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Insight into the life of a dominatrix from chapter two

Michele raises an eyebrow and says, “Even the mistress needs an occasional evening away from the dungeon,” with a smug smile.  Her hair, impossibly shiny and perfectly black as usual, is styled in a blunt bob.

“I cleared my schedule tonight,” says Michele.  “I had the fireman last night—the one who wants things shoved up his ass,” she explains.  “The thing with those guys is that they always want you to go deeper, deeper, deeper—and they all say they’re not even close to shitting but,” she sighs and rolls her eyes.  “They do if you go as deep as they want.” Michele purses her lips and wrinkles her nose.

“Gooey,” I say with a laugh.  “I don’t know how you do that.”

“It’s quite easy, really,” Michele says.  “It has its cleaning challenge moments, but it’s worth it to be the evil queen whenever I want,” she adds with a coy look.

Seriously, what can you do when you have your period during a zombie apocalypse?

“This is awkward,” I say, closing my eyes.  ‘How do I ask for sanitary napkins from a hot guy during a zombie apocalypse?  Those darn feminine protection commercials never touched on this problem,’ I think.

“I like… have my period.  Can you like… scare me up some feminine protection?”

“Oh,” says Doug.  “Um… let’s see,” says Doug, rubbing his temple and looking uncomfortable.

“I have pads in my backpack, but— that’s in the car outside.” I can feel my face contorting into gawky expressions of embarrassment.  “I definitely can’t put on a white suit until I have some pads or something and have a chance to clean up.”

Doug nods but still looks confused.  I see a glimmer of understanding light his eyes.  “Ohhh, okay,” he flushes red and looks to the side.  “I see, I see… hm.  I have these Celox pads to stop bleeding,” he offers.

“Are they like, absorbent?” I ask.

“No, they stop severe bleeding like femoral bleeding,” he tilts his head nervously from side to side.  “It’s a first-aid thing.”

“Um, they sound really cool, but like—not what I need right now,” I wrinkle my nose.  “I need something absorbent, and like… preferably with wings n’ shit.”

A tidbit from Chapter 10

Squinting in the half-light of the pink dawn, this cat looks familiar.  The cat is responsive to me looking at her, and jumps into the car and into my lap.  The cat is wearing a high-tech collar with a box and a short antenna on the side.

“Wow, that cat sure likes you,” says Ginny, surprised.

Nervously petting the cat, I say, “This cat looks really familiar.”

“It sure seems to know you,” says Len.  “It has some kind of strange collar on.”

“This cat looks like… Mrs. Kitty,” I say slowly.

The cat vigorously shakes its head up and down in a most un-catlike fashion.