Unbound Commitment

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Unbound Commitment ISBN # 1-4199-0823-5 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Unbound Commitment Copyright© 2006 Sierra Cartwright Edited by Jaynie Ritchie. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: November 2006 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory: S – ENSUOUS E – ROTIC X - TREME Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic. S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

UNBOUND COMMITMENT

Sierra Cartwright

Dedication For Vicki Somberg, friend and confidant. I’m lucky to have you in my life!

Trademarks Acknowledgements The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Corona: Cerveceria Modelo, S.A. de C.V. CORPORATION MEXICO Ghostbusters: Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc. Rocky Mountain News: The Denver Publishing Company Starbucks: Starbucks U.S. Brands, LLC Venti: Starbucks U.S. Brands, LLC

Unbound Commitment

Chapter One Naked, on her knees, legs spread farther than shoulder-width apart, head tipped back, hands dangling at her sides, the fingers of her right hand just inches from an ominous black riding crop, Rachel trembled. Trembled, waited and questioned her sanity. He wanted her like this. Exposed and vulnerable, he’d said. Open and trusting. There wasn’t any doubt about it, she’d lost her mind. What had she been thinking? Thirty-two-year-old high-powered account executives did not behave this way. They had strategic meetings and hooked up with men who could further their career or personal goals. For sure they didn’t strip on command or finger themselves when a man barked an order, over the phone no less. She, sensible Rachel, had never before agreed to spend a week with a man she’d never met, especially at a remote Colorado cabin, following every minute detail of his orders. Well, almost every detail, she amended. She’d yet to rub the length of the riding crop across her clit and shove the long, thin, wet shaft into her mouth. She hadn’t assumed the proper “Present” position he’d taught her on the phone. Her fingers were not linked behind her neck. Her back was not femininely arched, thrusting her breasts forward. Rachel would have time to do all that when she heard his car tires crunch the gravel drive. He’d never know. Time crawled. Dusk became night. Strange noises filled the air. Her mouth dried and her nerves stretched. What the hell was she still doing here?

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Her car keys dangled on the hook next to the door in silent invitation. She was free to get up and leave. In fact, he’d encouraged just that. He’d suggested she change her mind. If she had any doubts, she should dip out on him. Sensibility was less than a half hour drive away. In minutes, she’d be able to see the city lights. If she picked up her phone, she could run back to the security of her former boyfriend’s arms. Bill was still number “5” on speed dial. She could cry convincingly, telling him she was sorry, that she’d been an idiot to break up and that yes, she still wanted to spend her one-week vacation in the Bahamas with him. Boring, a devilish voice whispered. Boring. Boring. Boring. She recognized the voice; it was the same one that urged her toward staggering naughtiness three weeks ago. If she hadn’t said yes to a second glass of wine. If she hadn’t spilled her guts, telling Cindy, a friend since college, all her darkest secrets. If she hadn’t listened to the insistent voice inside her that wanted more. But she had. She remembered the night well. “I’m telling you, girlfriend, there’s a man who can fulfill all your wildest dreams. Take you to the edge and push you right off.” Rachel stopped laughing then. “You’re serious.” “As a heart attack. He can fulfill every one of those wildest yearnings. Not boring. You can’t push this one around, I’m telling you what.” “I’ll bite.” “Sir James.” “Sir James?” Rachel demanded with a laugh. “Sir James? Is he British?” “I’m not sure. It could be a term of respect.” “But he actually calls himself that?” “No.” 6

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Rachel circled the rim of her glass with her still-empty ring finger, waiting for Cindy to continue. “His slaves do.” “Slaves?” Rachel’s voice held a tremor. She’d read about this, heard about it. She’d even checked out some sites on the Internet before chickening out and closing the windows. But here was Cindy, a stockbroker, talking about the scene as if they were discussing a pair of shoes. Rachel had her fantasies but never thought they could come true. And Cindy actually knew someone who was into it. “Slaves,” Cindy repeated. “As in women—or men—who give themselves over to complete sensual pleasure. They surrender their wants and needs, and in doing that, they receive more than they give.” Cindy reached for a pretzel. “I don’t know. Probably I shouldn’t have mentioned him.” “No! I’m interested.” “Have you had any training?” “Training?” “Have you had a Master? Do you know the basic positions?” “Not really. I’ve played some, gotten some spankings, used clamps…” She blushed and trailed off but Cindy didn’t seem surprised or shocked. Gathering courage, Rachel continued, “I’ve read a lot and I want to experience it for real.” At 1:40 a.m., last call on Ladies’ Night, after that fateful second glass of Riesling had almost been drained, Rachel took a huge step. “Call him,” she said. “You want me to call Sir James?” Cindy asked. “For real?” The bar was noisy, Rachel was tipsy and gutsy, a dangerous combination. “Yes,” she said. “Get out!” “No, really.” Rachel nodded. 7

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“I’m warning you, he’s hardcore. It’s been a long time since he released Michelle and I think he prefers women who’ve already been trained.” “Don’t tell him I haven’t been.” “As if he won’t know.” She shook her head. “If I go along with this, I’ll be in as much trouble as you.” Still, Cindy dug a cell phone from the cavernous bottom of her leather purse and left the table. The time crawled by. Rachel chewed through half a dozen pretzels. Better than biting her fingernails. What if he wasn’t interested? She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. Three hours ago, she hadn’t any idea he even existed but now she wanted, desperately, to meet him. Cindy finally returned, handed over the phone and excused herself to the bathroom. Now that he was on the phone, Rachel didn’t know how to introduce herself. “Hey,” he said. “Cindy tells me you want to meet me. Says you’re ready for the next level.” Her throat was suddenly dry. She wished she hadn’t finished all the wine. “Yes.” “Tell me what that means to you.” She hesitated. His voice was deep, compelling. Scary. So scary she couldn’t tell if he was British or not. Gutsy beat a hasty retreat. Tipsy vanished. Suddenly she was sober. “It means I’ve never had a fulfilling sexual relationship and I want one.” “Weird” was how her ex-husband described her. Well, along with “kinky” and “a fucking nymph”. Bill, the man she was more or less dating—less, rather than more—didn’t call her names. In fact, he tried to keep up, tried to give her what he thought she wanted. An occasional smack on the ass, and, twice, a slap on the cunt. Sometimes, he even squeezed her nipples as hard as she liked. Problem was, she couldn’t articulate what she needed, the depth, the need.

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The raw, savage hunger. This man, she thought, might understand what she didn’t. “What are you willing to give in order to receive?” Silence echoed. Rob Thomas blared from a jukebox somewhere in the back of the bar but all she heard was the silence. “Everything.” “Trust? Obedience? Love? Commitment?” Where the hell was this going? She wanted a wild ride, not love. Love was something she didn’t believe in anymore. Life, reality, had seen to that. And she’d commit to no man, long-term, ever again. Nothing existed but her job and the demon of desire that she tried not to acknowledge. She went about the predictable details of her uninspired life, pretending to be happy and fulfilled. And that was a whole lot better than settling for anyone, even Bill with his goofy gifts and a house in Highlands Ranch. He had dreams of kids and a dog—a chocolate Lab. She dreamed of being tied down in a whole different way—okay, so maybe tied up was more like it. “Everything you have to offer,” James said, “I will demand, and more.” It was more warning than statement. “I understand.” “You understand…” Then she got it. Nerves twisted in her stomach. “Sir James.” “For now, I prefer ‘Master’. Call me tomorrow night,” he said, “six o’clock. Be naked.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Problem?” She opted for honesty, always a good refuge. “I don’t get home until seven.” She drew a breath. “I can’t call you until around seven-thirty.” Bone-numbing quiet rocked the line. In the background, Rob Thomas fell silent. The last of the late-night stragglers headed for the streets of Denver’s Lower Downtown. 9

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Sir James had asked what she was willing to offer. She could hardly refuse the first request. “Six o’clock,” she repeated. Cindy returned to the table, opened her purse and dug a tube of lipstick from it. She made no pretense of not eavesdropping. For a frightening moment, Rachel thought Sir James might have hung up. But he hadn’t. Rachel’s own mortification threatened to drown her when she realized what he expected. “I’ll call you at six o’clock.” She looked down into her drink, trying to ignore Cindy and the cocktail waitress. “Master.” Cindy dropped her lipstick and smiled. The cocktail waitress knocked over the glass she’d been clearing away. Rachel closed her eyes. “Looking forward to it.” He hung up. The approval, scant as it was, was enough. “How well do you know this guy?” Rachel asked, finger trembling as she punched the End key. “I can vouch for him,” Cindy said. “Like I said, he’s tough and demanding though. Make sure you talk to him and understand what you’re getting into before meeting him.” Right now, after another hour ticked away in the mountain cabin, the minutes punctuated by a loud clock somewhere unseen, the dark disorienting her and the urge to use the bathroom nudging her, Rachel was having second thoughts. She talked to Sir James every day for three weeks. Each time he asked her to do something more risqué, call him during work hours and finger herself while she sat at her desk, drive with her skirt pulled up around her waist and more. But each time they talked, he reminded her she had a choice whether to obey or not. He hadn’t pushed for a meeting and when she’d asked, he’d turned her down a number of times.

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She needed to be certain, he said. She was. Or so she’d believed. Rachel tightened her internal muscles against the increasing need to pee. She didn’t want Sir James catching her somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. And where she was supposed to be was right here, in the middle of the room, in plain view of the door when it opened. His cabin—at least she presumed it was his—seemed spacious. She’d been forbidden to explore, and, not knowing when he’d show up, following his basic directions had seemed an exemplary idea. She stripped when she walked through the door, depositing her clothes in a tidy heap. Her knees weakened when she saw an elegant, out-of-place silver tray on the rustic table next to the door. A crop, a thick, black leather strap, a collar, a leash. As if expecting a Labrador instead of a woman. She choked back a hysterical laugh and picked up the crop. Gingerly she slapped it against her open palm. She didn’t know much about crops. One had never marked her flesh. Did it bite like she’d heard a cane did? Or did it sting? Did it leave a bruise? Her own imagination threatening to undo her, she looked around the great room. An unlit fire lay in the hearth. A couch and chair, both leather, dominated the room, a long, polished coffee table within feet-propping distance. But there was a large, empty spot not far from the front door where she’d been instructed to wait. The wood floor was uncomfortable and cold. When she glanced to the right, the collar and leash grabbed her attention. When she looked down, the crop lay there, and she was reminded it was supposed to be in her mouth.

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She squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them, she looked up. A stout metal ring hung from the ceiling, invitation and threat. Darkness, at first, had been a blessing. Now it just sucked. She knew a huge soft rug snuggled in front of the fireplace. Surely Sir James wouldn’t mind if she moved it so she could kneel on it? But this wasn’t about her comfort. If it had been, the heat would have been set higher. She would have been allowed some clothes, maybe a cocktail to dull the edge. But he’d been specific about that. No drinking. All her senses needed to be alert. And if he’d given two damns about her comfort, he wouldn’t have kept her waiting for hours. Rachel shifted her weight, drew her legs a little closer together, pretending she didn’t need to go to the bathroom. How the hell long was she supposed to wait, damn it? She never waited more than seven minutes for a date. She wasn’t someone who could be ignored like a common— Actually, she was. A slave. Tonight, and every night for the next week. It was what she’d wanted, what she’d asked for. He’d made her verbalize it. “I want a week,” she said, “where I’m at your service. I want to know what I’m missing. I want…” “To be my slave,” he suggested. “Yes,” she whispered. “Say it.” “Please, Master, I want to be your slave for a week.” He’d insisted she sign a contract. So instead of going to the Bahamas for a week like she’d planned, she’d stayed in Colorado and traveled to the mountains.

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Now, instead of being pampered with unlimited umbrella drinks, tanning on the beach and eating decadent food, she was a common slave. Master kept her waiting because he could. Because it pleased him. The last guy she dumped had treated her better than this. But that was part of the illicit thrill. She squirmed again. Perhaps he’d forgotten her. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Her cell phone rang. The custom tone—Ghostbusters—slapped at her in the silence. What if it was him? He could be letting her know he was running late. He could be calling to cancel. More likely it was Cindy, wanting the dish. Rachel stood. Her cramped muscles screamed a protest. She took a step then stopped. What if it wasn’t him on the phone? What if it was Sir James and he was calling as a way to test her obedience? What if… Rachel never heard the door open. Light flooded the room. Then he filled it. Night air whooshed through the opening with a blast of cold. The door snapped closed. A key turned in the lock. Caught, trapped, Rachel didn’t know what to do. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Quietly she swore. She met his gaze. His eyes, the color of a storm-filled forest, regarded her. He crossed his arms. She didn’t know what to expect but this wasn’t it. Sir James, if indeed that was his name, stood a little more than six feet tall. Even in the Colorado mountains, he wore a suit, tie loosened, top button of his shirt open. His dark, dark hair was fashioned into place, and a stray lock dipped across his forehead. He had no trace of a five o’clock shadow. He was impossibly broad, commanding. She didn’t know what a Master was supposed to look like. Leather and denim, maybe, but wing tips and silk suit? 13

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“What,” he asked, voice so soft she strained to hear it, “do you think you’re doing?” In that instant, Rachel made her first mistake. Because he dressed like the men she worked with, the men she dated, she underestimated him. “My phone…” She trailed off. “I thought it might be you.” “You disobeyed a direct order.” “You were late.” Even she heard the petulance in her tone. She’d have bitten back the words if she could. He took a step toward her. She stood her ground. “Mistake number three.” Three? He loosened the silk tie then pulled it off. Was he going to tie her with it like Bill had? Problem was, silk slipped easily. It was more work than it was worth to pretend she was in serious bondage. Ooooh, silk tie. Big threat. People called him Sir James? This was her big fantasy come to life? She’d met high school principals more intimidating. “The reason you’re on your feet instead of your knees?” Because her knees hurt and she needed to pee. “Was there a part of ‘complete obedience’ you didn’t understand?” He crossed the room, yanked her head back with a solid grip of her hair. Outrage flooded her. “How dare—” “On…your…knees.” He forced her down. Sir James kicked her knees apart. A sharp pain driving into her scalp, she spread her legs as far as he demanded. She fought every instinct to cover her breasts. Instead, she half-closed her eyes, not wanting to see the…disappointment…in his.

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He released her hair and took a step back. “Get in the position you were supposed to be in.” His tone, like his tie, was non-threatening. In less than five seconds, she already knew better. She forced herself to think, to remember. The crop. She groped around, found it then closed her teeth around it. “Rub it between your legs.” He crowded her space, overwhelmed her. Embarrassed, she did, aware he was watching every move. “Is your cunt wet?” His tone was conversational, boardroom controlled. But his words were shocking. She shook her head. “I want it dripping,” he said. Rachel had never been this dry. Fear? The leather shaft of the crop abraded, hurt. “I distinctly remember saying I wanted your head back.” In all her reading, secret evenings spent with secret books hidden from her man du jour, the Master always wanted the slave to have her head and eyes averted. “I want you to know what’s coming.” He moved, looming over her. Vaguely she noticed him shoving the tie into his pocket. “Arch your back more.” She couldn’t look at anything but him. “Better be dripping.” She shook her head. He raised a brow. “I’m not,” she said. He reached for her hair. “I’m not, Master!”

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“Maybe rubbing the crop a little faster would help.” Neither of them thought it was a suggestion. “Does that help?” “Not yet, Master.” Her throat was parched. What was she supposed to do? “Maybe harder?” The need to urinate increased as he intensified the pressure and speed of the crop against her clit. “It might help if I show you what I mean.” She didn’t trust the even tempo of his tenor. Soothing, almost. A double-edged sword. “No. I mean, I mean I’ll try harder.” The whispered, “Master,” was a barely remembered afterthought. He moved to the side of her, still fully dressed, making her acutely aware of her nakedness. In the late spring chill, Rachel started to sweat. “Spread your legs farther. Farther.” She nearly lost her balance. “What part of the order didn’t you understand?” Her legs were spread so wide, the inside of her thighs ached. He fisted his left hand in her hair. She managed to open her thighs a fraction of an inch more. Wordlessly he took the crop from her. “Hold open your pussy lips.” She cried out when he scraped the crop’s shaft across her swollen flesh. Leather was wrapped around the length of the crop, and when he pulled it against her, he also twisted, intensifying the pain. And it was pain, as dry as she was. “Hold open your pussy lips,” he repeated.

