Dearest Jack, my only love, You have given me so much pleasure this summer, without demanding anything in return. I'm sure it's getting old to hear it, but I never knew my body could give me such pleasure. The 'good Sisters' can go to Hell. I hope my body has given you a little pleasure, too? All this time you thought you were going to turn me over to a bunch of pimply high school boys to play with. You didn't touch me these last two weeks. I've been climbing the curtains with need, but it proved to me that you really thought of all that stuff we did as 'training,' not a chance to grope your stepdaughter. Thank you, and I'm ashamed that I ever doubted. You asked me, what relationship would I pick? I've watched you work, and you taught me to think about 'requirements.' What a dusty-sounding word for something so juicy. Requirements: I want to please you, give you pleasure the way you have given me pleasure. All day, every day, any way, without limits. I want you to take without waiting for me to give. But what relationships are without limits? Even a mistress can say 'no,' and how can 'no' give pleasure? And what relationship would accommodate my desperate desire to please? You told me to go through my folder of stories. I didn't really need to, because weeks ago I knew what fired my rocket. It was the stories of submission, of dominance, of helpless slave girls weeping and coming as they served the lusts of cruel and demanding masters in some jungle or on some faraway planet. The words I've written look so corny on the page. Dammit, they are corny. But I look at the words and say, that's what I want. Because those girls give pleasure, no, it is demanded of them, torn from them, without limit, and 'no' is gone from their vocabulary. You will say that slavery is dead in modern America. But we're defining our own relationship, and we can use slavery as a metaphor, a starting place, can't we? There's no property ownership of people, any more, but in terms of permissions and assumptions, it's a relationship where everything is permitted to you, and I may assume nothing, call the relationship what you will. To borrow the phrase you used at the beginning of the summer, all my time, energy, and focus will go to serve your pleasure, and my discomfort means nothing. Any lapse from perfection would merit punishment, because any lapse from perfection would mean that I had failed to give you all the pleasure I could and should and must. You ask, how can such a relationship last? What's in it for little Allison? I'll tell you a story. Suppose that early in their relationship, sometime before the Chateau, O did something for Renee. The task itself held no pleasure for O. It was the fact that Renee got pleasure from her efforts that gave O the pleasure she needed to make the doing worthwhile. Pleasure by reflection. Take it another turn. Renee knew that O didn't enjoy doing the task. Knowing that O imposed upon herself, or accepted being imposed upon, increased Renee's pleasure, even if he took no direct pleasure in the gift itself. That's what we mean when we say "It's the thought that counts." But either way, O got her pleasure from Renee's pleasure. The more O suffered for him, the more Renee was pleased, and /therefore/ the more pleasure O got from pleasing him. And /therefore/ the more pleasure O got from suffering. That's what's in it for me: I will get pleasure from your pleasure, the way the moon gets its light from the sun. And when I must, I will feel pleasure from your punishments, because I will know that they are correcting me, preparing me to please you better. You want to know how we would live. And I say, any way that gives you pleasure. Chain me in a dungeon or let me run. Keep me naked or clothe me in silks. Beat me or stroke me with scented oils. Force me come for hours or deprive me for weeks. My last choice will be to do what you choose to do with me. You have but to claim me. Have I seduced you, have I sold it to you? Yours without hope, the free woman now known as Allison Kennedy.