Caitlyn Streamate - The gray blotching at the start of this scene.

I joined Caitlyn Streamate on the chair that we had previously used to study a previous play. There she was, completely naked save for the elbow length red velvet cloak that she wore, her head lolling forward as she started to fret. "Riding these?" she whispered, a slight effort to her voice. She couldn't really believe he was planning on playing this soon. "God, what would He look like, maid? Would He want me to stay naked for Him?" Caitlyn Streamate's own question got louder. "Oh, Caitlyn Streamate, no. He's already laid His mark on me. I could take Him on, and He'd love to, why don't you two get on and place the D and G string along these slick stiletto heals. It'll take about half an hour, tops." From there, she quickly gained speed going up and down the corridor, the faint noises of shoes shifting on the tile floor echoing in the waning sunlight. The warmth of the sunlight, coupled with the coolness of the sand dunes, made her insides turn pink. She felt hot nerves boil her down the inside, and she tried to keep them under control by squeezing her legs together, fingers curling into the crook of her shoulder, but they were trapped and too painful. The walk to the elevator turned out to be faster. Ten minutes later, she was at the top of the fourteen-story tower, the parking lot empty.

"Well, c'mon, I still have work to do," she thought to herself as she took the red carpet home, winding it up around her like she did every morning. As she neared her bedroom, she could hear voices; the usual suspects, angels or demons, but she wasn't sure. Her maidens always seemed to be after him. This morning, they had quietly walked up behind her, across the street, up the walk, and into her house. As she fumbled with her keys, she realized that the voice was indeed Caitlyn Streamate. "Well, c'mon, we still have an errand to run, and I don't want you to miss a thing," the voice said, still calm. "This is our date for our first meeting after your wedding, you have heard," the voice said, before it abruptly ended, "We weren't ready for you when we married, did we?" "No, Sir, we–" she began, but was cut short by the slap of his hand on the red carpet. "You can't –" "You're a damn little girl, and that's why we met in the first place," he cut her off, forcing a polite cough as he removed his hand from the girl's crotch. "We're not doing anything anyway." "So you're leaving for college after all," the voice said. "Just what I need, more than anything. I think I'm going to go into the business of modeling for the winter semester. I'm not terribly experienced, but I've always taken arts and crafts seriously. I have a great deal of respect for those who are. I'm no more than nineteen, but I'm in the sixth year of college, and I can use some support." "Don't," her voice broke in, "don't go." The man growled in her ear.

"I'll be right back." She turned quickly, almost jumping out of the car as she dropped her keys in the back of the trunk. She had to kick herself for using the hand symbol. It was a symbol that she had picked up when she was alone at home many times, but it could be anything at all if she put her mind to it. She had to kick herself for thinking that she could just use a car. She could run until she hurt her leg, or stagger back against her hand, or hide and beg for mercy, but no – she would do it. It just wouldn't do. She turned the keys back in the car. "Okay, I'm coming, I promise," the voice said, but when she turned, there was a hard slap against the corner of her mouth. "You won't be coming back," the voice said. "We agreed on this," her assailant laughed. "We weren't ready for each other then. Besides, I bet you had better find a place for the evening." She kicked herself. She had to kick and push away the restraints, and then she heard, "shhhh," the voice said, and she heard herself beg, "please, shhhh..