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The cramped muscles, the ache where he pulled her hair, the unnatural curve to her back, the ringing in her ears… He dragged the crop, forcing it against her. It felt like sandpaper. How much more could she take? “Like it?” “No.” The word was more strangled breath than answer. “Please.” He continued. Her entire nether regions were on fire, she couldn’t keep her eyes open against the tears. “Master, please… Stop.” She begged again. Then again. He dropped the crop, released her hair and didn’t help her when she surrendered to the pull of gravity and fell over. “On your knees.” She smothered a small cry as she struggled back into position. Sir James left the room, and she heard something that sounded like the tinkle of glasses and the slamming of a door. She sobbed quietly, again questioning her sanity. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. Where was the sense of surrender? The ecstasy? The climax? Forget the climax, where was the sexual arousal? “Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” he called. She dashed her hands across her cheeks. Unsure what to do, Rachel assumed the position he wanted her in before he arrived. Except for the hated crop. She left that where he’d dropped it. And he had dropped it, when she’d begged prettily. She blinked. He had dropped it. She’d won. A small victory maybe, but she’d won. All men, from her father to her teachers, from her boss to her employees and boyfriends, could be manipulated. It was

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simply a matter of finding their weakness, their limits. Could be tears, smiles, sexual favors, could be the cold shoulder. With Sir James, it was a plea. Her confidence returned. Maybe she could get what she wanted—needed—from this man without surrendering more of herself than she was willing to give. He returned, carrying a shot glass filled with clear liquid and an open bottle of Corona. No drink for her. She scowled. He walked straight past her as if she were yesterday’s Rocky Mountain News. He sat on the couch, his back to her. From where she knelt, she was all-too aware of him. He’d shed his jacket and rolled back his sleeves. “What’s the punishment to be?” “Punishment?” Her confidence dropped a notch. “I beg your pardon?” “What’s

your

understanding

of

the

difference

between

discipline

and

punishment?” Confused, she asked, “Aren’t they the same thing?” “Not necessarily.” He stood, moved toward the barren fireplace. He turned to face her, keeping half the room between them. “My discipline, while corrective, can be enjoyable. More than physical, it’s mental. It’s given generously by the Master to help the slave improve. It’s also a reminder of the slave’s role. Generally it involves a beating. As my slave, you’d likely receive great pleasure from discipline. You might consider it foreplay and it may result in an orgasm if you’ve properly submitted yourself to it.” That’s what she wanted. “Punishment is just that. No pleasure is meant to be derived from it. It may involve corporal punishment, and when you are subject to it, you would be forbidden to orgasm. “The contract you signed outlined punishable offenses. I trust you read it?” “Yes, Master.”

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“Your infractions are around the half-dozen mark. How would you like to be punished?” Dear god. Her mind swam. He’d stopped dragging the crop across her clit when she begged. But not without a price. “Arch your back.” She did so immediately. “You ever been soundly thrashed with a crop, slave?” She shook her head. “No. No, Master.” No acknowledgement for her minding her manners. “The crop’s my favorite device for correction. Very directional. I can whip a slave’s cunt or nipple and hit the same spot repeatedly.” He took a drink, looked at her. “You will learn to love it, to ask for it. To count its strokes. You,” he said softly, “will beg for it. And thank me afterward.” She broke position long enough to scowl at the already-hated thing. Beg for it. Yeah, right. “Fetch it.” She stood and reached for the crop. “Crawl. Crop in your mouth. Use your teeth. I do not want your saliva all over it.” Utterly mortified, she did. “Drop it at my feet.” She almost expected him to pat her head or scratch behind her ears. But that would have been approval she didn’t deserve. “Now the collar and leash.” She still needed to use the restroom. Instead, she ignored her own urges and crawled to the front door. Having learned her lesson about standing, she rose on her knees to reach the collar and leash with her teeth. 19

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She dropped them next to the crop then looked to Sir James for instruction. Approval, she’d already ascertained, wouldn’t be forthcoming. “Put the collar on. Now tighten it.” Then, “Attach the leash.” This part didn’t bother her as much as she expected. In fact, surprising her, she rather liked the feeling of wearing a collar for him. It felt wicked and wonderful. Strangely liberating. He ignored her for several long minutes. “When Cindy said you were ready for the next level, she deliberately misled me. The next level to me means a slave who has been properly trained and wants refinement.” He drank a quarter of the Corona in a smooth, easy pull. “You’re defiant, disobedient and petulant. If you had had proper training, those things would have been beaten out of you. “Anyone with proper training wouldn’t have moved when that phone rang. You would never have stood in my presence. You would never dare to use your mouth for anything other than giving your Master pleasure. I don’t like being deceived. “Did you lie, Rachel?” He fixed her with a solid stare, the first time he’d looked directly into her eyes. The first time he’d used her name. “Or did your friend?”

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Chapter Two “Master?” “Answer the question.” She dropped her gaze to the crop on the floor near his feet. She was chilled, scared. “I—” “During training, the slave will refer to herself in the third person.” “There was no intentional deception.” “Lie,” he corrected. “The s-slave,” she said, stuttering for the first time in her life, “takes full responsibility. I… She…” Ohmigod, she was scared. “Lied.” “What is the extent of your training?” She was out of her element. “The slave has done a lot of reading.” “Impressive.” He saluted her with his bottle. Red chased up her cheeks at his sarcasm. “What’s the most severe discipline you’ve received as a result of your horrendous behavior?” Silence stretched. “Slave?” “I—er, the slave had her ass slapped several times.” She looked up at him. “That’s it?” She nodded.

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His curse was swift and vicious. “Cindy’s in for the beating of her life, as well as you.” He finished his Corona and slammed the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Maybe I’ll beat you both at the same time.” Cindy? He’d beat Cindy over this? It was harmless. Fun… Or at least it was supposed to be. “The slave doesn’t wish her friend to be punished on her behalf.” “The slave’s wants are immaterial. Might want to try the right behavior to avoid chastisement.” “Does Master want another drink?” Wasn’t really about him, it was about her escape. She suspected he knew. “There’s a bowl of water on the kitchen floor.” “For me?” “For the slave,” he corrected. “Yes, Master.” She started to crawl away and yelped when the sole of his wing tip found her right butt cheek and she sprawled onto the rug. “Gratitude?” “Thank you, Master.” “You’d do well to remember your manners.” “Yes, Master.” She paused. “Thank you, Master.” In the kitchen, she collapsed against the wall. Her clit throbbed but if she were honest, it didn’t hurt. She’d already experienced more at Sir James’ hands than from every other man she’d been with, combined. This wasn’t what she’d expected. In her fantasies, she’d been manhandled, had rough, but not too rough, sex, had her ass slapped, maybe with a belt. Her partner—not a Master but a partner—had been as concerned with her pleasure as much as his. In the end, they’d fallen asleep together and in the morning, started over.

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But this? Sir James hadn’t taken off anything more than his tie and suit coat. He hadn’t beaten her, not even with a hand. There was no sexual delirium. He didn’t seem to give two cents about her pleasure and seemed more than a little annoyed to even be here. Despite it, horrifyingly, Rachel realized she was wet. “Oh god.” Knowing she was stalling, scared of the repercussions, she picked up the bowl and drank from it, mindful not to drink too much since she still hadn’t gone to the bathroom. Then she grabbed another beer from the fridge. How to carry the bottle? Uncap it first or carry the opener? She should have thought it through or asked for direction. Only she wasn’t sure how to ask a question. Ask permission? And what about permission to use the toilet? In the end, she uncapped the bottle and crawled with the open end in her mouth. It was more difficult than she could imagine, hell on her teeth and lips. Sir James took the bottle without a word. She returned to the position he’d told her to assume before he arrived. He held the imported beer for a long time. Silence dragged. And with the absence of stimulation, her needs became self-focused again. She shifted without realizing she’d done so. “Stop fidgeting.” “I—” She broke off. “The slave needs…” She gulped. “The bathroom.” As a second grader, she had to ask for a hall pass. By the fifth grade, she could just take a pass and be trusted with it. Now, as a slave, his slave, she had fewer rights than a seven-year-old. Despite her efforts to keep her head tipped and her back arched, she looked at the floor. He grabbed her leash. “Unless your behavior improves dramatically, next time you’ll piss in the bushes.”

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Shameful feelings made her tremble as she followed him to the bathroom. He dropped her leash then took a step back. He stood there, filling the doorframe as he propped one shoulder against the jamb. “Master?” “Pee, slave.” Ohmigod. “You can’t be serious.” He grabbed her leash. “Okay! Thank you, Master.” He let go of the leash. Biting her lower lip hard to stop the tears, she sat on the toilet. “Clean yourself in the bidet.” She fumbled, trying to figure out the flow of the water. When the water hit her swollen cunt in a warm gush, she sighed. “Don’t you dare come.” Impossible, with him watching. “Leave it,” he said, when Rachel would have turned off the water. “Spread your pussy lips.” The warmth, the sensuality, the overwhelming emotion of having her deepest, dirtiest dreams fulfilled… More than fulfilled, they were exceeded, every moment a new experience, terrifying, thrilling. “Fuck the water.” She rocked her hips. At first she was hugely self-conscious. With effort, she forced herself to relax. He’d accept nothing less than total compliance. She rocked faster. A groan slipped past her pursed lips. He yanked on her leash, the leash she hadn’t realized he’d picked back up. “Your orgasms belong to me.” Her thighs shook with the effort of holding herself still above the streaming water. 24

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“Again.” Her buttocks clenched, she moved over the water. Feelings, sensations washed over her. Need of a different sort built inside her. “Do you deserve an orgasm?” “If…” Her eyes closed. “If it pleases Master.” “It doesn’t.” He pulled her away from the water. James ignored her low growl of frustration. She was a sexual being. But hell and damnation, he’d been tricked. In this kind of play, she was virtually a virgin. Cindy hadn’t been straight up when she told him Rachel wanted to spend a week pleasing him. It’d been the better part of a year since he released Michelle, and he was ready to accept the challenge of instructing an already-experienced slave on the finer pleasures of pleasing her Master. But to have to begin with the rudimentary basics? That was for trainers. James preferred an accomplished slave. How in the hell long had it even been since he’d started with a woman who didn’t even know how to follow the most basic direction? More than the physical aspects of surrender were the emotional ones. Those were more challenging. A novice would barely begin to grasp the finer points of true submission. He sighed. “Master?” “Turn off the water.” After complying, she stood there, droplets of water on her skin, gooseflesh forming as the cool air caressed her. He should just send inexperienced Rachel back to her safe little life. She could fantasize as she masturbated and save him a hell of a lot of work.

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For the moment now, he satisfied himself with the knowledge he’d soon be beating her friend, someone much more experienced. That idea made him smile. He turned. “Carry your leash in your mouth.” He withheld permission for Rachel to dry off. “Present yourself in the great room. Do it right this time.” The leather held gingerly between her teeth, she moved toward the barren fireplace. Too clumsily. He shouldn’t be able to hear her at all. After downing another shot of tequila, he joined her. She wasn’t on the rug. The crop was in her mouth. Not necessary but with her lack of knowledge, what had he expected? She faced the couch. Her head was tipped back, her spine curved, and her hands were behind her neck. “Nice breasts,” he observed, “and they’ll be better when your nipples are swollen, better still when your flesh has been marked.” Hell. He was contemplating beating her. Maybe there were worse things. She was attractive. A few years younger than he, shoulder-length hair, probably undyed. She wasn’t skinny, matching some ridiculous ideal. She probably carried ten to twelve extra pounds but seemed to work out, at least semi-regularly. She appealed to him, dark hair, blue eyes, breasts that were small rather than huge and an ass meant for a man’s punishment. In that area, Cindy had read him. He reached out and viciously pinched Rachel’s nipples, taking out his sudden temper. Her breath hissed in, but she didn’t pull back. He twisted. She gasped. Quickly releasing her, he placed a hand between her legs. Another gasp, and he felt the telltale moisture. “Sensitive nipples.” She didn’t answer.

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Crossing the room, he opened a drawer and took out a pair of clamps. “No quarter, slave.” That said, he pinched her nipples again, making them erect, then released clamps onto them. Rachel—slave—gulped for air. “Excuse me?” “It—it hurts.” He pulled on the metal chain. “You mean…?” “Thank you, Master.” “Don’t think of the pain. Breathe into it. Think of the sensation between your legs. You have permission to finger yourself.” “Yes… Yes, Master.” “Hold up your fingers.” She did. When he saw the moisture glistening, he released his hold on the chain. He enjoyed watching the mixture of misery and pleasure on her face. “Nice. Is this the first time your nipples have been clamped?” She blushed and looked away. “Answer the question.” She looked back at him. “I— Once—” “No embarrassment,” he said. “It’s not necessary.” “I had clamps. I have used clothespins.” “And?” “They don’t hurt like this.” “In time you’ll learn to like them tighter.” She shook her head. He nearly smiled. “Wipe your hands on your breasts.” She scrunched up her delicate little nose.

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“Shall I repeat the command?” She followed orders. A fairly quick study. “Thank you, Master.” “For?” “For reminding me of my manners.” He slapped her on the breast. “And…?” “For letting me finger myself and wipe the moisture on my breast.” “You’re welcome.” James sat on the couch, tossed the crop on the coffee table and took a drink of the warming beer. “Why are you here?” Her breathing changed, becoming more and more shallow. He waited a moment. “Why the charade?” “The slave heard of your reputation. She wanted the best.” She wanted. “She wanted someone to take her to the edges of endurance, to the ultimate in surrender and ecstasy.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “I want,” he said, wondering if she heard the danger in his voice, “the unrehearsed answer.” “The slave wants a screaming orgasm.” “Better.” “The slave wants to know what else is out there and how to get there. She wants to be Mastered.” Much better. “The slave must learn to master herself before she can become mastered. She has to want nothing in order to be satisfied.” Zen. Paradoxical, in practical terms. And that was the reason Michelle had failed in her commitment to him, to them. He’d loved her, totally, completely. A relationship

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between Master and slave was more profound and powerful if love were involved—if both people took that risk. Michelle never had. “What are you willing to give in order to get what you want?” he asked Rachel. It wasn’t the first time, it wouldn’t be the last. “Master?” “Think about it.” “Submission,” she guessed. He shook his head and let the question go for now. “Enumerate the slave’s failings since she arrived.” “The slave has repeatedly referred to herself in the first, rather than third person. The slave regularly forgets to show gratitude for Master’s attention and lessons. The slave wasn’t properly prepared when Master arrived.” She took a nervous breath. “The slave doesn’t always follow instructions without question,” she added when he didn’t respond. “What about refusing to name a proper punishment earlier, when Master asked what punishment the slave should be subjected to when she asked her Master not to rub the crop between her legs? Or for feeling sorry for herself? Slave needs to remember that she shouldn’t be so self-absorbed. This isn’t about her.” “Thank you, Master, for the reminders.” “Or for whining when Master clamped her tits, especially when she should have expressed her appreciation?” “Yes, Master.” Reaching forward, he pulled on the metal chain attached to her breasts. “And…?” “For lying to you all along.” “You had three weeks to make a confession.” “Yes, Master.” She dipped her head. “Recommend your punishment.” 29

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“The slave is inexperienced. She doesn’t know what to suggest.” “When did I ask the slave how many times she’s been corrected?” “The crop, Master. The slave should be cropped once for each infraction.” “That’s a start. And an insult. Now suggest an appropriate punishment.” “Three times for each mistake.” James regarded her. Probably a good place to start for someone who’d never taken a whipping before. But he was a greedy man, and a demanding one. Did Rachel know what her friend had gotten her into? She tried again, “Five times, Master.” “Do you prefer to be tied up?” He saw a flicker in her blue eyes. Excitement laced with fear. Trust and trepidation. He vowed never to abuse that trust. “Master’s pleasure is paramount.” The right answer. Despite himself, he was impressed. “Can you grab your ankles?” She frowned. He clarified, “Are you physically able to grab your ankles?” “Yes, Master.” “Stand up and do it.” She scrambled. “Spread your legs farther apart,” he said. “More.” He drained the Corona. “Do the math. How many infractions?” “Five?” she asked from her upside-down position. “Six? Seven?” she whispered. “I counted a minimum of nine.” She couldn’t prevent the whimper. He let it go. “The math,” he prompted. “Forty-five.”

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It was a lot, he conceded. But he was interested as to how far she’d take it before crying uncle. “Your keys are still next to the door.” “Master? Permission to ask a question.” “Denied. Count the strokes.” The first was intentionally light, along with the next eleven. By the twelfth, he’d found a rhythm. “Thirteen, fourteen…” She gasped. On twenty her hold faltered. “Twenty-one. Twenty-two…” And he hadn’t unleashed his usual power. She’d feel a few of them though before the beating was over. “Twenty—” She fell forward. He tapped her spine with the crop, rather like a frustrated piano teacher might. “Position.” It took her several seconds to regain her equilibrium and grasp her ankles. “We’ll do that one over,” he said solicitously. “Twenty-five.” He gave her the next two at the same pace. Then he moved back a half a pace and caught her with the end of the crop. Her scream bounced off the rafters. Irritated, he shoved the crop between her ass cheeks. “Better not let it fall.” James strode to his suit pocket and withdrew his silk tie. Frowning at the waste, he returned to her. After removing the crop, he wadded the tie and shoved it in her vagina. She squirmed but, lucky for her, didn’t break position. “Open your mouth.” When she did, he shoved the now-damp tie in there. “Now,” he suggested, “shut up.”

