I push my breasts together and he whimpers, agony in his eyes when I shake my head. “What? I can’t touch you?” “Have you been good, Riley? Do you think you deserve to touch me?” “I’ve been very good,” he rasps. “But I can be better. How can I be better?” I remember the conversation we had in his bedroom when I found his ropes. He mentioned he liked being told what to do from time to time, and I wonder how far he’d go to get what he wants. “Crawl,” I say, and he gets on the floor without a second thought.
