She is quite a clever one, isn't she? Too modest really. She wrote quite a sweeping account of what happened, in her eyes. Now she is a bit of a writer as well. Look at what she owes me!

But who am I? I feel I should explain my position in this game. My problem is that I am rich. Independently rich. Never will have to work for a living anymore. Never had. The problem is that my wealth is my mother's. She invented something clever and got filthy rich as a result. She, God rest her soul, died during middle age and I, an only child and one without a father, was left with the fruits of her labour at the age of 27.

You cannot see the problem? Good for you. I wish I couldn't and just have fun or, better, work with my capital, invest and make even more money. But I am not made of such stuff. As to making money, I do not have the inclination. I am lazy and too soft-boiled. My mum's accountants have taken care that the money stays, that is all. As to having fun, you know, travel, see the world, meet people, organise parties, play around with beautiful women - boy, I wish I could simply indulge in that kind of thing.

But I feel guilty. What my mother did not give me was self-reliance. She dominated me. Etcetera. You know the story. I did not see her a lot anyway, as she was taking care of business. She tried to give me a good college education, but could not prevent me from being thrown out. I am not stupid, just lazy and no-good. Unless I am motivated to do something, which I was not, until recently. As I said, she, who ran my life, died and left me this bag full of money, which I did not deserve nor knew what to do with. I just felt guilty I had it.

I acknowledge that my relationship with women is not normal. I want them like any other man. I want them very badly. I would say that I am dependent upon them, like a junkie. Any amateur psychologist will be capable of linking this to my relationship with my mother. Maybe I should go into analysis, but I resist.
So I am dependent upon women. Not a two-sided affair, I am afraid. Like our girl, I have had a few romantic liaisons. They are hard to avoid if you are as rich as I am. You only have to stick your head out of the door and the lassies attack you like flies. I am not bad looking either. But, as you might guess, the ones that did descend upon me were somewhat superficial creatures, yet supremely motivated to get me. Dominance once more. I just about managed to cop out, before being tricked into marrying one.

With my money, I could have paid whores, one, a pair or several all at once, do anything that my little heart (better, my mighty sword) desires. I tried everything. I tried the Casanova, woman-eating role. That left me emptier than before. I tried the sensitive, listening, talking kind, but I did not know what to say. I tried being a cruel master and exorcise my fear of women. The result was laughable. I was better at being a miser of a slave. But a mistress who is paid by me? I have tried it. I was the master of the mistress, a contradictio in terminis. It wasn't right. Perhaps I have inherited some practical business sense of my mother's after all.

Like our girl, I started dabbling on the Internet. Like her, I felt it was a secure place where I could be myself. Or could aspire to develop my real self, like she did. It did not take me long to develop the plan, which she and another before her played a part in, and, perhaps, others after her will. I had to be careful to select women who were gullible, yet not spineless, who would need me as much as I needed them. I made many electronic contacts, but found most unsuitable.

Eventually I did find, attract and entertain a woman. I own the bungalow on its isolated, eerie, enchanting location. I also own the nearby little ghost town. They were acquired to form the scene that you have learned about. So after I had set myself up with the first woman, it did not take long before I started seeking her successor - what became our girl. She took over recently, as you know. Will my game be up sometime? My lawyer is reasonably confident that I am not committing any crimes.

Her story you have read. The facts are acurate. Let me say a few words about the stages our girl went through before she became, shall we say, my mistress.

The piercing. After I had been speaking to her electronically for a long period, when my feeling that she would be a suitable woman was secure, I suggested the piercing. If she would take the suggestion and perform this somewhat extreme physical act, I knew she would be ready. And so it happened. Not only did she do it, she liked it. She was ready alright.

She went to my bungalow quite prepared to do what I wanted. She burnt her bridges by locking away her car keys and her clothes: no turning back now. I did not require hidden cameras to know that she would comply. Likewise, I knew that she would perform all the overly detailed instructions of her first full day there. That is submission! Forget de Sade's rituals, which were enforced. She willingly did not move a limb, unless instructed by me. If she weren't mine beforehand, she sure as hell was afterwards.

The gang bang. That is what it was. Not the most creative part of my schemes. The aim was just to disturb her peace of mind. She was beginning to like it, you will remember. At this stage, I meant to shake her into submission. But not crack her, as she was to be my mistress later. Therefore the guys were instructed to be gentle. They were no friends of mine: I hired them. One of them recorded the episode on video for me, which is how I saw her for the first time. I wept during the closing sequences, when she was left lying on the porch.

The visit to the woman in red. She spots well that the woman is just like her. A simple game of changing roles they play, for a while just now. Then she meets me for the first time. She knows it is me. Of course she hesitates. She had positive expectations not so long ago, with me at the centre. But she realises that these expectations have been frustrated, by me. Thus gives me what I need.

The day without instructions. The turning point. Although she does not mention it at all, she must have had a pretty good idea of what would be in store for her. Does she shy away or does she accept her fate... You and I know what she did.

The meeting. I have had her tied down. There is no escaping now. I am master of the situation. After I have manifested myself and taken her, I offer her the challenge of reversing roles, she being my mistress. For the future. She accepts, like she accepted the challenge by her predecessor, the woman in red, earlier in the other house. The love we make afterwards is sweet. I know it was heaven to her and to me as well. To her I finally do become the prince. And I enjoy our communion in the most normal kind of way. I need to be prepared, that is all.

And there we are. I have got what I wanted. But I cannot keep her forever, I think. Or perhaps I can. She is my mistress, yet I am her master. A paradoxical equilibrium. Stable or unstable?

Meanwhile I am 'ensnaring' her successor. But she is all I ever wanted.

Have I done her wrong? Don't give me that. She is a woman now. Aware of herself, in body, in mind. If she will ever leave me, she will be a better person.

I have done well. And, yeah, I have achieved something in the world.

You are wondering how a creep like me can write a detached account of himself and his affliction? Well, perhaps I am not such a creep after all. Or not any more.

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