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She gagged. He gave her the next half dozen strokes at the former pace. He knew her limits. And he’d test them again with the last five. “Spread your ass cheeks.” A muffled sound came from behind silk. Questioning, he imagined. “Stalling will count as another infraction.” Her hands crept up. “Almost right.” His breathing had returned to normal, and he savored the next few minutes. His cock had hardened and, if he were to be honest with himself, he was enjoying the process of disciplining her. She spread her cheeks farther apart. Her hole was small, tight and, he imagined, virginal. For sure it had never felt the unholy sting of a crop. “Maintain your position for these six,” he told her. Letting her know what to expect was a touch of kindness he didn’t usually allow. Already there was a softness, a tenderness for her. She sobbed quietly and tears ran down her face. Was her fantasy coming true? Or was the experience more than she’d thought? More than she could handle? “Grab your ankles.” If she were still counting, she’d know they had five left. He made each of them a lesson in of itself. “You do not have permission to move.” He went for a third Corona. From the kitchen, he observed her heaving chest, shaking legs. Her hair curtained her face, but she didn’t move, didn’t try to glance up, didn’t dare disobey. He wasn’t disappointed in her. On the contrary. She impressed him. “Your ass looks nice,” he said, approved, moments later, rolling his cold Corona across her cheeks. “Red. Welted.” He dragged his thumbnail across a particularly nasty mark. “This,” he said, “and this,” he touched another, “will probably bruise.” 32

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He took a drink. “Spread your ass.” Slowly, hesitatingly, she did. He heard and ignored her silent plea. He tipped the beer bottle sideways and dampened a finger. He plunged his finger inside her. She yelped. He stayed there long seconds. Using his other hand, he stroked her pussy. She was wet, drenched. “Did the slave like it?” She shook her head. “The slave’s body tells a different story.” Then, miserably, she nodded. He withdrew his finger. “Sore?” She nodded. “Good.” Picking up the crop, he delivered another three stinging blows, ones she hadn’t been expecting, “Because I wanted to,” he said, as much as he’d ever explain himself. “Present yourself.” Gingerly, she did. Not a bad evening’s work, even if he hadn’t gotten any sexual release. It’d been a decade since he’d worked with a woman this much of a neophyte. It had been a pleasure. He grabbed her chin, made her look at him. “Your keys, phone and purse are where you left them. Leave anytime you want.” Beneath the clamps, her nipples were swollen. Her eyes were filled with tears, and mascara ringed her eyes. Her breaths were uneven—her hair hung in tangled disarray. She didn’t head for the door. He wanted to whip her again, take her to the brink, maybe make her scream with an orgasm. He settled for digging his hands into her hair. “Understand this, my beautiful, alluring slave. If you are still here when I return tomorrow, it means you’re in training. This isn’t a fantasy with a namby-pamby man 33

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you can manipulate. It’s not a kiddy game. I want you clean, rested, eager to please. Tonight wasn’t even a warm-up. “You aren’t even close to receiving everything you want. If you want it, you have to be prepared to let go, of your inhibitions, your expectations, your desire to please only yourself. “When I get back, you need to have thought of a safe word. “If you haven’t already, I want you to question your commitment to this, to putting yourself in my hands. More than anything, this is about trust. You must trust that the decisions I make consider your wants and needs. You must trust that I won’t take you where you can’t go. And you must trust that I will find every one of your limits. “Be clear about this. I will demand nothing less than your abject, on-your-knees surrender.” He meant every word. Abject, on-her-knees surrender. “You should be afraid,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t be sane if you weren’t. If you cannot meet every one of my requirements, if you’re not prepared to be a slave, go home. Run away.” He tugged on the nipple clamps. “Understand?” Wincing, she nodded the best she could. He released her and she struggled back into position without a reminder. James feathered her hair back from her face. She looked up at him. Tenderness made him run a thumb across her eyebrow. On his way out the door, he snatched his jacket from the back of the couch. He paused, looked back at her. Unable to speak with the tie still shoved in her mouth, she instead fixed her total attention on him. “When I punished you, you didn’t beg for it like you were supposed to. And I didn’t experience any of your gratitude. Think about what that might mean.”

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The door closed with a jamb-shaking slam.

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Chapter Three She pulled the tie out of her mouth with shaky fingers. Every muscle and sinew burned. Where he’d beaten her, she ached. Rachel collapsed against the blessed coolness of the wooden floor. She was overwhelmed, every nerve ending seared, every emotion jagged. In the distance, she heard his car pull away. If she had a brain, she’d get dressed and drive away herself, forget this ever happened, pretend she hadn’t met the enigmatic Sir James No Last Name. She could go back to work or, better yet, spend the rest of her vacation shopping and sleeping late. She could use her vibrator ’til she couldn’t orgasm anymore, and she could even buy herself a pair of nipple clamps. But she wouldn’t do any of those things. Despite it all, she was intrigued. She’d gotten a taste of everything she wanted, and she wondered what else was out there. The Ghostbusters theme shattered the quiet. She wasn’t under specific instructions not to answer it. Rising slowly, she checked the display, somewhat disappointed when Cindy’s number showed up. “You okay?” Cindy demanded. In the background Rachel heard the sounds of a bar. She could be there instead of here, nursing potential bruises. Then she recalled the sensuality of water caressing her swollen clit while he watched… “Rachel?” “Mostly okay. I think.” “Was it everything you expected?” 36

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“More.” She could never have dreamed this. “Do you need me to come get you?” “He left me my keys and told me to run away.” “Are you going to?” Rachel exhaled. “No.” She was going to take a bath, drink a huge glass of water then get some hardcore sleep. “Use your safe word if you need it.” If she could even think of one. “Sir James said he’s going to beat you and me at the same time.” “Wicked!” Wicked? “Did he say when?” Rachel dreaded it, hoped it was an empty threat while barely suppressed excitement had raised Cindy’s voice a couple of octaves. After hanging up, Rachel went in search of the bathroom. His pre-arrival warning not to snoop echoing in her head, she went through the only open door. Just beyond the toilet and bidet, she found a gloriously large tub. A huge fluffy towel sat on the rim, but there was only a plain bar of soap in the dish. A new razor nestled in a holder and inexpensive shampoo stood on the counter. She found no loofah, no body pouf, no body wash, no bubbles or candles. There was a bottle of unscented lotion and a hairbrush under the counter, along with a toothbrush and paste and nothing else. In his last phone call to her, James had instructed her to bring nothing with her. He wanted her dependent on him for all her needs. For a moment, she contemplated driving back to town to find a drug store. She could even go home and spend the night there. If she got up early enough, surely she’d be here before he arrived.

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But her disobedience would grant her nothing, except for a feeling of oneupmanship. Not that that was all bad. She rubbed her ass, remembering her last act of defiance. With a sigh, she turned on the water. After a couple of minutes, the water no longer rose in an inviting steam. She tested it. Not finding it hot enough, she turned off the cold entirely, and tepid was the best she got. Blast the man for thinking up punishments when he wasn’t even here! She settled for a shallow bath. Teeth chattering, she unfolded the towel. A piece of paper fluttered to the ceramic tiled floor. She ignored it and, instead, wrapped up in the softness of the huge, soft, warm towel. Funny how she appreciated such a little thing all of a sudden. Finally dry, she picked up the note. The script was crisp, the words cold. Sleep on the couch. You won’t need a blanket or pillow. She wadded the page and threw it at the wall. She screamed in outrage. Heartless, mean-spirited sonofabitch. Enough was damn well enough. She wanted a hot bath, a glass of wine, a warm bed and, oh yeah, an orgasm would be nice, thank you very much. In that instant, she did exactly as James suggested. She sat on the edge of the tub and questioned her commitment. She loved her creature comforts. She worked hard, she deserved them. The books she’d read were obviously just that, fiction. No one really wanted this kind of lifestyle. No one really wanted a Master. No one would willingly do this… Tears welled again. She forced them away. She wasn’t the type to cry or feel sorry for herself. Well, she hadn’t been up ’til now. 38

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As if he were there, she heard his admonishment to remember it wasn’t about her. Her phone beeped twice, signaling an incoming text message. It was from him. Lock up when you leave. The assumption that she’d run pissed her off. She fired off her response. See you in the morning. Then she made amends with another, quick message. See you in the morning, Master. She stared at the phone for a long time. When it finally beeped, she jumped. You did well. I’m impressed. She held the phone close to her chest. She’d impressed the best of them! Suddenly, any anger and frustration vanished. Still, Rachel told herself she wasn’t really breaking the rules when she dropped the towel and pulled her sweater and jeans back on before curling up on the couch.

***** She yawned, stretched then opened her eyes. With a crash, reality caught her. What time was it? When would he arrive? Galvanized, she stripped and jumped from the couch, feeling the cool caress of morning air. She pulled off her clothes then refolded them and put them back exactly where they’d been last night. After using the toilet, she rinsed in the bidet, savoring the warmth of the water. Another small pleasure. She readied herself as best as she could for Master’s arrival, hating the fact she didn’t have her cosmetics or hair products. She felt more exposed than she’d been when holding her ass cheeks apart for punishment. This time, when he walked through the door, he found her properly presented.

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With her head tipped back, he seemed to fill the room. Instead of a suit, he wore blue jeans that showed the strength of his thighs. A brown leather jacket hugged his shoulders and a plain white T-shirt fit snugly beneath it. He smelled of the outdoors, of man and mountain. Of Mastery. His hair was wind-tossed and she wondered if he’d ridden a motorcycle from town. Last night, she’d been too overwhelmed to notice anything but his power. Today she appreciated the man. “Nice,” he said approvingly. What was it about the tiniest compliment from him that made her euphoric? “I didn’t expect to find you here.” She flushed. He closed the heavy front door and slid the bolt home. After placing a couple of opaque plastic bags on the floor, he collared and leashed her. “On all fours.” He took the crop from her mouth. Her muscles tightened involuntarily. Her sigh was audible when he merely stroked her with the shaft a few times then put the crop on the floor. While holding the leash in his left hand, he delivered half a dozen sharp openhanded slaps across the backs of her thighs. “Spread your legs.” “Thank you,” she whispered. He slapped her there another half a dozen times. “You’re welcome.” The slaps were instructive, she realized, rather than punitive. Setting the tone and decimating any question of his dominance. “In the absence of further instruction, I always want you to present yourself. Other Masters may have other ideas or demands, but I want full access to your pleasures at all times.” 40

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She assumed the position. He picked up his bags and disappeared into the kitchen. Minutes later she smelled coffee. Dear heavens, what she wouldn’t give for a cup. Was it just last month a man had made her coffee and brought it to her? Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten. She heard the sound of his footfall, heavy in his boots. From behind her, he spoke. “What did you dislike most last night?” Rachel answered honestly, “The feeling of vulnerability.” “Go on.” She heard a sound, as if he were sipping from a mug. Her mouth watered. “Not having clothes, cosmetics.” “You like to hide.” “Yes,” she whispered. “What did you like the most?” This question was more difficult. It meant being more real…more exposed. “The bidet.” “And…?” “The vulnerability,” she admitted, confessing to both of them. It was all she could do to keep her head back instead of lowering her gaze shamefully to the hardwood planks. “Master’s inflexibility.” “Ah,” he said. “The paradox.” She wondered if she did hear England in his voice… “From now on, slave, you’d be well advised to answer honestly the first time. I’ll give you one more chance. What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned in the past twentyfour hours? If you are cheeky enough to tell me the slave has learned to subjugate her will, you’ll be beaten.” The light reprimand stung. 41

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“The slave’s biggest lesson so far is that obeying without question is in her best interest.” “Even if she doesn’t always do it.” “Even if she doesn’t always do it,” she repeated. “And…” “Go on.” “To appreciate simple pleasures.” “Impressive. I imagined you wouldn’t come to that realization for another couple of days. Now what have we done that you’d prefer never to do again?” She was tempted to say she’d enjoyed it all. If not that, then maybe another disingenuous answer. Perhaps she might say that she liked to please Master. Neither, she supposed, was what he wanted. Trying not to choke on embarrassment she said, “The slave would prefer not to have anything in her ass.” “Ah. You didn’t like having my finger in you?” “No,” she whispered. “Have you ever had a cock in your ass?” Rachel shook her head. “Crawl to the kitchen and present yourself there.” He changed topics with mind-numbing speed. Something else to keep her unbalanced? she wondered as she followed him. “You a coffee drinker?” She greedily looked at his mug. By the gallon, when she was given the chance. “If it pleases Master.” “Maybe tomorrow.” Her gulp was audible. “How often do you take an enema?” “Uhmm…” An enema?

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“Daily,” he answered for her. “I’ll administer your first.” Heaven help her, please. Heat chased up her cheeks. Now? Here? When she’d confessed that she hated having anything in her ass. “While you’re here, you will eat well and you will drink plenty of water. You will sleep and exercise on a schedule. You will not be permitted to let yourself get run down. “After breakfast, you’ll receive your enema and begin training of the basic positions.” He placed a plate on the floor near her. Strawberries, a croissant, a selection of cheeses. He poured juice from a pitcher into a glass then put it on the floor as well. “I’ll give you ten minutes. You may sit on the floor or continue to kneel. The choice is yours.” Rachel didn’t even give in to the small temptation to stick out her tongue when he left the room. Instead, unself-consciously, she sat on the floor cross-legged. Instead of focusing on the fact she didn’t have a knife or napkin or that she’d been banned from the table, she greedily took a bite of the succulent fruit. She savored the sweetness and the firmness of the berry. Then she tore off a corner of the croissant and placed a piece of cheddar on top. Rich butter and the tanginess of the cheese filled her mouth, and she chewed slowly, enjoying. Last night, she’d gone to bed hungry for the first time in her life, and the experience made her doubly grateful for the meal. By the time Sir James returned, she was satisfied in a way she couldn’t articulate. Instantly she presented herself. “Thank you for breakfast.” After loading her plate and glass in the dishwasher, James took hold of her collar and pulled her toward the bathroom.

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“A desirable slave is well-trained in pleasuring her Master in every way he wishes to use her body. Often this means anal sex. If you wish to be properly trained, you’ll submit happily.” Her movements faltered. His quick yank on her leash brought her back in line. Safe word. She needed a safe word. She so did not want an enema or anal sex. “Master?” He ignored her, and panic began to grow in her stomach. “Master?” In the bathroom he wrapped the leash around a magazine rack. Fighting her instinct,, she instead remained on all fours. “When you administer your own, you may find it more comfortable to lie on your side and raise a knee to your chest. Or you may want to squat over the toilet. When I give you one, I want you on your knees, with your forehead on the floor.” Until she felt his boot on her neck, she hadn’t realized he’d issued an order. “And I want your back arched as much as possible.” She barely heard him over the roar in her ears. “Reach back and spread your cheeks.” Her slight hesitation earned her a sharp slap on her right flank. Still, it was a struggle to keep her balance as she did as he wanted. “Your ass has a red stripe,” he said. “Here.” He traced a line. “Beautiful.” She held her position despite the bone-numbing fear. Cardboard ripped, followed by a couple of sounds, including something hitting the stainless steel trash can. “Relax,” he told her. She laughed. “You should already be trained well enough not to betray your nerves like that.” Rachel waited for the punishment. It didn’t come.

