It was the duty of a POST to please the owner and to perform whatever acts requested or required. Seven had been fortunate to be acquired by such a we...lthy man. He had a reputation for being rather cold and impersonal toward his toys, but he supplied comfortable living quarters, and the freedom to read, swim, and listen to music. As a POST, no housework was required, only sexual tasks. So, with a high sex drive, being a POST hardly felt like slavery to Seven, at least not under Daniel’s. ‘Are you all right?’ What in the world was I supposed to say to that? How did I even begin to explain that ever since he’d made the suggestion that we spend a night together at a hotel, my sub-conscious mind—scrub that, my conscious mind—had been working on every possible permutation of how that might play out? That I was ninety-nine percent sure that I didn’t want to sleep with him—but only ninety-nine percent sure? That there was this stubborn one percent that wondered, just wondered, what. More

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