” A moment paused. “That’s her name, alright.” “She’s cool, Paul; send her up.” “Oh, Ok Sam. You have a good one.” I hung up the ...hone, then hit the intercom button to buzz Rashid, my producer. He’s this short Indian guy who spends most of his time at work talking on his cell phone during my show to his family back in India. Occasionally, I bug him with stuff, but he let’s me do pretty much whatever I want, and doesn’t tell the station manager when I screw up. I guess it’s not too bad to. "Really want to make this worse on yourself?" he growled, and I realized that I really had no choice. We went into the huge, busy store, and Master handed me a small shopping basket. "Here, hold this. We don't need much." With that, Master dragged me around the store, picking out items he would use to punish me. First was rope, so of course I was made to turn around and present my wrists, so that Master could see if it was enough to bind me. Then on to the paint department, where Master. More

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