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Or she thought it hadn’t, until she felt his finger. No! “If you don’t relax, don’t open this muscle,” he showed her what he meant and she whimpered, not from real pain but from the worry of what was to come, “you will feel pain. Bear down,” he told her. “Now!” She did. His finger slipped in effortlessly. With his other hand, he fingered her cunt. She moaned. It had been so long since she’d climaxed, and the merest touch was enough. “Like it?” Not at all. So why then was she growing damp? “Your anus has more pleasure centers than anywhere else on your body. You’ll like what you’ve been missing.” He withdrew his finger then she felt something a little more rigid, somewhat sharp against her most secret spot. “It’s lubricated,” he explained. “And we’ll start with one. Within a couple of days, you’ll be taking a bagful. I’m letting you off easy, for which you’ll thank me properly later.” Cool liquid spilled into her guts in a quick whoosh. She bit her lip to avoid crying out. She hated it, hated it. Why hadn’t she been dishonest earlier? Even if he’d chastised her, he wouldn’t know about her horrible distaste of having things in her rear. He pulled out the nozzle, tossed the emptied unit in the garbage. Washing his hands, he said, “Don’t sulk. Almost all slaves receive a daily enema. If you were as wellread as you’d like me to believe, you’d already know that.” Her insides spasmed. Involuntarily she twitched. She was hugely aware of him standing there. “Master…” 45

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A gurgle rumbled in her stomach. Tears sprang to her eyes. “Please!” After unclipping the leash from its collar, he said, “You’ve got ten minutes to expel the solution, clean up and present yourself in the great room.” She gave in to silent sobs as he left the room. He’d left the door open and she knew he meant it to remain that way. With just one minute to go, she pulled herself together. After splashing water on her face, she scrubbed away the last traces of her pityparty. She was properly presented when he came in from outside, bringing in the scent of sunshine and mountain pine. “Thank you,” she said softly, unable to believe the words hadn’t stuck in her throat. “Another?” “The grateful slave agrees with Master that one was a sufficient place to start.” “Clever girl.” Her heart tripped, missing a couple of beats. He moved closer to her, looming over her, filling her vision. “Before we begin your lessons, what’s the safe word?” “Marvelous.” He frowned. “You could slip and use that in everyday language.” “Perhaps.” “What’s your understanding of a safe word?” Rachel was aware of her vulnerability, her legs open for him, breasts thrust outward. “A slave should only use it to stop the scene if she truly can’t take it. She should be fully prepared for further punishment for stopping, however.” He nodded. “This Master has his own understanding. If you use the safe word, we’re done. Your car keys will be in your hand and you’ll be out the door in less than

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thirty seconds. If you use the safe word, it means you’ve either had enough or that you don’t trust me. Either way, I have no further interest.” Her eyes widened. “It’s your greatest weapon, Rachel. You, not I, hold the ultimate power.” “Master is inflexible on this?” “He is.” Her breath nearly strangled her. There was no “almost” out. She was in or out completely. “Are my rules clear?” They looked at each other. She licked her lower lip, offered her trust. “They are.” “In that case,” James said, taking, honoring that trust, “I’ll teach you to beg…”

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Chapter Four Rachel hadn’t thought he meant physically. Verbally begging, she had plenty of practice with. Men seemed to like it. “Please, baby, I want your cock. I want you inside me.” They didn’t notice if the words were sincere, didn’t care if she swallowed a yawn first. But James—Sir James—meant it literally. “Many positions are similar,” he said. “For example, you’re now in Present.” She continued to look up at him. “My preference. The most beautiful. Beg, however, shows your submission. Still on your knees, your legs spread a little farther apart…” Knowing he expected it, she spread her knees. “Eyes closed.” That was almost a blessing. “Hands loosely at your sides, palms slightly up. Mouth open. Perhaps a little more.” His finger skimmed her lower lip. Sensually, softly. She ached to suck him into her mouth, just wanted to taste him. But as suddenly as he’d touched her, he stopped. “Lean backward slightly. No…don’t arch your back. Your body should be open, inviting. Your private parts are more exposed this way. I can easily touch you…” He did. She gasped. “…Feel if you’re aroused.” His thumb abraded her sensitive flesh. Warmth flooded her. 48

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“So, lovely Rachel, what are you begging for?” “Master’s touch.” “That’s specific.” Thoughts were a jumbled mess, but she still caught the sting of his sarcasm. “I—the slave—is begging for an orgasm.” He laughed. Deep, rich, like warm mocha on a winter’s day. Despite herself, she began to move her hips in a slow, womanly undulation. “You’re aware you’re fucking my hand?” “I’m sorry.” She stopped, mortified, fighting the urge to open her eyes and look at him, read his mood, the amount of trouble she was in. “I told you to beg,” he said, not unkindly. “You’re begging. With your mouth and with your body. This is the one time you have permission to be as needy as you want.” “Master is going to allow the slave to orgasm?” she asked, astonished. “Perhaps.” She continued the slow rhythm. Then harder, faster. Surrendering, beyond caring that she was revealing her desire, past the inhibitions that came with being on her knees, naked, humping his hand while he stood there, fully dressed, in control, watching her secret shame. “Mas-ter!” Her voice trembled, splitting the word into two distinguished syllables. “Come,” he ordered. She did. Screamed. Shattered into a hundred pieces. Rachel pitched forward. He caught her, steadied her. She wanted to stay where she was, in his arms. She’d never felt anything like this before. The surrender. The release. She could never have had this with anyone else, she realized. The realization gave him more power over her. She’d had a taste. Now she wanted the whole meal. “The next position is Inspect.” 49

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She shook her head as if to clear it as he pulled away from her. How could he act as though nothing significant had just occurred? She felt changed. Humbled. Complete. “Keep your eyes closed, because it pleases me, at least for now. Generally, I want your eyes open during Inspect. If you are ever uncertain what is expected of you, keep your eyes open. On your back.” Still in the throes of desire, she moved slowly. She braced herself with her hands as she lowered herself. “You’ll want to practice a smoother transition from Present or Beg to Inspect.” Yep. She couldn’t agree more. That’d keep her awake at night. “The idea is that you’ll have every hole available for inspection. Your mouth wide open. More. That’s better. Your legs spread wide and drawn toward your chest. No, not covering your breasts. Your breasts are available for inspection also. “The position is vulnerable and tiring. Use your hands to hold your legs apart. Nice. I can see your pussy.” Only the sound of his voice told her where he was, if he was in the same room, if he was even looking at her. The experience was overwhelming. Then he touched her. There. After the earlier orgasm, she was sensitized. She gasped. Then, like she had earlier, she pressed against him shamelessly. She was wet, and his finger slid against her in a way that made her wanton. “Spread your legs.” The timbre of his voice changed. Harshness replaced patience. She followed orders. A sharp, deliberate, stinging slap shocked her private parts. With a cry, she rolled to her side to escape his punishing hand. “Inspect!” Rachel forced herself back into position, fighting her tiny sobs.

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“As far as corrections go, that was negligible,” he said. “Because you’re in training, I’ll spare you the second and third slaps.” There was silence. Horrible, profound silence. “Thank you,” she said finally. It had taken her too long. She’d screwed up royally. “When you’re in this position, do not move. You’re being inspected. If I were to invite someone else to use you—” Her stomach clenched. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Would he? She’d use her safe word and get the hell away from him. Men couldn’t just share her. But a Master could, a nasty voice whispered. A Master might. “He or she would want to know what they’d be getting.” She wanted to open her eyes, seek reassurance in his. But he had denied her that. “When you are touched in any way during Inspect, remain silent. Answer questions only with a yes or no. No explanations. No questions. And if I have to tell you again to open your mouth…” Her lips were parched, her throat dry. She hadn’t even realized her mouth had closed. He placed a finger on her tongue. The same one that had been between her legs. She kept her mouth open. Or should she close and suck? So damn many rules. How could she keep them straight? “You may lick my finger.” Lick, but not suck. Awkwardly, she did. “Good.” He continued the lesson. “Some Masters or Mistresses prefer a nice, trimmed bush, or a natural look.” He skimmed a palm across her stomach, stopping on the sensitive skin she’d skimmed a razor across last night. “For the purposes of your training, I want you clean-shaven at all times.” He parted her intimate lips. “Including here.” He tugged on a wayward hair. 51

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She squirmed. He let the transgression pass without comment. Rachel already knew, however, that didn’t mean the act had been unnoticed. “You’re dry,” he commented. She wanted to explain, apologize. But he’d told her no speaking. “From the slap?” “Yes.” “Ah. Have to see if I can change that.” Sir James moved his finger in and out of her, finding an erotic pace she instinctively responded to. Within moments, she moistened. When he touched her clit, she forced herself to remain still. “My lovely slave seems to like that.” He tweaked a nipple and she felt as if her loins were flooded. He increased his speed and the depth of his penetration. She thought she might go out of her mind. Her juices were dripping, running down the crack leading to her most private place. Suddenly, his finger was there. She’d told him she didn’t like it. But he wouldn’t be denied. This time, he didn’t coach her. He forced himself inside her tightest hole. She whimpered, more from humiliation than pain. “Inspect!” She concentrated on keeping her position while he explored her insides. Dear god, how would she survive this? Then he withdrew, saying nothing. His footstep echoed somewhere else in the house. He’d left her alone, in this uncomfortable position, her ass burning. Since he hadn’t given her further instructions, and since she didn’t dare open her eyes for a peek at where he was, she had to stay.

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Her muscles began to fatigue. Maybe if she moved just a little… But she didn’t. She’d asked for this experience—lied to get it—and she wouldn’t blow it. Rachel didn’t know how much time had passed. All she knew is that her muscles ached. “Tired?” Focused on her own misery, she hadn’t noticed his return. That couldn’t be good. “You’re thinking about the discomfort.” “Yes.” “Feeling somewhat sorry for yourself. Again?” Was she? “Yes.” He knelt to suckle one of her breasts. He brought the tip to complete arousal. Nothing mattered suddenly but his touch, his approval. “Still thinking about the discomfort?” A different kind of discomfort, for sure. “No.” “You turn your thoughts inward, Rachel, instead of outward. You think about yourself and your experience. You should be thinking about your Master. Perhaps the way he thinks you look—beautiful—like that. There are techniques, breathing for example, to keep your focus where it belongs—on someone else, not yourself. The experience. The pleasure that comes from surrender. “The fact that you’re hoping I’ll continue to play with your nipple,” which he did! “has distracted you from thinking about the strain in your inner thigh muscles. Am I right?” Her word was a breathless, “Yes.” “The tiredness is more mental than physical. Perhaps it’s part boredom. Regardless, you have already taken more than you believed you could.” He pinched her nipples simultaneously. She arched slightly, silently asking for more. 53

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“You are responsive.” But clearly it didn’t suit him to give any more. “Sometimes I will choose to leave you in this position for prolonged periods. Because it entertains me, because it’s beautiful, submissive. Practice breathing. Focus on making your Master happy.” The lesson was well learned. Rachel had no idea how long he left her there, her legs parted and raised, intimate juices drying on her crotch. She thought about the tone of his voice when he was pleased with her. Recalled the darkening of his eyes, from verdant to stormy green when he was aroused. And what was with that, anyway? This was their second day together. She’d yet to see him naked. She hadn’t been allowed to touch him. She was dependent on the tone of his voice to know if she was being pleasing or not. And as she thought about anything but her body, she did better. She wasn’t feeling sorry for herself, wasn’t going out of her mind with exhaustion. “Get dressed.” His voice penetrated her haze. A thunk sounded near her head. “You’re going for a walk.” She knew better than to question or argue. Slowly, she dropped her legs. And she opened her eyes. He wasn’t in view, and she blinked, focusing on the ceiling, its huge pine beams and warm aspen slats. Her muscles telegraphed their reluctance as she sat then stood to dress in the clothes he’d tossed toward her. Surreal. The entire experience was surreal. From naked and vulnerable to dressed and ready to go outside for the daily exercise he required. She headed for the front door. 54

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“No less than twenty minutes,” he called out. How the hell could he even see her? She had no idea where he was. “Yes, Master,” she responded. There wasn’t a single house in sight. She walked down the driveway, the hardpacked earth carpeted with needles from the soaring ponderosas. Off to the side, an occasional columbine bloomed, including one that was an unusual red color. The air was still crisp, but the sun was strong, drenching her soul and dancing on her face. His house became smaller in the distance and she told herself she should be enjoying the escape. It should have been a blessed relief to be away from the demands, the instruction, the constant corrections. It wasn’t. Instead, she felt like she’d been banished. She wanted to be back inside, serving. What was wrong with her, anyway? She smiled. Nothing was wrong with her. She’d had an orgasm more powerful than any other. Yes, there’d been pain but nothing that hadn’t faded away within minutes. She didn’t regret being here. In fact, her greatest fear was she’d displease him and he’d send her away. The end of the week loomed, way too close for her comfort.

***** “You have an hour until lunch,” James told her, meeting her at the door. The breeze had ruffled her hair, leaving it soft and feminine around her face. Her cheeks had color but it was her eyes that arrested him. They were the same blue as a Rocky Mountain alpine lake. They darkened like a brewing storm when she was angry or fighting her natural instinct. When she was pleased, it was as if a ray of sun hit the blue, transforming it to a shimmer. Even if she said the right words, reacted in the appropriate way, her eyes would always betray her innermost thoughts.

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She was lovely. Cindy had known that once he took a look at Rachel, he’d be captivated. He’d want to train her, bend her to his will. Take her to places she’d never dreamed of going. “Strip. And practice your transitions from Present to Beg to Inspect. In that order.” He saw the look on her face. For an hour? But she didn’t say anything beyond, “Yes, Master.” “You may use the great room. And the rug.” The small privilege made her smile. She was learning. Fast. He stood there while she undressed self-consciously. “Keep your eyes up. Yeah, yeah, despite what you’ve read, I don’t want my slave to be a mouse with a crick in her neck.” She tugged her black turtleneck over her head. Her fingers shook a little as she unfastened her bra. She slipped out of her sandals, fumbled the zipper to her jeans, but shimmied out of her thong in a way that made his cock harden. Her tongue moistened her lower lip as she bent to fold her clothes. She stood in front of him, wearing nothing but a collar. It was all he could do not to bend her over and take her. Before she could disappear, he captured her chin. “You’re progressing nicely.” “Thank you.” He swatted her ass as she walked away. James kept himself busy in the kitchen. His notebook computer was there and he was able to do some work while Rachel went through her paces. He looked in on her. She was currently in Beg. Her back was to him and she faced the floor-to-ceiling glass pane. Concerned she might notice his reflection in the window and behave differently, he returned to the kitchen.

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He prepared a light lunch, soup and sandwiches. After dividing a bottle of San Pellegrino water into two glasses, he set the table and served the food then wandered into the great room. She was getting tired and her motions were somewhat sloppy. And she clearly was not enjoying the exercise. “Are you thinking how much this pleases me?” She was in the Inspect position. She froze there, her breaths shallow. “Rachel?” Silence. Then, when he wasn’t sure she’d answer, she said, “No.” “Ah.” He took a couple steps toward her. He knew his footsteps echoed off the flooring. “You’re wondering what the point is. Why you have to do this. Surely there’re other things you could be doing or learning?” “Yes.” “For example, you could be getting attention from me instead of being left all by yourself.” Her eyes closed. Her answer was a whisper. “Yes.” “The point is, gracefulness is an admirable trait. The more you practice, the more refined your skill. You won’t have to think when I give you a command and your muscles will become more accustomed to the motion. Supple. “You have to do it because I want you to. “There is never anything more important than doing what your Master has requested of you. Doing it with joy and abandon is liberating. “And as for attention, negative attention, even being punished, is preferable to being ignored. Am I right?” He noticed that her thighs quivered. “Yes.” “Dress fully and join me in the kitchen.”

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Her eyes opened wide then. He saw the question she didn’t dare voice. Was she being sent away? He turned and strode to the kitchen. Truth to tell, even he didn’t know the answer. When she joined him, he couldn’t tell whether or not she still wore a collar beneath her turtleneck. Her glance darted from the table to him. There were two places set. Obviously, she was off guard. He pulled back a chair for her. “Master?” “James,” he corrected. “Uhmm…” “Eat. We’ll talk while we’re eating.” “I’m a little confused.” “How’s your sandwich?” “I love BLT.” She took a few sips of soup then put down her spoon. “Is this part of my training?” “No. It’s lunch.” He finished his sandwich in silence then drank the last of his water. “I’ve displeased you.” “Actually, Rachel, this isn’t about my pleasure.” “Then…?” “You’ve been here almost twenty-four hours. You’ve got a good idea what this is about. Yet you won’t abdicate your struggle. Maybe you never will. “I told you to question your commitment, urged you to run away. I’ve left your keys hanging on the rack, and your clothes are always by the door. You have a safe word that will end this in an instant. You enjoy it, but you don’t. You spend so damn much time in your head and not enough in the moment.” 58

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“Permission to speak freely.” “You’d better. It’s the only chance you’ll get.” He watched the struggle on her face, like a butterfly trying to break free of its cocoon. Slowly, fitfully, but with gaining confidence and strength. “I’ve dreamed of this. I’ve asked others to meet my needs. My…my husband, exhusband, told me I was a freak. But then the first guy I had sex with after him told me I was repressed.” She laughed, a brittle sound. “So I asked him for more. Beyond dragging me across the bed by my foot and spanking my butt three or four times, I got nothing. Frustration. So I read. Hooked up with another guy about six months later.” “And…” “I got a real spanking. He dumped me on the floor when he was done.” She took a deep drink of her water. “It was humiliating. Wonderfully humiliating.” She held onto her glass. “Then he told me to pull back up my pants and we went to dinner. He told me later he didn’t like doing it. Went against his upbringing. He actually apologized. It never happened again.” “The reality is often at odds with the fantasy.” “I’m learning that.” She rolled the glass between her palms. “Being tied up sounds intriguing to most people. But the reality of it is your muscles start to tire. Blood flow diminishes. There’s tingling, maybe a pin-prick feeling. When you’re released, there’s often no way to move. The whole thing is uncomfortable. In our fantasies, we don’t hurt.” “Exactly.” She finished her water. “It’s like Inspect.” Her voice had trailed off. But, good girl, she cleared her throat and tried again. “As long as you were there, watching, I got it. I understood what you liked.” “Seeing your pussy exposed and vulnerable?” “Yes.” “Then you don’t get it at all.”

