking any medications.

    I am allergic to the following substances:

    My hospital of choice is:

    My physician is:

    My health insurance carrier is:

    In case of emergency notify:

    Having read and understood all of the above, I agree without reservation to the terms of this agreement.

    Signed:

    Date:                               Time:

    Jenkins read the document quickly, then read it again slowly.  It said nothing, yet hinted at everything.  He glanced over at Mistress, who watched him patiently. He read it again.

    "Do you have a question, Carl?"

    He read it again, unconsciously licking his lips. Not trusting his voice, he uncapped the pen and filled in the blanks, answering all the questions. By the time he got to the signature line, he had barely enough control to sign legibly. 

    With every passing second he grew more afraid. When it came to it, he found himself unable to replace the cap on the pen. Mistress's warm fingers took the pen from his numb hand, ignoring his condition completely.  She collected the paper, checking to make sure it was properly filled out and carefully checked her watch before jotting the time on its line. 

    "Very good."  She put the folder aside, leaning back in her chair, giving him a long, careful appraisal.  Carl grew more apprehensive as the seconds ticked by. Just as he felt he had to do something, anything, she spoke.

     "There is an armoire in the corner. Go to it now."  She made a little waving gesture toward the shadows. Jenkins did as he was told, turning toward her for other instructions when he was in place.  She lounged indolently in her chair, what looked like a TV remote control in one hand.

    "Undress.  Fold all your things and put them in the armoire." 

    He found himself swallowing hard as he shrugged out of his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt, grateful for the gloom that surrounded him. He was suddenly bathed in light. Small spotlights in the ceiling brightened his corner of the room, reflecting from the mirrors covering the walls and the front of the armoire. Jenkins stamped on his panic and pulled the door open, only to be startled by lights coming on inside the cabinet. He folded his jacket and placed it on one of the shelves, distracted by his reflection in the mirrored back of the chest.  He tugged his shirt over his head, trying not to see himself complying, cooperating in this humiliation.

    "Turn around."

    He pivoted slowly in response to the order, realizing that his image was reflected all around him. He could not hide at all from her searching gaze.

    "Continue."

    He unbuckled his belt, letting the ends hang loose as he turned slowly and put his holstered handgun on the shelf with his shirt. Working quickly, needing to get it over with, he removed the rest of his clothing, folding it neatly and finally closing the armoire door on it.  He turned slowly to face Mistress, his eyes on the floor a foot or two ahead of him.

    "Kneel."  As before, her tone was calm and utterly devoid of any hesitation. It was as if she had never considered the possibility that anyone would refuse to do as she bade them.  He sank to his knees, the carpet a little scratchy against his skin.

    "Come here."

    He started to stand, then felt like a complete fool when she laughed at him.  He leaned forward on his hands and crawled to the chair, acutely aware of the ridiculous picture he must make, his cock hanging limply under his belly. He felt the blush suffusing his face as he came to a stop near her feet.  An agony of indecision filled him.  Should he stay as he was, should he look at her, should he sit back on his heels? His heart rate increased and he found himself panting a little as he tried to decide what to do next. 

    Her hand on his hair startled a squeak from him. She pulled his head back.  "Kneel up."  He sat back on his heels, excruciatingly aware of his nakedness, wanting to cover himself with his hands. All that held him back from it was the awareness that he would look even sillier trying to hide from her.

    "I told you to take everything off. Why did you disobey me?" 

   The displeasure in her voice and a sharp yank of his hair distracted him from his state of undress. What did she mean?  "Mistress, I don't understand."

    She held out a hand, palm up.  "Your jewelry.  Take it off."

    He ducked his head in embarrassment as he tugged at the ring he habitually wore.  It eventually came off and he laid it in her palm.  He unbuckled the strap on his wristwatch, placing it with the ring. He fumbled with the chain around his neck. His girlfriend at the time had given him the St. Michael medal when he graduated from the police academy.   It was his good luck piece and he wore it constantly.  His hands were shaking so that he could not get the delicate clasp unfastened. Mistress waited impatiently, her toe tapping the floor beside his knee. He finally gave up, dropping his hands limply into his lap.

    "I'm sorry, Mistress.  I can't get it off."

    She tsked at him, shaking her head a little at his utter incompetence. Taking hold of his hair she pulled him up to lie across her knee. She turned the chain on his neck until the clasp was in her fingers.  It took only a moment for her to work the catch and the chain fell away from him. He lay quietly, feeling the denim of her jeans rub against his breast bone as she reached across his body to the table. Something soft rested on his spine for a moment, then it was gone and she pulled him up and settled him back on his heels beside her.

    "Look at me."

    He raised his eyes from the carpet.  She held a small suede pouch before his eyes. "Your jewelry. Put it on the shelf with your pistol."

    He automatically reached for it, only to have her slap his hand down. "Open your mouth."

