It had been almost twenty-four hours since she'd last seen him. After she'd tortured him half to death and trampled his balls, she had untied his arms, and left him to die on the streets of Paris. Before leaving, she got down on her knees and kissed his lips... a final goodbye.

It was 1:45 at night and Emma was still up. She couldn't sleep so she brought her blanket with her to the couch and turned the news on her Sky digibox. Fireworks and the music of Il Canto degli Italiani on every channel. It was Bastille Day, and she was alone in her hotel room wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt. All her friends would be partying tonight, but she couldn't stop thinking of him.

She wondered whether the slave would still be alive. He's stubborn idiot who never gives up! She thought of how once when she had mild fever, she brusquely told him to stay up and massage her feet. He stayed up on his knees near her feet the whole night Emma slept in her bed. In the morning when she woke up fresh and rejuvenated, his eager face was still attached to her feet. He was barely awake, but his hands were still rubbing her feet. She slept for fourteen hours straight that night. That was then and this was now. She smiled thinking of him.

Fighting for his life, wanting to breathe his Mistress' scent one last time, he would still be alive. He would find a way to fix his body, his genitals, and he would come looking for her. Mistress Emma knew that for sure, impossible as it may sound.

It had been raining outside for nearly an hour. She wondered if the slave was cold.

She had a flight early in the morning but she hadn't gotten any sleep since the previous day's incident. She phoned her co-worker at Meridiana and asked her for a favor, and told her she was too sick to come to work. If her friend had asked her why she was "making" herself sick, she'd be too embarrassed to say that it was because of a slave.

She had never told anyone, but after she met this slave, she never let another man touch her. And since then she never desired anyone else. Emma had broken femdom's first rule. She cared for her slave's well-being.

"Nooo!" she screamed at no one. "Slaves don't have feelings! They don't deserve to feel! They don't deserve to be loved...", then all of a sudden she began to cry. She cried for some time.

After a while, when she quietened up a bit she started thinking. She felt stupid now, having to put so much effort just to erase a slave's memory. Her eyes filled with anger when she said to herself "I can't go on like this anymore!"

She wiped the tears off her slightly freckled cheeks. And pulled her hair back from her face. Her hair fell down her neck, which used to blush whenever he looked at her. She picked up a hair stick from the side table and made an elegant French roll.

She hurried now and dressed. Put on a pair of black underwear, a pair of shorts, and a Satin Trench Coat from Vuitton. She ran towards the other room, grabbed a first aid kit, picked up keys from the table and ran outside of Citadines Prestige Les Halles.

It was the slave that had taught her how to ride a motorcycle. She was embarrassed at first, because she couldn't get it off the stand because. It was so heavy she said. He showed her how to put the pressure on the rear side then push it forward. Emma missed his confident voice.

Emma missed him terribly when he was away. But when she was near him she only hurt him, and smothered his face under her ass.

As she raced his motorcycle past Les Hall she tried to remember how she'd met him. It was her birthday and she was out showing off her new pair of Louboutins that her mother had gifted her. She found him fixing cars in a repair shop near Pompidou Centre. He was immersed in his work, and he looked hungry. She let him know she was interested in hiring a slave. His name was Scott and he was two years younger than her. He seemed to know a lot about automobile engines among other things. She told him that first he must prove that he was worthy to become her... he wasn't listening. He was immersed in her amazing ass. She kicked him squarely on the side of his head with her stiletto heeled boots.

So every day the poor slave would arrive at her house with an empty stomach to teach her how to ride the motorcycle. In return she would give him food. Emma would throw her leftovers on the floor near her feet when she would eat at the dining table, and command the slave to eat like a dog without using his hands. She would even spit at her feet and order him to lick it clean, just to prove her superiority. He would never ask twice or beg to be set free. He just obeyed. She hated him for that.

She was doing 90 on a freeway she wished to see his face so badly. The streets were black like a pair of shiny leather boots. It was the rain that made it that way, and the street lights that made it surreal. Once she'd asked the slave when was it that he liked to ride his motorcycle the most. "At night when it's raining. I love to see the street lights."