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She scowled. Her glass thunked onto the table. “This is about a whole lot more than sex, Rachel, especially to me. You’ve got a beautiful cunt. I am man enough to enjoy looking. But domination and submission isn’t about staring at your breasts or vagina. It’s not about telling you what to do, how to do it or when to do it. It’s not a power trip. “We’re either dominant or submissive. Or we’re not. It’s okay to explore, to play. Just as you might like an occasional piece of chocolate, you might want an occasional spanking. Nothing wrong with that. Despite what you’ve experienced, there are plenty of men who’ll play that game. “But when you’re a natural Dom, or a natural sub, you need this. Crave it. The physical, the mental, the emotional. The vulnerability. The connection. No secrets. You cannot separate one from the other. Yin and Yang. It’s not a game, it’s not a once-in-awhile thing. It’s not something to spice up the bedroom. It’s seamless, natural. It’s a way of life.” “That’s what it is for you.” He took a drink of his water. Regarded her. “Yes. If you want someone to play with, to explore with, I am not your man.” “Uhmm…” “When I’m with a woman, my sub,” he clarified, “I have expectations. Her mannerisms should be graceful, elegant, beautiful, pleasing. That takes practice. Her will is subjugated to mine. Most women aren’t suited to that. There’s no shame in that, no harm. It’s just about understanding yourself. “For a natural sub, putting his or her wants and desires second comes naturally. He or she often cries when they find a Dom they can serve. Trying to live in society with its expectations is too much for a natural sub.” “That’s the only kind there is?”

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“Of course not. There are people who find they like submission once it’s introduced. It’s a little more difficult for them to transition, but the desire, the heart, is there. “You’ve learned a lot in the last twenty-four hours, I’m certain. You’ve had quite a ride, something to share at the next Ladies’ Night.” “Is Cindy…” “A natural sub? Yes. Beautifully so. When she met Kevin, her life was complete.” Rachel knew that was true. Her friend seemed so content. Peaceful. Rachel hadn’t known why. “You believe I’m not a natural sub.” “You’re not.” “I looked for you.” “You looked for something you didn’t understand,” he corrected. “Something you wanted to explore.” “But I could be a sub.” “You could,” he allowed. “But I doubt it. And since you’re already dressed, you might as well leave.” “I’d prefer to undress.” He raised a brow and asked, “Would you? Would you indeed?”

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Chapter Five His face hardened into implacable lines. The coldness in his eyes told her he’d gone as far with her as he intended. Lunch sat in her stomach like a boulder perched at the edge of a cliff. A single misstep would send it crashing down. She wanted to stay. “I didn’t understand.” “How could you?” “The positions, my responses…they’re as big a part of it as the kick of the pain.” “It’s not about pain,” he said in no uncertain terms. “If that’s all it is for you, then get out.” Her heart missed a beat. He hadn’t sent her away…yet. She still had a chance. “We were talking earlier about the reality as opposed to the fantasy. Fantasy is easy. You have a scene then go back to your regularly scheduled life.” “If you’re a natural, this is your regularly scheduled life. Many subs quit their jobs.” “Cindy didn’t.” “That’s a choice she and Kevin made.” “She had a choice?” “Most likely. Owners, Masters, Doms, whatever term you use, are not ogres. Keeping their sub happy is of paramount importance. Unless both parties have their needs met, failure will occur.” Like what happened between him and Michelle? “We agreed to a week. I’d like to honor it.” “On my terms.” Hadn’t they all been his terms? 62

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“You’ll stop the struggle. You’ll do things because I ask. I’m not asking you to like what you’re doing, just see the bigger picture.” “Your pleasure.” He nodded. “And trusting that I have your best interests at heart.” Her choice was no choice at all. His way. Or she’d be on the highway. She met his gaze. His eyes darkened, as if a storm brewed in the green depths. “May I strip?”

***** The afternoon passed in a blur of orders and instructions. Of small, savored successes and miserable failures. Her muscles ached, her mind threatened rebellion—again—and Master showed no quarter. “Do you know how to please a man orally?” Finally! She was in her element. She knew how to please, extraordinarily well. One of her greatest talents. And it was a step toward intimacy with James that she welcomed. He hadn’t touched her except in an instructive or punitive way. He hadn’t kissed her, caressed her. But now… Rachel reached for his zipper. He clamped a hand around her wrist. It hurt. She winced but didn’t say anything. The intensity sat her back on her heels. “You don’t have permission.” She’d thought he meant… “I’m sorry, Master. May I have permission to show Master the slave’s willingness to serve his needs?” He released the stranglehold on her wrist. “Present.” Confused, she did. 63

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He fetched her leash, attached it to her collar and wrapped the length of it around his fist. “Giving me head won’t further your training. You need to learn more about giving before you receive that honor.” Oh-kay. Men she’d been with loved it when she went down on them. James was insisting she needed to be more giving before she received the honor of giving head? She didn’t get it. “Come.” Dropping onto all fours, she crawled along behind him. He attached her leash to the leg of a sideboard then took a dildo from a drawer. Not too big, she noticed, but kind of thick. He wanted her to… “Do you deep throat?” Embarrassment made heat chase up her throat and settle in her cheeks. “Sorry?” he said. “Didn’t quite catch your answer.” “No.” “You’ll have plenty of time to practice.” “Master?” He cocked a brow. She’d never known anyone who could actually do that, but he did. “What position do you prefer?” she asked. “You’re fine as you are.” On all fours? He left her there, working the fake, blue cock in and out of her mouth. Occasionally he checked on her progress. And if she were ever going to spend more time in her head than in the moment, it was now. Her jaw ached. She wanted the real thing. She wanted his attention. And if she gagged one more time… 64

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James scooped the dildo from her as she finished an up stroke. He felt its turgid length for moisture. “Not bad,” he said, realizing she was taking a good amount of it in her mouth. “With enough practice, you’ll deep throat it.” She wiped her own spit from the side of her mouth. “Present, my lovely slave.” She did. “While I enjoy watching your ass move as you work the dildo, I’d rather see your expression and the joy you’re getting from the experience.” That’s what it was, all right. A different joy a minute. A drink in hand, he hooked a nearby chair with his foot and dragged it in close. “Pick it up and suck it. Lick it. Pretend it’s my cock as I’m watching you.” Surprising her, he didn’t stroke himself as she picked up the surrogate and opened her mouth. She saw his hardness against his jeans but he did nothing about it. “A little deeper this time.” She gave herself over to the experience. She forgot to be mortified. Instead, she pretended, damn it, that it was Master she was servicing. “Ah…” Her gag reflex triggered, but she continued. “Good girl,” he might have said. “Are you getting wet?” Instead of waiting for an answer, he checked her responses himself. Telltale moisture clung to his skin. She nearly groaned. “What a good sub you’re being. This is what you want, isn’t it?” She couldn’t think. Couldn’t answer. “You like cock.” “Yes,” the word escaped as a breath. “You wish this were a man.” He rubbed his hand insistently between her thighs.

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Time didn’t exist. She heard nothing he said. Nothing mattered but the cock in her mouth and the motion as he rocked against her most private part. She worked the dildo, responded to James. She was in the moment and nothing else mattered. An orgasm clawed at her. “You may not come.” Up and down, using her tongue, her jaws. Sucking and sliding. Needing—oh now, now—needing. “You may not come.” “Please.” It was a whisper, a whimper. A demand. “Please.” He increased the intensity. She was going to shatter. “Don’t you dare come.” Like a wanton, she ground her hips insistently. “Master, Master, Master!” The words were inaudible, a moan against the width of the invasion in her mouth. “Now.” In gratitude, in joy, she came, screaming. He gave her a few blissful seconds to recover then took away the dildo. “Before I leave for the evening, I want to make sure you’re comfortable giving yourself an enema.” She shook her head to clear it. “There’s one under the sink in the bathroom.” “Now?” He didn’t answer. “I mean yes, Master.” She started to stand, but the leash tightened, dragged her back. She landed on her rump. Rachel swallowed her whimper of outrage. He unfastened the hook. “That was an excellent reminder. If you are in my presence and I have not given you permission to walk, you should assume you’re to crawl. I trust that lesson won’t need to be repeated.” 66

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The assault to her dignity was the greatest lesson she could have learned. She crawled the distance to the bathroom. She’d asked for this, she reminded herself. Wasn’t about her. It was about Master’s pleasure, even when his moods were mercurial. Rachel found the hated box and ripped it open. She removed the protective cap from the nozzle. Remembering his earlier directions, she lay on her side and drew one leg toward her chest. “On second thought, I’d rather do that.” She jumped, not having realized he was there to compound the punishment. He took the enema from her. “I enjoy stuffing things up your ass.” Particularly so, she thought, because he knew she detested it. He delivered the liquid in one slow, steady squeeze. Pins and needles pricked her body and the fluid filled her. Spasms began almost instantly. “Wait three minutes before expelling it. And before you think to argue, you can and you will.” He looked at his watch. Her stomach felt distended. “Lift your right leg slightly.” He massaged her clit. On top of the earlier orgasm, she threatened to come undone. “Thirty seconds.” Ohmigod, it had been at least two minutes. “How often do you masturbate?” “A couple times a week.” “Show me how you do it.” She rolled to her stomach. Her breaths were agony as she fought for control of her bowels and to follow directions.

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Rachel slipped a hand beneath her and found her clit. “Do you grind against your bed?” There were no secrets left. Nothing sacred. “Yes.” “Much like a naughty dog humping the mattress. Aren’t you?” “Yes, Master.” “Do it. Against the tile.” She did. “Are you making it wet?” She ground harder, her motions increasing as she thought about anything but the liquid swimming inside her. “Halfway there, love.” Rachel parted her pussy lips, seeking to get her clit against the cold ceramic. “Your hindquarters are twitching. Fortunately you’ve only another sixty seconds to go. I might suggest finding something to distract your mind from the urge you’re feeling to make a rush for the toilet.” Tears sprang to her eyes. She wouldn’t release even a tiny drop with him standing there. “Is your orgasm close?” Not even. She couldn’t come now if her life depended on it. Everything she had was going into clenching her anus shut. “I was rather enjoying watching you fuck the ceramic. Twenty seconds.” She could do this. She could. “Time.” Instead of dashing for the toilet, she moved slowly. Cautiously. He lazed against the doorjamb. “Master?”

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“No secrets between us. Purge yourself.” She couldn’t. A lump formed in her throat. “Maybe a second enema?” he suggested. Tears chasing down her face, she finally expelled the liquid. “Not so bad, that.” He wiped away a tear. “Be waiting for me at seven tomorrow morning. Present yourself at the front door, a crop in your mouth. Oh and have the first enema of the day out of the way.” Without repeating himself, without asking if she understood, he left. The door closed behind him with a definitive thud. The engine to his SUV faded into the distance. Bruised, battered, worse for wear, she cleaned herself up and turned on the bathtub faucet. She checked the water temperature constantly. It remained hot. And tonight, there was a very nice bar of soap in the dish. Small pleasures. But they meant a lot. She soaked for at least an hour, replenishing the heat as it cooled. The aches in her muscles and the residual tension in her body faded. Rachel replayed the events of the day. She’d learned a lot. About herself, about her mind and the tricks it played on her. When she schooled her thoughts, she could accomplish more. Hold positions longer, get outside herself. The experience with the dildo, for one. When James had touched her, she took more of the length in her mouth. She forgot, entirely, the ache in her jaw. Fatigue vanished. She could do more, longer. Her thoughts turned to James—her Master, at least temporarily. Maybe she would call Cindy. Was it customary for a Master/trainer to touch his slave but not allow her to touch him? What was up with that? The more he denied, the more she wanted. Trust. She heard the word as if he’d spoken aloud. 69

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Trust that I have your best interests at heart. So maybe she wouldn’t ask Cindy. Maybe she’d ask James himself when the opportunity presented itself. After stepping from the tub, she towel-dried, inhaling the scent of the towel. Some sort of wildflower. Then, unable to help herself, she checked the full-length mirror. A single, barely visible red weal marred her right buttock. There were no bruises. No welts. What felt like agony at the time hadn’t left a single mark. Her skin was more pink from the towel-rubbing she’d given it than from the punishment he’d administered. On bare feet, a robe cinched at the waist, she padded into the kitchen. He’d left her fruit, a salad, a bottle of white wine and a note. She lunged for the note and devoured its contents. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you are a natural sub. Sleep well.

***** Rachel barely heard the alarm at six. The effects of his note and the wine lingered even while she gave herself an enema—the first of the day, he’d told her. That idea made her scowl. That she had to take one, in private, was tolerable. Especially since she had use of the bidet. At five minutes ’til seven, she was in position. Waiting. Crop in her mouth, anxious for his arrival. She tried not to focus on the various straps and crops dangling from the back of the door. And she tried not to notice the various sized leashes, collars, toys on the small table. At five minutes ’til eight, she was still there, in position. She was noticing the ache in her inner thighs and the urge to pee. Her stomach even grumbled. So focus on something else, damn it, she told herself. The phone rang.

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This trick, she knew. It fell silent but then when it rang again a few minutes later, she flinched, debating. Finally, though, training won. She remained in place, following his orders explicitly. “Nicely done,” he said from behind her. Rachel fought every instinct to turn around, to run to him. She hadn’t heard his vehicle pull up, and she hadn’t heard the back door opening. Her phone, she realized. He’d distracted her with it ringing. Scooping her hair from her neck, he dropped a quick, approving kiss at her nape. He walked around in front of her, stood with his arms folded across his chest. Today he wore a black T-shirt and faded-to-gray black jeans. A stray lock of hair had fallen across his forehead. He was impossibly handsome, rugged in a Colorado way. James reached for the crop then proceeded gently. “Your lower lip has dried against the leather. That wouldn’t have happened if you’d just put it in your mouth. You’ve been a very good sub.” She closed her eyes. His gentleness this morning was compelling. She’d do anything for his approval. “Inspect.” He watched, studied her every move. “Much smoother than yesterday.” She’d even kept the crop in her mouth. “Nicely shaved.” He parted her innermost lips. “If you can’t get these last couple hairs with a razor, tweeze them.” Just when she thought he couldn’t shock her any more. “Open your eyes. No hiding. How many enemas this morning?” “One.” The word was garbled. He reached toward the small hall table and selected a tube of lube. It took all her willpower, well, maybe some won’t power, not to squirm, not to plead. Since she was so easily aroused, it was unlikely he intended to use the gel to penetrate her vaginally. 71

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Trust. Easy to say when it wasn’t your body being invaded. “Use your tongue to moisten your lower lip.” She did, and he mercifully removed the black leather torture instrument. Her reprieve was short-lived. “I’m putting it back so you’ll have something to bite onto if you need it.” He squeezed some of the cool lube onto the sensitive area between her thighs. “Bring your legs to your chest.” When she closed her eyes, he didn’t request she open them. He inserted a finger. She concentrated on her breathing. She was hoping he’d derail her thoughts with a touch, a squeeze, even a slap. But he didn’t. It was as if every nerve ending, blood cell in her body were concentrated in one area. “Bite,” he told her, stretching, inserting a second finger. She felt raw, torn in two. She couldn’t take it. She thrashed. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt! “Breathe.” He was Joe Cool. Soothing, matter-of-fact. The air in her lungs threatened to drown her. “Breathe, Rachel. I am not removing my fingers until you stop fighting. I’ll keep still for a count of twenty for you to get used to it. Are you clear?” Tears streaked hotly down her cheeks. He counted backward from twenty. Around seven, she schooled her breath. By the time he got to one, she’d stopped crying. “Great job.” Now would he take them out for crying out loud? Slowly, he withdrew one finger. She sighed with relief. Impossible to believe how much more intense the second finger made the experience. “Ever had your ass finger-fucked?”

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“Noooo!” “Bite.” He pulled his finger all the way out then shoved it all the way in. Again. And again. She thrashed, her head going from side to side. But it never occurred to her to use her safe word, to stop him. She hated it, didn’t want it, but she trusted him. She wanted to submit more than she wanted her own way. “Your pussy is getting wet,” he observed. It couldn’t be. “Why, my sweet little sub, you’re going to be able to have an orgasm just from having your ass fucked. Imagine that.” Three minutes later, she did. “Now that,” he said, wiping his hand on a handkerchief, “was instructive. For me as well as you. Did you have breakfast?” Breakfast? “Join me in the kitchen at your convenience.” Within minutes, he’d scooped an omelet onto her plate and slid it in front of her at the table. As if it were normal, everyday conversation, he asked, “What’s your favorite thing to be beaten with?” “A hand,” she said. “Open-handed slap on my rear.” He nodded. Poured coffee into his cup. She lowered her eyes. Then all but leaped up and kissed him when he served her a cup. “Cream? Sugar?” She said yes to both then, after the first sip, asked, “Is it bad form to swoon in ecstasy?” When he laughed, she realized it was the first time she’d heard him do that.

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“What else do you like to be punished with?” “A belt. Leather.” And better if it were shoved in her mouth first. “What would you take off the table, given the choice?” “I have no experience with anything else.” “Never felt the bite of a cane?” “No.” She shuddered. “Flogger?” She shook her head. “You’ll experience them all, if only for comparison.” This time, the right words were easy. “If it pleases you.” Finally, something that pleased her also. After breakfast, he said, “Work on your transitions from Beg to Present to Inspect.” A difference in the routine. Thank heavens for small mercies. He ignored her for at least an hour. She heard him talking on the phone then nothing. Mindful of this morning, when he walked in without her hearing a word, she practiced and practiced. “Quite lovely,” he said. How did he do that? No person could possibly move as silently as he did. “What do you know of whipping posts?” She faltered. Mouth open? Or closed? “Continue what you’re doing,” he said, “while you answer my questions.” “Beyond fiction, not much.” “Beg, Present, Inspect, in that order,” he reminded her. “Tell me about what you know from fiction.”