    He obeyed, feeling ridiculous.  Her hand grabbed his chin, roughly pulling his mouth wide as she stuffed the bag past his lips.  In his surprise he tried to pull away, but her grip on his jaw never faltered.  She pushed his chin up and he found himself with the soft bag filling his mouth, the strings hanging between his lips, brushing his chin. Mistress nudged him toward the armoire, keeping her expression stern as he slowly went to his hands and knees and began crawling away from her. 

    On impulse, she swatted his butt just before he was out of reach.  The distance and angle were against her, so she knew she had barely touched him, but the results were none the less satisfying. He hunched his head lower and picked up his pace. She had noticed he had a tendency to be slow and decided that she would start getting him in the habit of moving smartly right from the beginning.

    He scurried across the floor, perfectly aware of the view he was presenting his tormentor.  He got to the armoire and pulled the door open, blinking in the sudden extra light.  He straightened on his knees, stretching to drop the bag on the shelf she had designated. Then his attention was caught by his reflection in the mirror: his hair was in his eyes, his face was flushed, his eyes looked a little wild, the bright drawstrings hung from between his lips.  Sweet Jesus!  What was he doing?

    "Don't dawdle!"

    The part of his brain that stood aside and watched all this noticed that his complexion paled when he heard her harsh demand. He spat the bag out onto the shelf, moving his tongue in his mouth to try to work up a little saliva to get the taste of the leather out. He closed the door carefully and crawled quickly back to the chair. "You may kiss my boot."  Mistress watched carefully, noting the sudden stiffness in his posture at the order.  Then he bent his elbows, lowering his lips to the toe of her boot. He slowly pressed his lips to the leather and held the pose for a long moment, then raised himself back to his hands and knees. She rose and stepped past him, snapping her fingers to urge him into place beside her left leg.  The tips of her fingers swept through his hair lightly once or twice as they crossed the floor.  She stopped at a heavy door set into the wall, almost opposite the door to the staircase from the garage.  The thought of escape never crossed his mind.

    "Sit."  Somehow he knew that she meant he should kneel up and look at her. He sank back on his heels, his hands resting on his thighs, waiting.  "On the other side of this wall, it begins."

    Shit, what had they been doing for the last, he realized that he had no idea how long they had been at it.  He had not even looked at his watch when he had the chance. If this was not the beginning, what could he expect inside? A shiver of dread and excitement ran through his body.

    His attention was on her hand on the door handle, waiting. He watched her fingers drum once on the handle and realized that her toe was tapping the floor.  He had failed to understand again.  He dropped his gaze to the floor, waiting for correction. The foot moved forward, tapping the wall before him. He looked harder and realized that a piece of wall had moved. 

    She watched him stare at the dog door set into the playroom wall and waited for understanding to dawn.  He blushed again.  He had the really sweetest way of blushing; the rosy glow came and went so quickly she was sure she'd miss it if she didn't pay close attention.

    "Go."  It didn't really matter if he had intended to wait for the order or not.  He would learn soon enough the penalty for acting on his own initiative. Right now, she was just as glad to be able to reward him for right behavior without having to make a big deal of it. Now, if he could just get himself moving before she had to tell him again.

    He shuddered once and leaned forward onto his hands. He surprised her when he lowered himself to the carpet and kissed her boot, laying his cheek on the smooth leather for a long moment before crawling to the dog door and pushing it open with his head. 

    She was so stunned by his submission that she almost missed the opportunity his position offered. Just as his waist passed the sill, she steadied herself with one hand on the wall and pressed the pointed toe of her boot against his anus.  He made a kind of strangled yelp and hurried through the opening, the swinging door giving his butt a little swat as he passed. She secured the door to prevent his exiting by it before she permitted.  She rather expected an escape attempt before the weekend was over and she didn't want him to get out of the playroom.  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and passed through into her true domain, locking it securely behind her.

    Jenkins huddled on the floor, just inside the playroom trying to control the near terror that was consuming him. He felt as if he'd been dreaming ever since the previous fall when he'd gone to the hospital hoping for a chance to chivy Vecchio into doing something stupid so he could finally get the wop faggot tossed off the police force. Instead, he had run afoul of the Bertelli woman and nearly died for his bad luck.

   He, the feared and successful IAD investigator, had found himself in the stairwell outside the County Hospital emergency room, his right wrist caught in a painful martial arts hold, staring into the eyes of a woman who, he could tell, was ready and even eager to kill him. She had ordered him, him!, to leave Vecchio alone and then she had mauled him, squeezing his cock and balls until he felt ready to faint from the pain.  He had survived the encounter, saved mostly because she didn't want explaining his death to distract her from her concern for her friends.  So he owed his life to Vecchio and the Mountie, a galling realization that haunted him night and day for weeks.

    He'd gone on with his life, outwardly unchanged. But Jenkins knew that something fundamental to his existence had altered irrevocably during that short encounter. His animosity toward the Italian cop had evaporated like ice on a hot Chicago sidewalk in July.  And he occasionally woke from the most incredibly vivid and erotic dreams of sexual domination in which he was always the submissive.

