["Actually? Not Really."]

"Actually? Not Really." I state, wordlessly bidding him to redress. "I can accept that you're having one last fling before we start our relationship but not you 'cheating on me'..." I explain. "I'm kinda the jealous type and once we're together I want you to think of it more like a marriage, one you HAVE TO be faithful too, than whatever you're used to. There won't be any rings or gowns or anything but you are MINE. That means you can look all you want, but when you want to TOUCH, I'm IT: me and no one else for as long as you are my familiar: Got it?" I explain, and Damian ducks his head in acknowledgement.

"It will be as you say Mistress," he says, pulling up his boxers.

We spend the next few hours getting him used to the changes to the local world since he was last here in the late 1800s and getting him some decent clothes. He flirts shamelessly with the sales clerk till I set him straight about that too. Looking, OK: Flirting, only as my 'wingman' and with my prior approval: Touching; VERBOTEN: and that goes for online as well, not to mention since he's on my dime no doing anything that costs money without my say-so. He seems kind of put out that I've got him on such a tight leash but the binding compels him to obedience.

9:00 comes and he goes off for what he's half jokingly referring to as his 'Bachelor Party' while I sit at home and drink wine while writing in my dairy. I recount the events of the day and then put it away in it's strong box, along with my pistol. I own a Kel-Tec PMR-30 .22 Mag pistol for home defense and personal safety when venturing into the parts of town where the magic shops are located. Since the "rediscovery of magic" in the early 1800's there has come to be a minority population of what are collectively known as "Magbeis"* on Ærþ: beings from other dimensions trapped here for various reasons. Those without strong positive religious ties form an oppressed underclass in most major cities, but are also the primary purveyors of magical tools and reagents.
*(Short for 'Magical Beings'.)

Because Magbeis outlive humans by a factor of 10-1 or more in many cases, they are steadily growing in number and influence. Some hate groups say it is a slow and subtle invasion of our own making and eventually the humans on Ærþ will be buried under a tide of Mag-Beis, but I don't buy it. While some Magbeis that were born here want to stay on Ærþ its the fondest dream of the vast majority to GTFO of this universe and go home.

Anyway, because they arrive with basically nothing and their skills from home are often useless here, most Magbeis are quite poor. This turns many to crime and illegal work to pay for their expenses, making Magbie neighborhoods often the roughest parts of town: thus, the gun.

I'm through my second glass of wine and onto my third of water when Damian returns, slightly before midnight, dressed in a woman's silk bathrobe and with a smile on his face...

"Have Fun at the 'Bachelor Party'?" I ask and then get a sudden hit of scent, a mixture of girl-cum, semen, and brimstone... It bypasses my conscious mind completely and turns me on like a push-button ignition car...

"Get in here!" I order, and Damian closes the door behind him...