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“I read this one story…the post was about seven feet tall. When the heroine, the protagonist, was being punished for some transgression, the Master dragged her to the post.” “Legs a little farther apart during Inspect. Continue.” “Her hands were cuffed and attached to the top, over her head.” “The post was wood?” “Yes. Wood covered with some type of material. I don’t recall what. But it wasn’t smooth or soft. She er…” Rachel faltered in the story and her positions. Where was she? Focus. Focus. Present. She found her position, head tipped back, and saw him looking at her intently. “Burlap?” She laughed. “No. More like a suede. That’s what I pictured.” “And were her legs left loose?” “No. They were tied.” “Stay in Present,” he said, “and tell me how the protagonist reacted.” “She was helpless. And she was keenly aware of that helplessness.” Rachel concentrated on what she was telling him, tried to shove aside the embarrassment that was crawling up her esophagus. “Very sexual being though. While she was being punished, between strokes…” He waited. “She shamelessly ground herself against the pole.” “Did you masturbate as you read the story?” She licked her lower lip. “Yes.” “Imagined yourself to be her, did you?” Rachel nodded. Then his hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back. “Yes,” she said. “I imagined myself to be her.” He released her and she struggled to keep her balance. 75

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“That was the easy part, telling me about something you read that turned you on.” The easy part? Not from where she was kneeling. She’d been called a freak because of her fantasies. “Now I want to hear about one of your deepest, darkest, most secret fantasies. When you’re alone and you need a good orgasm. Tell me about the fantasy you masturbate to. I want every detail.”

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Chapter Six He’d warned her, hadn’t he? Yesterday in the kitchen. Submission was about the physical, the mental, the emotional. The vulnerability. The connection. No secrets. If she intended to stay, these were his expectations. “Mine isn’t nearly as good as the one I told you about.” As he had yesterday, he grabbed a chair and pulled it over. “I’m waiting.” From her position of vulnerability, there, kneeling on the floor, looking at him, hands behind her head so her breasts thrust slightly forward, she began. “In my fantasies I’m always a better sub than I’m turning out to be in real life.” “It is your fantasy,” he allowed with a small smile. “I have a Dom, a Master who is terribly strict. Any and every infraction is punished severely. Sometimes at the whipping post, sometimes across his lap, with his belt. “He is hosting a party at his house, all kinds of high-achievers. I am to act as his hostess. I don’t think anyone there knows about our true relationship. It’s just assumed that I’m his girlfriend.” James nodded. “He’s so caught up with his guests that I’m being ignored. No kudos for the great party I’ve organized. It’s as if I’m invisible. So when no one is looking, I dump my drink down his back. Childish. I know that. “To everyone else, he appears to whisper something in my ear. He hasn’t said anything though. And this is how I know he’s really angry. He smiles at me in a way that actually terrifies me. Politely, to the guests who are nearby, he excuses us for a few minutes. It appears as if we have some party details to attend to. In truth, we both know it’s me who needs attending to. I am scared. But secretly thrilled. I want his undivided attention.” 77

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James told her to take five while he went to the kitchen. He even gave his permission for her to stand and stretch. The break was welcome, but it had the effect of throwing off the story, her rhythm. When he returned, he had a glass of water for her. When she’d taken a few sips, he encouraged her back into position and to continue. “In his bedroom he removes his sodden shirt and stuffs the wadded-up, wet part in my mouth. I am still not really afraid, but because of his controlled motions, I discover I should be. What he has in mind is nothing I could have imagined. “He tosses me on the bed, face down. The impact knocks my breath out. He stretches me out, cuffs me to the bed. Then he cuts away my clothes. Then… “He leaves. Gets a new shirt out, puts it on without saying a word. Hours pass while the party is in full swing. I thought I had his attention. But this… This is awful. I want to be part of the festivities. I hate being ignored.” “Yet it’s a huge part of the scene.” She nodded. “The uncertainty. Not knowing what to expect. But knowing it won’t be good.” “The reality of it is you’d be sent away. If you were my sub.” Which she wasn’t, she realized. She had a few more days. Then nothing. She swallowed deeply. How on earth would she go back to reality? Her job. Dating. A fumbled good-night kiss. We now resume your regular life. How would she stand it? At least, she told herself, she’d have new things to fantasize about. “He returns for you, I assume.” “I think the party is over. But it’s not. I’ve been left for hours, naked, face down, this shirt stuffed in my mouth. He doesn’t come to fetch me, one of his friends does, a doctor, I think. Now I’m starting to freak out. He’s never shared me, never really told anyone about our life together. At least not that I know of.” “Birds of a feather.”

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Her mouth formed a soft O. “Many of my friends are into this lifestyle,” he confirmed. “Wouldn’t surprise them a bit to walk in and find you submissively on your knees. Go on.” She blinked disbelievingly. “Go on,” he prompted. Clearing her mind, she continued, “The doctor checks my wrists and ankles where I was bound. I’m grateful for his kindness but he’s not really kind at all. He unhooks my wrists only to re-bind them behind my back. After releasing my ankles, he assists me to my feet and forces me back down the stairs. “There are lots of other people there.” “You’re the center of attention, just like you wanted.” “Yes and no. I’m not much into voyeurism. I keep my blinds closed at home. I don’t shower at the gym.” “So, again, the humiliation is part of the scene.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “I haven’t thought about it much from an intellectual point of view. All I know is I get off on this. I haven’t analyzed it.” “Fair enough. So the good doctor leads you into the room?” “No. I’m ahead of him. His fingers are in the small of my back.” “Nothing, no one to hide behind.” James wanted her honesty, her vulnerability. He had both. She felt like she was on the edge of a limb. “I search the room for my Master, but when he looks at me, he appears disappointed. That’s something I never wanted to have happen. I truly, truly am sorry. But as he walks toward me, I know that’s going to have no bearing on what happens next. “Still, I apologize, even as he forces me to my knees. Then I beg him. Please. Not like this, please. I will never misbehave again. He seems not to hear me. I’m crying. All conversation has ceased. Everyone is looking at me. There’s a woman there, sleek, 79

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sophisticated, everything I’m not. In the quiet of the room, she says that I’m an awful lot of work.” “She’s right.” “Master!” “Sorry. Continue.” “In my absence, a hook has been installed in the ceiling. The doctor helps me to my feet and draws me toward it. There are steps in the room, long, marble steps, and I am forced to climb them. At the top, there’s a small stool that I have to stand on. My cuffs are adjusted and my arms are stretched above my head, higher, tighter ’til I’m on tiptoe. If I don’t keep my balance, I will lose my footing and be dangling from the hook. “The beating is punitive. Master starts by using his belt on me.” “And the woman?” Rachel looked away momentarily. “She beats me too. With a cane. When Master is through, it’s her turn.” She gasped when James moved, shoving his hand roughly between her legs. “You’re wet.” “Yes, Master.” “Where does the fantasy end? At what point do you climax?” “I usually come…” She faltered. “The fantasy ends with the woman beating me.” “So is it the idea of the woman beating you…?” “No. I have no desire around that. It’s more about the helplessness, of being overwhelmed on every level. The idea of being with a woman…” She shook her head. “It’s just that I’m so turned on that I am pushed over the edge.” “So, little slave, have you ever had a plug up your ass while you rub your cunt against a whipping post?”

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Rachel might have screamed in frustration. After that comment, James said he needed to return to town for a couple of hours. He was keeping her on edge, listening to every detail she shared and then ignoring her. This was another of those places where reality wasn’t so awesome, as seconds dragged into minutes. In your mind, you could morph an hour into a dozen seconds. Or replay thirty seconds for an hour. But this…watching time crawl by on the clock sucked. Her phone beeped. She jumped and ran for it. A text message from him. Make sure you eat lunch. Make sure your ass is clean. By three o’clock, she was pacing the floor. She’d done another hated enema. And there was no word from Sir James. When she finally heard his SUV, she presented herself at the door. “My bedroom,” he said by way of greeting. “You may walk.” He was definitely skilled at keeping her guessing. No predictability. As soon as she figured out the rules, he changed them. She walked past him into the room. “On all fours on my bed. Your back should have a slight dip so your cute little rear is begging for my attention. Forehead on the mattress.” Her heart accelerated. Her rear was begging for his attention? What kind of attention? The beating meant to arouse? Just thinking about it made her moisten. A man who knew how to satisfy her. Take her to the knife-edge of satisfaction. He went into the master bathroom. Water ran. A cupboard door open and closed. Her mouth dried. “In your experience, beatings seem to be punitive.” 81

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“Yes.” “Never just for the eroticism?” Her heart missed its next beat entirely. “There are ways to bring a sub—the right sub—to orgasm from a strap alone. Do you know the reasons for this?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Your mind. Your mind is more critical than any sex organ to a woman’s climax. Engaging your brain is more important than touching you here…” He slid a well-lubed finger between her nether lips. She jumped as if scalded. Her action didn’t even earn a slight reprimand. “And once your brain is okay with it, you’ll enjoy this…” He slipped his finger into her anus. She struggled, sucking in breaths, trying to push him out. “Tell me what your hang-up is.” “It’s private.” “So’s peeing. And showering.” “It’s dirty.” “You get dirty every day, that’s why you shower.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m scared.” He pulled his finger out then thrust it in again. Hard. “Damn it! It hurts.” “So does taking a beating, little one.” He slapped her ass once. Rachel gasped from pleasure, from pain, and he inserted a second finger. When she started to protest, he smacked her rear again. And a third time. “Not so bad now, is it?” A dozen sensations, each stronger than the last, swarmed over her.

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“I wonder,” he said, “what might happen if you were to stop thinking about all the things you dislike for a minute. If you were to decide not to fight it and instead focus on the fact that I like using you in this way. What if you knew that I realized you think it’s dirty, it’s private, that it hurts and that you’re scared. “I told you at the very beginning, Rachel, that I would find each of your limits and that I would push you past each of them. “By focusing on me, you can minimize the discomfort. Lots of lube is essential. The right angle matters. Your Dom having patience matters. And what if you realized this can bring you more intense pleasure than you’ve ever experienced?” He swatted her again then soothed away the hurt. “Relax.” Within seconds, he found a motion she could tolerate. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t hate it. She relaxed slightly. His left hand found her shoulder and he drew her back to meet his thrusts. “Keep your back dipped.” Unbelievably, shattering every one of her preconceived notions, she began to feel aroused. “Surrender,” he urged her. She couldn’t, but she met each thrust, inviting him deeper. Suddenly he stopped. He slowly, ever so slowly, withdrew his fingers. “You’re ready for the next step. You’re ready to please me more.” For long minutes she trembled. “This is a butt plug,” he told her from somewhere behind her. “From now on, I want you wearing it at all times. It’ll take some work for you to get it in yourself. Squatting will help. Lube will also. Probably the best thing is for you to fuck yourself with it until you get it in.” “Can I see it?”

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“When you remove it.” Which probably meant it was so big she’d freak out. Unlike his finger, the plug was hard and unyielding. There was nothing pleasant about it. He inserted more and she thought she’d be split in two. Instinctively, she got as far away from it—and him—as she could. Wrapping his hand around her ankle, he dragged her back across the bed. “Answer me this, slave. Is this plug going in your ass or not?” In a battle of the wills, there could only be one winner. And she couldn’t experience everything she’d signed up for if she clashed here. “Yes.” “So we both agree. This is going in your ass. How much it hurts is up to you.” He tried again. She fell on her stomach with quiet little sounds of protest. The pattern repeated a couple more times. Each time, she forced herself back into position before he corrected her. “This will look so nice,” he said. With a final, quick, forced push, he sank the plug home. She cried out then settled. “Very nice,” he approved. “Stand up.” She leaned on his arm while she stood. “Bend over. Grab your ankles.” Her ass felt stuffed, her stomach distended. Not pleasant. Still, she followed orders. “Totally turns me on to see you full like this.” He situated the plug more to his liking. “What if I have to go to the bathroom?” “You had two enemas. The plug stays until you take your bath tonight.” If she had ever been more miserable, she didn’t know the occasion. “Go sit on the stool near the fireplace.”

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The wood one. “Keep your legs spread slightly. Make sure you’re sitting, hard, on the plug.” Wouldn’t that drive it a bit deeper? Duh. She sat on the stool. Could the damn thing come out her throat? “Feeling sorry for yourself will earn you a longer time-out.” She was in time-out? What was she, a spoiled, recalcitrant— “Didn’t hear a thank you. Didn’t get any gratitude. We talked that beatings are not always punitive. Your next one will be.”

***** Cindy was right, James mused. Rachel was exactly the diversion he needed. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t beat Cindy, regardless. And enjoy every moment. He hadn’t realized how high he’d been hung up on Michelle until this one showed up. An untrained, somewhat feral feline, hissing at him, ready to do battle. He hadn’t felt this alive in a year. Last night, at home, he’d barely slept. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone. He’d wanted her in his bed. Not for her comfort. For his. He finished making dinner—and wasn’t that another thing. Someone to cook for. Not bloody much fun doing it for yourself. Her nose was wrinkled into a scowl when he looked in on her. Hard to believe she’d signed on for this. “Dinner,” he said. She froze in spot. Caught with a bad attitude. “Now,” he said when she didn’t move. “Am… May…” “Sit at the table,” he said. “And pour us each a glass of wine.”

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When she had drained the first glass of chardonnay and almost finished with her trout, he said, “Tell me about your most recent relationship.” “Uhmm, I didn’t realize…” “We talked about this. Mental, physical, emotional. All tied together. You’ve told me about your adventures in S & M. Now I want more.” “I’m not exactly a shining star when it comes to relationships. Thirty-two. Married once to a man who thought I was a pervert. Since then, there have been a few guys, none who have held my interest. None I’ve been willing to make a commitment to.” “How does that plug feel?” “Uncomfortable. Itchy.” He nodded. Just wanted to give her a reminder. “So tell me about your exhusband.” She reached for her glass and found it empty. Despite his no-alcohol rules, he gave her another splash. “Were you in love?” “Madly. Passionately. Or I thought I was.” “Go on.” “I tried my best. Suzy Homemaker. Workout Queen. Sex Goddess. But it wasn’t enough.” She took a drink, sat back. Sighed. “Or rather, I was too much. He kept telling me we should hold something back.” He frowned, and she explained, “I wanted more sexually. A spanking. Clamps. Something, anything. I bought some nipple clamps at the adult toy store. It was weeks before we tried them out. He didn’t want them too tight. But I was excited, so I went back and bought a small whip. That’s when he said we should hold something back. We had years ahead of us that we needed to keep fresh.” “I prefer this and that,” James said, rolling his wineglass between his palms. “Yes! I wanted to experience more.” 86

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“Despite that, you were happy.” “I liked my life,” she said simply. “Liked being a wife. The mediocre sex I could live with…until…” She trailed off. “Until?” he prompted. “We’d been married three years. He told me he hadn’t loved me for the last two.” “That had to hurt.” “Debilitating. But I still tried. I suggested counseling. There wasn’t anything we couldn’t work through.” She laughed, a brittle, awkward sound. “I had so little selfrespect, I let him stay in the same bed as me for two months. I didn’t want a divorce.” He watched the mixture of pain that collided on her face and he noticed the way her hand trembled when she took a drink of chard. “Then there was the day I realized my husband was out on a date.” He winced. When her hand no longer shook, he said, “And the man you were supposed to be with this week. In the Bahamas, I think it was.” “How…?” He saw the look on her face, pursed lips, as understanding dawned. “Cindy.” “Information is a two-way street. You asked about me.” She toasted him with her glass. “Clever.” “Tell me about him.” “Bill? He’s a decent human being. Treats me well. Opens doors for me.” “What’s wrong with him?” “Nothing. Not a thing. Except he’s boring. A night deposit at the bank takes more time than Bill does.” “In and out.”

