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The phone rang and I sat there and looked at it through five rings. I recognized the number on the caller ID. I wouldn't answer it. After seven rings it would kick over to the machine. Ring number six.

"Hello."

"You know who this is. Come to me."

"Look, I'm sorry, but . . ."

"Come to me now. Shower and clean yourself out. Don't bother to wear much."

Click.

I sat there, staring at the phone. I wouldn't go. And when I hadn't shown up, that would be the end of it. No more control. No more domination. Finished.

Forty-five minutes later I was ringing his doorbell at the run-down bungalow in a bad part of town.

My dark angel opened the door and pulled me across the threshold. He started stripping off my clothes as he herded me down the narrow stairs to the basement—to his special basement room. ...

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