As she sped past the buildings she kept thinking of her slave's eyes. The determination she saw in them scared her. She prayed, "Please be alive. Keep your promise. Don't die. I'm coming for you." She wasn't ashamed anymore of her forbidden love.

She slowed down. She reached the Square where she'd left him to die. But there was no one there. She braked and got off without looking, missed the side stand and let the motorcycle fall. Let herself fall. She got up and continued looking for him. He wasn't there. She was too late.

The street was empty except for the statues of living marble. Her heart was bleeding inside because she couldn't find him.

Someone must've seen the slave’s body, and seeing the tattoo on his neck, understood that he was a slave. They must've dumped the body somewhere maybe into the ocean like an expendable object, she thought.

She got down on her knees and began to weep. She wiped her eyes and looked up. It started raining again. The stars were lovely.

She thought maybe... she thought she'd... she'd committ.. wait!!!

Far in the distance Emma saw something move. She caught her breath. Far away, she saw life struggling. It was crawling towards the other direction. She got up and ran towards it.

The blood trail that the slave's body left behind looked like spilled motor oil. She ran faster than her sexy legs could take her.

I can't believe that stubborn idiot! she screamed to herself. She overtook the slave and stood in front of him.

She screamed "Just what do you think you're doing?!! What are you fighting for? Don't you know that you're done for? Finished? Why not just give up and die?" Slave strained to look up to her face.

Motor oil was oozing from his eyes and from his heart.

"I can't give up Emma. You made me promise never to give up remember?" Emma just stood there shocked and stripped by this hopeless slave.

"Look Mistress, your shoes are dirty again, these are the one's your mother gave to you on your birthday. They're dirty because of me..." He crawled to get near her feet.

"You shouldn't waste your time on me Mistress" and Scott began licking her pumps clean. The rain made it very difficult. Emma was frozen with a strange fear. Her face burned with angry passion.

She bent down and caught the slave's hair forcing him to stop licking and look up.

"STOP IT! STOP IT I SAID!!!" Emma shouted at him.

He looked so happy. Emma looked down at him furiously "Where were you planning to crawl to?"

The slave replied, "I was going to get myself cleaned up. Then catch a train to Milan."

"Milan? But why?" Emma dropped her bag from her shoulders and started assembling the first aid utensils on the ground. The slave kept talking.

"In June I sold one of my new pistonless rotary engine prototypes to a buyer named Ernest Murdock. He seemed very impressed by the engine's fuel efficiency. He was interested in my research and promised to help me if I ever needed anything. He also told me that he was from the University of Michigan and that he was a cellular biologist, staying in Milan with his team members. They came here to raise money for their stem cell research. Emma you wouldn't believe how fascinating is the field of stem cells!" Emma was applying the first-aid as best as she could over the wounds she'd inflicted on him.

He looked at her face. He knew she'd been crying.

He then said, "A few months ago I read about the successful genital regeneration his team had performed on soldiers. It takes a few months or less to grow a new set of genitals, depending on the person's reactiveness to treatment. Their work's still incomplete, so I couldn't get a hold of any of their database. I plan to help them, but first I must go meet with the doc. They have a small private lab in Milan and he me the address. I will get up from this, and be back to normal in a few months okay Emma?"

Emma looked at him, not understanding what made his brain beat when his heart stopped. And his strength grow when his body was battered.

She asked him, softer this time, "you'd meet up with the doc and then what?"

Scott answered, "Remember the experiments I used to do in that garage where you let me sleep? You know with bioelectromagnetics? I came up with some interesting new inferences, and I think it would apply very well with stem cell research. So my plan is to meet with this doc and get myself new a new set of testicles and a dickie!" This made Emma laugh. They both laughed together, like best friends. 

Emma knew there was nothing in the world that could stop him. He always gave his one hundred percent in whatever task he had set out to accomplish. There was no doubt in Emma's heart that he would accomplish this one as well.

Emma pulled her body closer to his, held his face in her hands, and said to him, "What will you do after that?"

"I'll come back to you Emma."