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“In and out,” she confirmed around another long drink of wine, “then lights out.” She laughed at her own joke. James liked this side of her. More vulnerable. Still, her guard was up. But there was a crack in the armor. “Did you masturbate when you were with him?” “After he fell asleep. If I did it while he was awake, his feelings would have been hurt.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “He thinks he’s Casanova incarnate.” Her laugh, somewhat like a snort, couldn’t have been less ladylike. He found it endearing. “But, like I said, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” So she’d laugh behind his back instead. Jesus. He hoped he never disappointed her. She’d skewer him with her friends. “This relationship with Bill’s a record since my divorce. Almost two months before I ran.” “And why do you run?” “Red flags. Only, unlike a bull, I run away from them.” “What’s the red flag with Bill?” “I’ll be bored, then I’ll be the one having an affair.” She looked at him then, coyly. The age-old female dance. “Thrill me,” she said, invited. “Master.” The conversation was over. He’d learned some, but not enough. One thing was certain, he was a flesh-and-blood man. And he wanted her. “What would you like me to beat you with? The crop or my belt?” “Punitive or arousing?” Remind him to stop her at a half a glass of wine in future. “I owe you a punishment. For the fuss about getting that plug in your tight little hole.” “It hurt.” “And?” 88

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She pouted. Then brightened. “Wait a minute. You promised me a…an arousing punishment too. You promised.” “I did, did I?” “Yep. Yesterday. Today. Sometime. I swear it.” She offered her hand. “Pinky swear.” “Pinky swear?” “It’s a girl thing. You wouldn’t understand.” Evidently not. “Since I’ve already been punished with your crop, I think I should have an arousing beating. For comparison’s sake. This is, after all, about my education.” She batted her eyelids. He laughed. “Right?” “For comparison’s sake,” he agreed. “Through that door are stairs to the basement.” “How many more secrets do you have?” He opened the door, flipped a light switch. “It’s a walk-out basement, meaning there’s plenty of light.” “That’s how you were able to sneak up on me this morning!” Whatever she wanted to think. “You’ll find a variation of your whipping post there. Stand.” Her eyes were wide, soft blue, appealing. Tonight, he was sure, he wouldn’t have been able to punish her if he’d wanted to. “Hands over your head.” He cuffed them there. The sight of her bare breasts gently arched toward him made his mouth water. “Go downstairs, keeping your hands raised. There’s, for lack of a better word, a saw-horse. Canvas covered. Should be the right height.” He’d measured. “Mount it. Face the window.” He knew she’d have difficulty picturing it ’til she saw it. “I’ll join you shortly.” More or less. 89

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Since humiliation seemed to be a central theme in her stories, he left her there a long time. It would have been intriguing, however, to watch her mount the punishment device. He was almost sorry to miss that. He took a brandy outside, sat on the porch in the fading daylight, waiting until the first star appeared. What the hell. He finished the brandy. And waited for the next star. By now, she’d be questioning her sanity, wondering if she’d followed orders correctly, wondering if he had abandoned her or if he was still going to join her. Her hearing would be keenly tuned, listening for the telltale sound of his car engine turning over. She’d be uncomfortably aware of the canvas rubbing against her bare skin. She’d sure as hell be feeling sorry for herself about the plug and lack of attention. Her arms would have fatigued long, long minutes ago. He only had one question. Was she winning the mental battle? Was she shutting out the discomfort and focusing on the pleasure to come? Was she thinking about meeting his needs and desires? The night was about to get interesting. He placed the snifter on the pine deck railing and went inside, unfastening his belt on the way down the stairs.

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Chapter Seven Hearing Sir James’ footfall on the stairs, she straightened, lifting her hands high. There was a stout hook sunk deep into the ceiling above her. No doubt she’d be attached to that in a few moments. Reaching up, she realized, took some of the pressure off her private parts. It wasn’t exactly a saw-horse, but she knew why he used the description. The apparatus did have two “legs” and a cross-bar for support. But that’s where the similarities ended. This contraption had a narrow beam at the apex, only a few inches long. It was covered in a sturdy canvas, to itch or to stimulate. It was exactly the right height for her. When her arms were fully extended, she’d have to work to grind herself against the beam. Clever man, her Master. It seemed to take him forever to descend the staircase. Her nerves were raw, like a violin strung too tightly. “Are you feeling sorry for yourself?” “Only a little.” “What do you think of your own private horse?” “Giddy-up?” “Lord hope I never beat all the sass out of you.” “Master?” He didn’t repeat the words, so she couldn’t be sure she’d actually heard what he said. Instead he asked, “Are you looking forward to this?” “I’m nervous, Master.” It was a confession as well as an artful dodge. Or so she’d thought. “Answer the question.” 91

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He smacked something against his palm. She jumped. “I want it. Yes. I’m looking forward to it.” He came around in front of her. His leather belt was folded in half. As she stared, transfixed, he doubled it again. “Open your mouth.” He shoved the belt width-wise between her teeth. “Tongue it. Taste it. And raise yourself onto your toes.” While she all but made love to the leather, he fastened her cuffs to the ceiling hook. She winced when he used a pulley-type mechanism to tug her higher, stretching her. Rachel scrabbled to find purchase for her toes on the bare, wooden floor. He pushed on the hated plug, driving it deeper, and she gasped. Then he adjusted the horse so that the wood-covered fabric was snug against her, parting her lips. “The purpose of this beating is to give you a screaming orgasm.” Since the belt was still in her mouth, she nodded. “You won’t be gagged or blindfolded. You’ll be permitted to talk, to beg. In fact, I encourage begging. My job is to prolong the torture. The longer you wait, the more intense the climax when you finally get there. Do you understand?” She nodded. “You’re totally ready?” Her breaths were raw and ragged. And—damn him to hell and back—he left her. There was no mistaking the fact she no longer inhaled his scent. No mistaking the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. How long was he going to leave her this time? Tears stung her eyes. One or two even fell. Until she realized that’s exactly what he intended. Her abject surrender. He’d commented on her interest in humiliation. To him, it was part of the ritual to turn her on. In an infuriating way, the man was giving her exactly what she wanted. Deliberately, with focused concentration, she breathed. She stopped feeling sorry for herself; she began to turn herself, mind and body, over to the experience. 92

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She became aware of the evening’s chill on her naked skin. Her nipples pebbled with response. She noticed the slight abrasion of the fabric pressed against her pussy. The plug filled her from behind. The belt filled her from the front. Her breasts were wantonly thrust toward the window. She could see her own reflection. Even though she thought she carried a few too many pounds, the picture was somewhat erotic. The horse keeping her legs apart. The arch of her back and the way her body curved openly, as if in invitation. Her mouth dried, her eyelids drifted closed. The entire experience was stimulating. Even his words earlier, replaying in her head. “I encourage begging.” And “The longer you wait, the more intense the climax when you finally get there.” Something quickened inside her. And when he started down the stairs, moisture trickled between her legs. Moments later, he worked a finger there, feeling the dampness. “When you give yourself over, abdicate the fight, this is what happens. You can have this all the time, slave. The choice is always yours.” She nodded, sagging against her bonds. “You could climax in thirty seconds.” “Yes,” she managed around the belt. “But you won’t.” While she was still unprepared, he gave her four exceedingly quick slaps on the rear. “To warm the skin,” he explained. She gasped from pleasure, not pain. She adjusted herself against the horse. He walked around to stand in front of her. There was nothing refined about him in this instant. He resembled nothing so much as an old-West sheriff. Rigid, in control. The only thing missing was a six-shooter. Master palmed her breasts then squeezed her nipples. Not hardly enough to arouse them. She wanted more. Her plea was a mumble. “Again? Harder?”

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At her vigorous nod, he complied. She rocked against the horse. Feeling the buildup, the tension… He pulled away. She cried out. From a hook in her vision, he took down a small, innocent-looking whip. He shook it out, and she saw it had half a dozen quarter-inch leather straps. “Not very directional,” he said, “unlike my preference, the crop. But effective nonetheless.” He started with her feet then moved upward, striking her thighs, her crotch, her stomach. He whipped her breasts from the top then, lifting each in turn by a nipple, whipped the tender underside. Her head thrashed back and forth as she sought… What? Escape? Another? Then the whip fell more randomly, catching her here with a dull thud, there with a sharp sting. Her skin felt as if it were on fire. She couldn’t get away, couldn’t get enough. Then he moved behind her. Her shoulders were punished, and the area between her shoulder blades. The vicious little straps landed on her calves, her upper thighs, her buttocks. He shoved her forward with a thrust up against the butt plug. She was delirious with need. “Shall we begin?” he asked courteously. This was beyond her wildest dreams. Nothing she’d read prepared her for the actual sensations. Her body was on fire. Every inch stung but nothing hurt. “Release the belt,” he said. It was wet. And, she knew, so was the horse.

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“Much more effective than a whipping post,” he said. “If you were tied to something, I couldn’t access your breasts. What a shame that would be.” With the belt doubled over, he showed her what he meant. She screamed, in agony, in delight. “I’m—” He ceased every movement. “No. Actually, you’re not.” After nearly a minute—but what in reality could be ten seconds—he walked around behind her. The first stroke of the belt brought her off the horse. His hand splayed against her stomach put her back into position. “Grind your hot little cunt against the horse,” he told her. Keeping time with his strokes, full, beefy hits, she did. “Master!” “Not yet,” he told her. “Think about England.” Rachel laughed, remembering reading about Queen Victoria’s need to think of her duty to the Crown during sex. It was the only way Her Majesty could get through the lewd act. The tension was shattered. With less vigor, he resumed the beating. A slow, steady rise and fall that had her slowly grinding her hips. “You’re not thinking about England,” he said. “Am.” “I can smell you, Rachel.” The unexpected strength behind his next hit pitched her forward. She screamed as the canvas and wood abraded her and the orgasm ripped through her. She’d never felt anything so…overwhelming. Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process. Nothing mattered but the residual drum beat of the orgasm thrumming through her body. 95

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He slowly lowered her, gently released her from her bondage then rubbed her arms until circulation returned. She collapsed in an ungraceful heap. Unbidden, she kissed his feet. Gratitude, he’d been trying to drum into her. There wasn’t much left inside her except for that. He stroked her hair then carried her up the stairs. She was so tired that she didn’t protest when he placed her on her stomach in the bathroom and removed the plug. She felt warmth and dampness when he cleaned her private parts. She hadn’t done anything to deserve… Her eyes flew open when he carried her to the guest room and tucked her in. “I’m supposed to sleep on the couch.” “Not tonight.” She wasn’t sure she’d said thank you. Wasn’t sure of anything except the sense of completion. “Master…?” “Tomorrow,” he said. And when tomorrow arrived, she wasn’t sure how she’d survived the night. His kindness, for sure. It had been unexpected. She hadn’t thought he’d clean her up, care for her. And, if her foggy brain was still working right, he’d even put her to bed. A blanket and a pillow. “The paradox,” he said when she padded sleepily into the kitchen. She gratefully accepted a glass of orange juice. Then she downed a cup of coffee in just a couple of sips. “You can only experience love if you first give it. Cannot receive trust unless you offer it first. Cannot experience the pleasures of a Master/slave relationship until you place another’s needs, wants and desires ahead of your own.” She was still struggling with the concept when he said, “Shower and give yourself an enema. Company will be here in an hour.”

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***** Rachel’s mouth fell open when she saw a vehicle driving up the long dirt road to the cabin. “You were serious!” “I rarely say things I don’t mean, Rachel.” “That’s Kevin’s car.” He nodded. “You’re going to beat Cindy?” “And enjoy every minute of it.” Her stomach clenched. Her lies were going to cost her friend a beating. Unthinkingly, she grabbed James’ wrist. “Please. It’s not her fault. I take full responsibility.” “Glad that’s settled.” “Please. Punish me?” “No.” The car came to a stop. Then she freaked. “Master…I’m naked.” He glanced over at her. “So you are.” Heat, color chased up her throat and burned her cheeks. “Please. I’m going to—” “Stop. As far as we know, no one has actually ever died of embarrassment.” “I’ll be the first.” “Would you like to make me proud, Rachel? Or do you prefer to try my patience?” Since he didn’t appear to expect an answer, she shut her mouth and continued to look out the window from her Present position. She wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. Kevin killed the engine then came around to Cindy’s side of the vehicle and opened the door for her. Just like any normal couple. He walked to the door. She followed a respectful distance behind.

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“Actually, Rachel, you might be right after all.” He chucked her good-naturedly under the chin. “If you embarrass me and my training, you may be the first to die as a result of embarrassment. Or wish you had.” James welcomed his guests. Guests. Is that what you called a woman whose presence you’d ordered so you could punish her? And what about Cindy’s boyfriend, Rachel wondered wildly? What did Kevin think of this whole thing? Was he actually going to allow James to beat Cindy? Rachel felt as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole somewhere. Surreal. Cindy bowed her head gracefully as James said hello. Kevin and James shook hands. Maybe this was another of Master’s jokes. Perhaps he didn’t intend to beat Cindy at all, just upset Rachel. “Kevin, you’ve met Rachel.” “Not under these circumstances.” After a quick glance at her nude form, he ignored her completely and addressed James directly, “She’s responding well to training?” Rachel’s eyes opened wide. She was seeing her friend’s man in a whole new light. He’d seemed nice enough the few times they’d all chilled together. But Masterful? She glanced at Cindy. Cindy was paying no attention to anyone but Kevin. Her Master? So many questions and Rachel was burning to ask them all. James shrugged. “Training is coming along. She’s apparently having a marvelous time.” She jolted. His use of her safe word was no accident. He was reminding her that she held the power to end the scene in an instant. Almost imperceptibly, she shook her head. Then…he presented the greatest challenge of all. Holding her gaze hostage, he said, “Inspect.” 98

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Ohmigod. That was it. She was going to die of embarrassment. And it was going to be a slow, painful death. He wanted her to shamelessly show her friends her body? And she was considering doing it? Had she slowly gone out of her mind without even noticing? Aware of everyone watching her, everyone who still happened to be fully dressed, she kept her gaze on James and followed his command. A nearly flawless execution of his order. At least she’d done that right. James cut a purposeful glance at her keys, still hanging near the door. Offering one last way out. What he didn’t realize was that something changed for her last night. There was no longer an “out” for her. Even if she would rather chew rusty nails than do what he requested, she’d still trust him and not bail. The paradox, as he was fond of saying. It was a huge realization for her. She wondered if he recognized it. If he appreciated it. “May I?” Kevin asked. “Please.” She forced herself to remain still. Willed her eyes to remain open. James’ words echoed. “If you are ever uncertain what is expected of you, keep your eyes open.” Her fingers were curved up slightly, instead of her hands being completely open. And her breaths were shallow pants. Thinking about James, wanting to please him, she endured. Kevin skimmed a finger inside her mouth. Their eyes met. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see there, but the kindness, the approval, the lack of judgment was appreciated. He tweaked both of her nipples. “You’re responsive.” Crouching, he parted her lower lips, skimmed her labia with a thumbnail. “Nice job, Sir James.”

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Then, just as quickly, it was over. Breath rushed out of her. She’d survived. She hadn’t humiliated herself or her Master. “Cindy?” James invited. No! Rachel had had enough. He told her, promised her, he’d find and test every one of her limits. Well, here was one. Cindy looked to Kevin for guidance. He shrugged and said, “Your choice. You’ll be taking a beating because of the charade you both dreamed up. If I were you, I’d take the opportunity.” To be subservient to James in private was one thing. And because he desired it, to his friend, was another. But to Cindy? The exquisite humiliation was more than Rachel could bear. James crouched next to her. Quietly, he said, “Breathe. Or end this now.” “I’m breathing.” The last was bitten out, “Master.” His grin was superior. Then he moved away and gestured to Cindy. Rachel fought for victory over every instinct. She wanted to close her legs, her eyes. She wanted to clamp her mouth shut. She ached to cover her breasts, to leap up and run for the door. But she did none of those things. Cindy crouched next to her. While the men talked quietly, Cindy asked, “Are you doing okay?” “I was.” “Until this.” Cindy smiled. “Until your best friend sees all your secrets. You cut out for this lifestyle?” “I’m not sure.” “You appear well.” Rachel thought about it for a second. “I wouldn’t trade this experience for anything. Well, maybe this particular part of the experience.” 100

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“Everything you dreamed?” “More. It’s…overwhelming.” “If you need to get away, call me. I will be here.” “Cindy!” “Kevin,” she responded. Then to Rachel, she said, “Have you ever been touched by a girl?” “No. And I’m not sure I want to be.” Cindy smiled. “When you’re ‘in’ this lifestyle, you do a lot of things you’re not sure you want to do.” She soothed Rachel’s hair back from her forehead. A woman’s touch was different, softer, more intuitive. Then Cindy cupped Rachel’s breasts and squeezed gently, working her way toward the nipples that she pinched. Rachel’s hips lifted slightly. No! It wasn’t possible that her friend’s touch turned her on. “You liked it,” Cindy said. She skimmed her fingers down Rachel’s stomach and came to rest at the top of her clit. “Keep your legs open for me.” Rachel wished she were somewhere else. Anywhere. Scrubbing toilets in Canada. Anything. Cindy stroked, lightly pinched, aroused. Then she plunged a finger inside. Rachel froze. And it wasn’t from the invasion, but because she didn’t want it to stop. “I’m glad you had me call him,” Cindy said as she withdrew her finger. “You’re a natural. The beating your Master plans to give me will be worth every stroke.” “Coffee, anyone? Refreshment?” James asked. Cindy asked for water. Everyone else declined. Rachel’s head swam. “Shall we?” James held open the door to the basement.

