Carpeting, drapes, even what appeared to be a whiskey cabinet.A man stepped up to me – a newspaper man, without a doubt. Ink stained hands, pale fac..., smudged with sweat from running hither and yo. He pointed at me and shouted over the din: “You there, boy! What are you doing here?”I smiled.And I reached the editorial offices of Mr. Victor Wright, the head editor of The Tarantian, with but a single word.“The IFS Zephyr!?” Victor Wright boomed from behind his desk. He was clean shaven, narrow. As I watched, Mistress filled the tub with tepid water, and added a sweet smelling pink fluidwhen the water stopped. This made the water foam, and I assumed it was sudsy soap to cleanse my body. "Get into the tub, James. Slide in until all of you is under except your head." I was more than a bit puzzled about this use of my given name instead of 'slave', but had little time to ponder it. Mistress Monique slipped a pair of rubber gloves over her vinyl ones,and the bright yellow stood out. More

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