    Months had passed and he'd actually closed a couple of cases that he'd been neglecting in his obsessive pursuit of Vecchio. In all the years he'd been in IAD, he'd never had a solid lead to indicate that Ray Vecchio was other than an honest cop. Hot-headed and a little eccentric, maybe, driving that old Buick and hanging out with the Mountie, but honest. Being forced to give up the fruitless pursuit had worked out well for Jenkins.  He'd even received a letter of commendation for clearing most of his back file.  But it had all had a fuzzy edge to it, as if he was not entirely present in his life.

    Even tonight had a surreal quality to it; he'd let himself drift along with the flow, much as if it was just another amazingly vivid dream. You are one dumb shit, Carl.  He could almost hear his father berating him for some childish escapade, the hurtful words followed quickly by a hard hand or a belt or switch. Jenkins' body curled more tightly in on itself, the trembling worse than ever before. 

    He tried to get himself together, but simply lacked the strength.  For as long as he could remember, his safety had depended on him being in charge of his world and, in some fashion, controlling everyone in it.  He had not felt so helpless in years and he was absolutely unable to deal with the emotions that helplessness dredged up.

    Mistress stood over him for several minutes, wondering at the cause of his distress.  A scene sometimes brought back memories of bad times, but they had not really done anything yet to cause this.  She knelt beside him, laying one hand firmly on his shoulder. She kept her voice low and calm, but very commanding.  It would not help for him to start wondering who was in charge here. 

    "Get on your knees."  She waited a minute, but when nothing changed, she pushed him onto his back to check his vital signs and try again to make some contact. She pushed his hair off his forehead, letting her hand rest on his cheek for a moment.  Her fingers sought the carotid pulse; it was fast, but not dangerously so.  His respirations seemed to be dropping as well. She knelt quietly beside him for several more minutes as he slowly worked his way back to her through the labyrinth of his old memories and pain.

    Mistress drew her fingers through his thick, light brown hair soothingly as she tried to decide how long she would let this go on before calling for help.  If he'd suffered some sort of major break with reality, she'd have to arrange for hospitalization in a safe facility.  Keeping the game a secret might be a little difficult, but she was sure she could manage it.  If need be, she could always take him out of the country. There was that sanitarium in the Chilean highlands; yes, that would do very nicely.

    She was relieved to note that his body seemed to be relaxing, the tension slowly draining from his muscles.  She kept passing her fingers through his hair, speaking softly to him of inconsequential things.  Finally his eyes opened slowly and she was relieved to see he seemed perfectly lucid.  Then a little worried.  She clamped down on the relieved smile that wanted to flood her features, concentrating on giving him an interested, concerned, but somewhat aggrieved look.

    "Tell me your name."

    He looked confused by the question but answered quickly enough.  "Carl Jenkins."

    "What day is it?"  His confusion changed to worry as he gave her the date.

    She helped him sit up, letting him lean against her for a moment, her arms around him comfortingly as she pondered whether to continue.  She had almost come to the regretful  conclusion that they should stop and perhaps resume another time when he took a deep breath and got back in what he assumed was the proper position, kneeling beside her, his eyes on the carpet.

    Mistress looked at him critically.  He seemed relaxed, more with her than he'd been all evening. She turned his face toward her, using a handful of hair to position it, trying to read his mental condition in his eyes. "We should stop."  She had expected to see relief in his eyes at her pronouncement, but was pleased that he seemed distressed at the prospect. He tried to shake his head, wincing as the movement yanked at his hair.  She released his hair, giving him a serious, measuring look. "Tell me what you want."

    A little tremor ran through his body as a thrill of excitement began to glow deep in his belly.  She was going to make him say it.  His eyes slid away from her face for a moment as he tried to get the words out.  She petted his hair, letting her hand slide over his skull to rest at the back of his neck, the fingers flexing slightly over the tight muscles running down either side of his spine.  She watched him take another deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh. Mistress squeezed slightly, digging into the neck muscles hard enough to make him wince, and she smiled to herself as she saw the faintest answering twitch in his cock where it lay curved sweetly over his thigh. "Please, Mistress. I don't want to stop."  He looked at her pleadingly through his thick eyelashes. 

    She gave him a long, speculative look, trying to assess his condition. He seemed competent.  "What was that, before?"

    His eyes slid away from her as he tried to think how to answer. Finally... "I don't know." He squirmed under her hand and that ravishing blush colored his pale features for a moment.  He dropped his head forward, his chin on his chest, the eyes closing against the revelation.  "I was afraid."

   The whispered admission caught at her heart. Oh, this one could be dangerous. He had depths he had no idea existed; it would be exciting to explore his mind.  His body.  The new slave relaxed back on his heels, leaning into her hand, a tiny, soft smile playing on his lips as his cock stirred more strongly. She allowed herself one possessive, gloating look as she acknowledged that she wanted this man. Training him would be a challenge, the risk of failure great.  But the rewards for success would be even greater.