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"Are you kidding me? You can't seriously be asking me to do something like that! Do you know what people are going to do to me if anything goes wrong?"

Peter Folkerts stared in complete disbelief at the woman that was sitting in his hotel room, smiling at him nonchalantly as if she had foreseen his reaction without a doubt. Miriam Beckmann – investigative journalist – was only twenty-three years old, but she already was one of the best of her kind. She was intelligent, young and energetic. She was compassionate and full to the brim with a joyful sort of righteous anger that drove her to work harder than any of her colleagues.

And Miriam was beautiful: Slim and sporty, with sparkling green eyes and curly brown hair and fair, freckled skin. Looking at her made you think of sunny autumn days and apple wine drank in front of an old-fashioned stove arm in arm. Concerning arms: Hers were slender and still quite trained. She also had delicate fingers and her nails were always cut practically short. 'Practical' was a term that described Miriam very well all across the field – her blue jeans, the simple brown pullover, the white Nikes, the thick ponytail she had knotted her hair into – all that transported the message that you were looking at a girl who exactly knew what she wanted and went directly at it, using the straightway, not giving a shit about any of the detours ordinary people take.

Peter loved her, although Miriam probably wasn't aware of that. Or was she? With Miriam you could never be completely sure about anything. He had fallen in love with her when they had been on their first job together, two years ago. Peter as photographer, Miriam as writer/head of the operation. They had discovered that a local politician enjoyed beating up prostitutes, and man had they had fun when they informed the whole country about that minor detail from his private life. They guy had gone down hard, the story had been all over the news. And Miriam had become a rising star in her profession.

Since then she had worked with Peter every time she went after a new story that might turn out to be a little dangerous, a little scary or odd. She knew she could rely on him. And this made him a bit sour. He hated to be 'the reliable guy'. Those guys never got a chance with the cool girls. But at least he knew Miriam better than any other man could claim to – she was a committed single due to the fact that she felt no man to be interesting enough for a lasting relationship.

"It is not as dangerous as it sounds", Miriam said now, still that nonchalant smile on her pretty lips, a soothing tone in her voice. She brushed a strand of hair from her smooth forehead and Peter once more asked himself if she really was not aware of the effect that gesture had on him. "I have been collecting information about those guys for months. They have a professional operation running Peter, more or less a secret society, and they are up to no good. Women disappear. Strange rumors show up instead. It's not easy to collect hard evidence about what they are doing, and I need your help."

Miriams´ eyes were glowing with curiosity. Peter had seen that gaze before, and he had asked himself more than once if she was some kind of addict – a danger-addict, a weirdness-addict, maybe an information-addict. The answer was of course 'yes' – she originated from a wealthy family and should have become a successful lawyer or maybe a celebrated surgeon, but surely not an investigator who regularly delved into the dark corners of the human mind and society. Had Miriam not been gifted with that encompassing curiosity, she would never have chosen this career. Her hunger for knowledge, even about the most deprived things humans could do or create, was part of what he loved so much about her.

But still, her addiction to the weird and scary sometimes frightened Peter, since it was often without boundaries and tended to let Miriam forget that life could be pretty dangerous.

In the split second it had cost him to think all this she had leaned forwards in her chair, looking straight into Peters' eyes, as if she tried to hypnotize him. And he felt that she kind of succeeded, at least partially, in it.

"Their next meeting is tonight, Peter. Tonight! I know where it takes place. I have an invitation; I got it through one of my contacts. But it is an invitation card for a guy, see? Those people don't even invite women to their club meetings, and sadly enough…" Miriam gestured at herself with some anger and a lot of irony. "… sadly enough I am visibly female!"

"Yeah, that's a shame." Peter smiled, a little helplessly. They were both of the same age, so why the hell did he always feel so young when she talked him into one of her freaky adventures? "See Miriam, I'd really like to help, okay? It does sound like a big story, no question about that. But …" He gestured at the stuff that was lying on the bed. "… I really don't know. You want me to put you into that stuff? It looks as if it's been taken from a movie with R-rating."

Most of the equipment on the bed was made from leather, some other items consisted of black rubber or latex. There were straps and laces, something like a cat suit, a corset – and pieces of equipment Peter had never even seen before in his life. He could only guess what their purpose might be. "Well, it's going to be an evening with R-rating, no question."
Miriam chuckled a little silly, and Peter noticed how flushed her cheeks were.
"You are nervous yourself!", he yelled, pointing a finger at her. "I can see it! And if you of all people get nervous, shit is about to hit the fan!"

Miriam shook her head, and kept smiling that magical smile, uinique smile. "I am nervous because I am going to be the bimbo who's being tied up and masked. So it's a natural reaction I guess, 'cause I enjoy being able to move my arms and use my hands, forgive me being sarcastic. I like to be not in bondage." She sighed. "So okay, yeah, I am nervous, I admit it. But you don't have to be nervous at all, since you'll be my…" She hesitated for a moment.
"You?" Peter looked cautiously at his colleague. "Your what?"
"My owner", Miriam answered finally, with a smirk on her face.