I think she could tell from the tone of my voice that I meant it—she needed to kneel at my feet. I passed a stocking to Anya, ‘Tie her hands behi...nd her back.’ Rachel looked up at me, a combination of fear and excitement in her eyes. I smiled. ‘Anything.’ ‘Pardon?’ ‘Anything. That’s what you offered to do for me if I let Anya continue. And I did—didn’t I?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Mmmmmm?’ ‘Yes…. Sir.’ Anya had tied Rachel’s hands by this time and she knelt in front of me. ‘Tell me.’ I said. ‘Tell me—you have. " I looked at my margarita. It was half empty, somehow. I don't remember drinking it. Mark was still going on about stuff. "There's an initial outlay, though. You'll have to get a massage table, towel warmer, sheets and towels, lotions and oils. You'll have to get some spiffy underwear, too. I can help you with all that but..." He didn't finished and looked expectantly at me. "But, what?" "It's hard for me to say this," he began. He shifted in his seat. "Well, it's like this. I can front you. Tripping over nothing, she put her arms out and grabbed my shoulders, keeping herself up. I put my arms around her back and kept her up. “Shit Tom! Why didn’t you tell me you could do that?” she groaned. She had raised her voice a little where it used to be sort of low pitched and husky. My friends had backed up a few paces, respectfully, and watched with amused eyes as their buddy had his fun. She looked them over and turned back to look up at me, “Aren’t you going to introduce. They helped us fluff up our fur to better insulate us from the cold. When we were threatened, the same fluffing mechanism raised our body hair and turned our ancestors into instant Chia pets, making us appear a bit larger to potential adversaries or hungry predators. That was then, and this is now.In the eons since, we've lost most of our fur and the bumps no longer keep us warm and fluffy. Instead, the zillions of goose pimples give our skin the appearance of used sandpaper. Who says God.