When my boyfriend told me that he wanted to try anal sex, I immediately got to work researching the topic. I read every book I could find, scoured advice columns from my favorite magazines, and bought a few instructional videos. I even convinced my boyfriend to watch the videos with me.

Jeff wasn’t surprised by my obsessive research. I’ve never done anything without learning all I can about it first, and sex is no different. Luckily, Jeff understands my fetish for research.

I started training myself for anal penetration a couple weeks before letting Jeff enter my backdoor. I spent days with butt plugs pushed deep inside my ass, and I gradually increased the size until I felt ready to take an actual cock. I wore the largest butt plug for nearly two full days, even keeping it in at work and while out to dinner with friends. I was determined to be as prepared as possible so that the first anal experience Jeff and I shared would be perfect.
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“Damn!” I swore loudly in anger.
“What’s wrong, honey?” David asked.

“I broke my necklace.” I was standing in front of my dressing table, cupping my hands in front of my body as pearls spilled down my front. The tiny lustrous beads made click-clacking sounds as they pebbled the shiny surface of the dresser. I caught as many as I could, then picked up the few that had tumbled to the floor.

Once I’d corralled the escapee baubles, I stared at the pretty pearls and felt my eyes tear up. “We’ll have it fixed,” David promised me. He’d given me the choker for my twenty-ninth birthday. I nodded, knowing he was right. The necklace could be fixed, but I felt sad anyway. I sat on the edge of the bed in my little black dress, trying to regain my party spirit.
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I’m a strong-willed woman in charge of a crew of salespeople. I bring home a six-figure paycheck and the headaches that go with it. I want to get this information straight before I explain my latest fantasy. All day long, I boss people around. Not out of meanness or any sadistic pleasure. My team reports to me, and I take the praise for jobs well done or suffer the brunt of the displeasure of my own bosses. I’m a tough chick—what you might call a hard-edged bitch—when I have to be, which is what being in charge takes sometimes.

That said, when I’m home, all I want is to release the reins. I want my man, Aaron, to take charge of me. To tell me what to do. To put me in my place. Thankfully, Aaron is more than up to that challenge.

On weekends, I like nothing more than to be Aaron’s love slave. I serve his every whim, his every sexual need, and I even try to predict what he is going to want before he can formulate the idea himself. Usually, while Aaron lounges in bed, I make his favorite breakfast, which I deliver on a tray. This is our regular Saturday routine, and it gives me as much pleasure as it gives him.
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I do the window-dressing at the store where I work. I have to design large faux rooms, complete with wallpaper and trim. The point is to accent the wallpaper since that’s what we sell. In the winter, the windows are cold. In the summer, they’re blazing. But it’s always been fun to stop what I’m doing to see people watching me. Sometimes they wave or clap; sometimes they just watch. Sometimes it’s late enough that I have no audience, but I like to dream about being on display for someone special.

Last year, summer had just bled into fall, and I was redoing our window for the coming holidays. I looked up from dragging an oversized easy chair from the stockroom into the tiny space. Across the empty street, a man leaned in the narrow opening of an alleyway, smoking and watching me. By the way he held himself, it appeared that he thought I couldn’t see him—as if he assumed he was hidden from view in his carefully chosen shadows.

Something about the way he looked at me—his stance and the tilt of his head—made my skin tingle. There was a curious interest in his demeanor, and when Joshua popped his head in to see if I was ready to leave for the day, I jumped in surprise.
“Everyone’s gone but us, baby. You ready?”
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Last summer, Dean and Diane worked out almost every day at the gym. And almost every day afterward they’d stop by my health food store to buy juice. It was nice of them to throw business my way, but it was also nice that they always seemed to be flirting with me.

Both of them. I didn’t mind. In fact, they often entered my dreams—dirty threeway fantasies that left me wet and breathless. But I never knew how to let them know how I truly felt about them. Fortunately, I never had to. They took care of things for me.

That July had brought us a whole line of violent storms, and most people had no power more often than they actually had it. One stifling day, after a bad storm, my store had air-conditioning but my house didn’t, so I went in early. I wasn’t even officially open yet when the bell over the door tinkled.
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