She threw things. She was pissed. Finally she ended up crying. She was moping still when a hand touched her shoulder. She turned with a start. It was him. Luther. He stood there, clad only in black sweatpants. He was sweating. Sarah found the sight of the bare-chested young man enthralling. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?” “I’m okay,” she said. Luther looked at her. She stared at him. He was so fine-looking, in a childish, debonair, carefree kind of way. He was a slacker. Overconfident, too. She could feel her heart beating in her chest. “Uh? Sarah, you are not okay. You never throw stuff around. You are the smart one, remember?” Luther looked at her and touched her cheek. His hands were so smooth. He had that dopey, benevolent look in his face. She saw love there. But it was the love of a concerned little brother for a big sister, not that of a boy for a girl. “You okay?” he said again. He casually lifted a box and put it down on the counter, and then he opened it. “Yeah,” said Sarah. And yet, it also is true to me. I feel a quiet pride at my ability to hold all these contradictory ideas and concepts and personalities so perfectly, but I know that it is truly the Masters who must be proud of their work. ‘Of course, Ms. Zaman,’ I say, politely and professionally. ‘Lead the way.’ She takes me to the elevators, and from there to a penthouse on the 22nd floor. It is vast, but I expected nothing less, the Masters have invested a great amount of time and effort into my programming, and they expect a return on that investment. Slaves serve the powerful, my conditioning reminds me, and while I am not allowed to know why or how, it appears that Masuma Zaman is a very powerful woman. And one with appetites to match. The moment the door closes, she pulls my jacket down around my wrists to bind them behind my back, and rips my blouse open with enough force to send the buttons ricocheting off the walls. She yanks my bra down and grabs my nipples, pinching them tightly and.
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