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All polite conversation ceased. Intensity hung in the chilled morning air. As Kevin and Cindy headed downstairs, James helped Rachel to her feet then quietly said, “I should have taught you the Rest position before now. Lucky for you, you’re a quick study. On your knees, leaning back slightly. Legs only a few inches apart. Hands loosely at your sides. No talking unless spoken to.” She nodded. Once they joined the others in the basement, James pointed to a place half a dozen feet away from the whipping horse. “Rest there.” Rachel couldn’t imagine what was going through Cindy’s head. Rachel should have asked, in fact she would have except she had been caught up in her own story while they were upstairs. She hadn’t given her friend’s punishment a single thought. Selfish. Silence hung like a shroud. “You haven’t had the opportunity to use the horse,” James said. “You’ll like it.” Cindy nodded, saying nothing. She went to Kevin, knelt in front of him, placed her forehead to his feet then knelt up. He stroked her hair then wound his fingers in its length and tipped her head back. “Get on with it,” Kevin said. She kissed his hand then stood and walked toward James. Rachel wished she could see her friend’s expression. But Cindy was focused only on what she was doing. “Disrobe.” With a grace Rachel envied, Cindy undressed. Her fingers didn’t tremble as she slid buttons through their holes. She shrugged and her shirt fluttered to the floor in a whoosh of silk. She paused then, her hands behind her neck, offering James a lovely view of her firm breasts. In moments, she seamlessly continued, slipping from her high-heeled sandals and shimmying from her jeans. In a motion so perfected it could have been poetic, Cindy sank to her knees. Her knees were about shoulder-width apart, her back arched. Her

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head was tipped openly toward him, and she offered her hands, palm up in front of her. Much like the Present position James had taught Rachel, but with a subtle variance. Kevin’s preference? Rachel wondered. Rachel felt no jealousy, only awe at Cindy’s elegance. How much practice did that take? She was suddenly aware of her own clumsiness. No wonder James preferred his companions to be previously trained. How had she and Cindy believed, even for a minute, that they’d get away with the charade? “Mount the horse,” James instructed, “face toward the window.” He glanced at Kevin. “I can see fine from here,” Kevin said. As Cindy moved into position, Rachel noticed the long line of Cindy’s muscle. She was well-toned. And instead of feeling sorry for herself, apparently took great joy in practicing transitions. Beauty and grace. For a wicked moment, Rachel felt a stab of jealousy. How could any man look at her and not want her? “Is your woman allowed to climax?” James asked as he bound Cindy’s wrists to the overhead hook. Kevin shook his head. “She can save that for the beating she’ll take at home later this evening. That she needs to be punished by you does not bode well for her.” Rachel watched Cindy for a reaction to Kevin’s statement. Not even by her breathing did she betray she’d even heard anything. No protests, no whining. Maybe that’s what Master expected from her! James made the final adjustments to the horse, lowering it slightly. He moved Cindy a little farther back so that just her lips rested on the edge. “If you move too much,” he warned, “you might bump your pubis against the wood and bruise yourself.” Cindy nodded.

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“Use it to keep your balance, nothing more. If you grind yourself against it, you’re risking the orgasm Kevin has forbidden.” “Thank you for the reminder.” “Crop?” James asked Kevin. “Whip? Cane? Belt?” “Cindy?” Kevin asked. “Please,” she said clearly, “will Master honor me by using his crop?” Honor her? “Thirty,” James said. “Do not count.”

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Chapter Eight Seeming to tune out everyone and everything, James selected a crop from the wall. He sliced the air with it. Rachel flinched. Cindy didn’t seem to hear. How Rachel admired her concentration. Putting it back, he chose a different one. The flapper was smaller. It made a vicious hiss as it cut the silence. The preparation took forever. Rachel was climbing out of her skin. The beating was routine. The first blow landed on Cindy’s left cheek. The second on her right. He didn’t vary the pace nor the location tremendously, seemingly being respectful that Cindy belonged to someone else. Cindy rarely made a sound, and by the time he’d reached the half dozen mark, she thanked him for each stripe. Around twenty, she moved shamelessly against the horse. “Careful,” Kevin warned her. “Thank you,” she cried out. “Thank you!” Rachel didn’t know if her friend was thanking Sir James for the beating or Kevin for the reminder. “Continue,” Kevin told James. The next few were brutally hard and in quick succession. And Rachel desperately wanted to be in her place. Cindy hiccupped. Taking mercy—if that’s what it was—James delivered the next few to her upper legs. She found her balance, sucked in a sharp breath. 105

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The final few were delivered square on her buttocks. With tiny moans, she worked her crotch against the canvas. Kevin moved in, tugged on the pulley, raising her off the horse. Even from her vantage, Rachel saw the moisture that wept from her friend’s crotch. She’d been aroused from a punitive beating. Rachel so could not wait for Ladies’ Night. “Three more,” Kevin instructed. She swung freely, and Rachel noticed that Cindy’s hips gyrated regardless. It was as if she were seeking something to climax against. Kevin moved away. James took his time releasing the slave from her bondage. And unlike Rachel who collapsed, Cindy collected herself. Her motions were effortless as she tongued the crop James held then kissed his hand, followed by his feet. “Thank you,” Cindy said. “I did not deserve your attention, but I am grateful.” Then she leapt up and all but ran to Kevin. She saved her genuine affection for him, kissing his hand over and over and then his feet, gratitude exuding from her. Kevin grinned. “I believe I’ll take my slave home.” Cindy pulled on her jeans. Kevin held her shirt while she slipped her arms into it. While she bent to put on her shoes, she shot Rachel a secret, woman-to-woman look. “Thank you,” she mouthed. “Rock on.” “I’ll see our guests out,” James told Rachel, “while you wait here.” Since he hadn’t suggested a different position, she remained as she was. “Thoughts?” he asked when he returned. “Permission to speak freely.” “Expected,” he said. His arms were folded across his chest. He seemed impossibly large, handsome. And she was suddenly aware of her massive good fortune. Of all the men, Doms, in the world, she’d ended up with him for training. “She’s beautiful.” 106

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“Very well trained,” he agreed. “I’m somewhat envious.” That cocked brow again. “Her motions are graceful. Elegant. Now I know why you insist I practice transitions from one position to another. Cindy does it seamlessly.” “My favorite thing about your friend?” “What?” “She doesn’t argue.” “I don’t—” She snapped her mouth closed and he laughed. “Not all the time. Well, I’m getting better.” “She takes a beating like a pro.” “The appreciation she showed you and Kevin…” “Customary. A Dom likes to know his efforts are appreciated.” “I haven’t been very good at that.” “Among numerous other failings.” But he said the words without rancor. No offense meant. And none taken. “I want…” He waited. “I want to be that good. That pleasing. I want to submit. I want to experience what Kevin and Cindy share.” “Without letting go the way she has, you can’t share that experience. You can be that good. That pleasing. You can submit. When you do submit fully, that’s when you will truly be Mastered.” She thought about what he said. The paradox. “You’re owed a punitive beating of your own, slave.” Her mouth dried and, simultaneously, the secret area between her legs moistened.

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“The horse,” he said. “Crawl.” While Cindy had been allowed the dignity of walking, he was drawing a definite line with Rachel. She took her place, noticing that the canvas was still damp. Somehow that added to the experience. If the people who reported to her could see her now… Her arms were still sore from being stretched so high yesterday. But she didn’t complain when he ratcheted the pulley tighter than yesterday. He raised the plank higher so she had to stand on her tiptoes to relieve a little of the pressure. “Crop? Belt? Cane?” “Whatever suits Master.” The right words, even though her mind was screaming belt! “The cane it is.” She froze, stopped breathing. “Every slave should taste its brutal bite. As a reminder, this is punishment from yesterday. Your transgressions were noted. You’d generally receive a great deal more stripes than you will today. Since this is the cane, you’ll receive fewer. But you’ll find yourself wishing for a greater number with a different instrument. Are you clear?” “Yes, Master.” “Sorry?” She cleared her throat and tried again, slightly louder this time, “Yes, Master.” As he had before punishing Cindy, he purposefully moved toward the wall. She couldn’t see him, but all her other senses were acutely tuned. She yelped when he tested the cane in the air. “You’ll take six stripes. All will cut across your buttocks or your upper thighs. If you were being punished for something major, your ankles might be bound and the soles of your feet beat. Occasionally, a Dom may land the cane against the back of your knees or your calves. In that case you’ve been seriously bad or you’re playing with a sadist. Other behavior will tell you which. If anyone ever, even by accident, hits your

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back with a cane, get out. You can be injured seriously. There’s nothing punitive about that. It’s plain wrong. No one who treats a sub like that is tolerated in the circles I move in.” If she hadn’t been scared before, she was now. The first seared. The second made her gulp. The third brought a whimper. The fourth, the tip barely catching her right buttock, made her groan. The fifth made her beg for mercy. The sixth, across her upper thighs, made her scream. There was no pleasure, only mind-numbing pain. And in some books she’d read, the sub had taken more than the Dom could dish out. James gently lowered her. With great, gulping sobs, she collapsed on the bare wooden floor. Through the haze, she thought of him. She mumbled an incoherent thank you. And then she reached for him, wanting to please. He captured her hand when she tried to undo his zipper. “No.” With the back of her left hand, she dashed tears from her eyes, shoved away hair. “The paradox,” she told him, anger, frustration, pain a bubbling cauldron. “How can you experience the total feeling of mastery if you won’t let go? You keep demanding more and more from me, and goddamn it, you won’t give anything back!” Her fury echoed back from the rafters. “That’s quite enough, Rachel.” “Is it?” God help her, when would she learn? “Is it? You’re the one who keeps spouting the rules. Mr. High and Mighty who knows it all. You want to know every detail of my life. Every morbid detail of my failures. Have you ever looked at your 109

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own? Did it occur to you that Michelle left because you give nothing in exchange for what you demand?” She’d gone too far. The air sizzled like it does in that fraction of a second before lightning strikes. Things were supercharged, and any step you took could be deadly. Carefully, each motion exaggerated in its control, he released his grip on her wrist. Without a single word, he strode from the room. Tight ass. The front door didn’t even slam. He didn’t rev the engine or spin the tires when he left. In a puddle of her own anguish, Rachel collapsed on the floor and sobbed.

***** The anger James felt toward her was nothing compared to the disgust he aimed at himself. What in the hell was wrong with him? He took the mountain road too fast, too close to the edge. He’d lost his sanity sometime between Cindy’s first call and this morning. When he’d realized Rachel was a novice, he should have sent her away. That was his first mistake. The SUV’s rear end fish-tailed and he eased out of the throttle. His second was in thinking she could be trained despite the emotional blocks she was tossing up. He couldn’t tear them down as fast as she was erecting them. But his worst mistake? That was in wanting a woman who would willingly give herself to him completely. Trust as well as honor. Thinking, hoping she could be the one… He slammed his open palm on the steering wheel. And that crap about Michelle…? What was Rachel, a therapist? 110

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He gave. And gave. And gave. He ignored the nagging voice that told him he hadn’t given Rachel what she needed. The connection she craved. Denial. Yeah. A great place to live.

***** Mindful of the training she suddenly wasn’t so sure she wanted to continue, Rachel forced away the tears and tipped her chin back. She would not accept or admit defeat. She hadn’t gotten where she was in her company by caving. She got where she was with a plan, grit and determination. Damn it, that’s how she’d get to the next place she intended to go as well. Upstairs, she saw her clothes by the door. A nice, tidy pile. It’d take less than a minute and a half to dress. And her keys were still on the hook. This time she studied them carefully. They loomed as a huge temptation. An invitation to leave the rabbit hole. He wouldn’t expect her to be there when he returned. If he returned. Damn it. How had this happened? She had been out of line in shouting at him, way out of line. Her behavior was totally at odds with the way a submissive was supposed to behave. She’d had a high school sweetheart who had gone into the Marines. At his goingaway party, a retired grunt had stood with a toast and a sage piece of advice for success in the military. Do as you’re told. Do as you’re told. Do as you’re fucking told. The same advice would have been good for her to swallow. But she couldn’t keep her mouth shut, especially when she was right. And damn it, she’d been right. He couldn’t expect things from her that he wasn’t willing to give himself.

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He wanted her exposed and vulnerable, emotionally as well as physically. He hadn’t even unbuttoned his shirt. He’d told her nothing about Michelle, leaving her to guess. But it was only a week, Rachel told herself. It wasn’t as if they had a relationship. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see him again. So why did that thought bother her so much? She’d all but ripped a hole in the fabric of anything they had anyway. Hadn’t her parents, her teachers, her bosses warned her of the consequences of her runaway temper? She reached for the keys then dropped her hand. If she wanted to leave later, she could. Right now, she was too exhausted. She needed to think things through logically. Make a plan. She filled the tub with water then turned on the jets. Sinking in up to her chin, she allowed tension to soak away. Then she replayed the events of the day. She thought about Cindy and the way she’d interacted with Kevin and with James. With poise and confidence. Rachel had never shown any man the same kind of affection that Cindy exhibited toward her boyfriend. Rachel had never accorded a man that much respect. She held back, testing the atmosphere, waiting to see whether the wind blew hot or cold. And if a chill was in the forecast, she ran. When she eased her sore muscles from the bathtub, she noticed it was raining. A cold chill seeped into the cabin. And since it was still April, snow was a possibility. Wrapped in a thick terry robe, she padded into the kitchen, brewed a fresh pot of coffee and heated some soup. The afternoon dragged.

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Around six, disheartened, she checked her phone for the dozenth time. Unable to resist impulse once again, she caved and dialed James’ number. Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. What had she expected? Instead of hanging up like she wanted, she took a risk. “I was out of line. You’re right…about a lot of things. I don’t open up. I hold back. I want more from you than I’m willing to give. It’s selfish, self-protective, probably immature. Okay, it wasn’t probably immature. It was immature. You deserve better. I deserve better.” She sucked in a breath. Crow tasted terrible, which was why she didn’t make a habit of eating it. “I disrespected you and what you’re trying to teach me.” But she didn’t take back her accusations. She was right. It was just her delivery that sucked. Rachel sank to the floor and pulled her knees to her chest. “When you come back, you’ll find a more… Jeez, James, I’m being as open and honest as I know how, and I don’t know how you’ll take it. If you don’t like it, hang up and spare yourself my ramblings. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’re right. Ack! That stuck in my throat.” She grinned. Even if he rejected her, she felt better for trying. “Let me try again. You’re right. I cannot have what Cindy and Kevin share without taking the risk. So here I am. Taking a chance. I want to serve you. We only have a few days left. I don’t want it to end without going as far as we can. “Ball’s in your court.” She pushed the End button. Had she said enough? Too much? The wrong thing? Dusk gobbled the sun whole, which gave way to a cloudy night. No stars. Nothing but endless darkness and a heavy atmosphere. The phone never rang. She never received a text message.

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Around midnight, she accepted the bitter fact. He wasn’t coming back tonight. James hadn’t given her permission to sleep in bed, so she curled up on the couch. She told herself that sleeping on the couch was about obedience, that it had nothing to do with being able to see the door as she waited for his return. She told herself that when—if—he came back, she wouldn’t hold back. She’d give in to her genuine emotion. Rachel just hoped it wasn’t buried so deep she could no longer access it.

***** The door slammed open on a burst of wind. He entered, smelling of soap and a brewing late spring storm, and the darkness of his eyes added to that image. Fat snowflakes clung to his disheveled hair. He found her on her knees, properly in Present…well, almost. She wasn’t supposed to be smiling. But it was genuine. And, surprisingly, he actually liked it. Michelle would have never greeted him that way. “I had almost given up hope. I wondered if perhaps you’d tired of training me.” “Trying to train you,” he amended. “Actual training takes the participation and willingness of both parties.” “You are, of course, right, Master.” He frowned at her. “Who are you and what have you done with Rachel?” He shrugged from his brown leather bomber. Without first seeking permission, she stood to take his coat. After hanging his coat in the closet, she resumed the Present position. “The coffee is fresh. Would Master like a cup?” “I’m serious here. You’re scaring me.” She laughed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever enjoyed a sound more. “Coffee?”

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He ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah.” Wasn’t how he expected this to go. He’d thought she’d chastise him, and he’d been prepared to finish the argument they’d started yesterday. There would be tears and pouts. Female hysteria, which he’d about had enough of, thank you very much. That was, if she hadn’t gotten pissed and left. But this…? While she was busy in the kitchen—ah! Maybe this was a ploy. She was spitting in his drink, maybe poisoning it. He shook his head. The cabin was cold. He could turn up the thermostat a few degrees, or he could build a fire. She waited ’til he sat on the couch, right ankle resting on his left knee, before she offered his coffee. It was exactly perfect. Half a spoon of sugar, a healthy dollop of cream. He couldn’t have said that she’d ever paid that much attention. Without complaint, she knelt. Without complaint? How about silently? Now that was a treat. This time, it was him who couldn’t stand it. “You’re quiet.” “Content. You’re here.” In the hiss and crack of the firelight, he said, “I want you to repeat your phone message.” She swallowed deeply. Instead of repeating the message, she opened up, revealing more than she ever had before. He saw the guts it took to look him in the eye and keep her voice steady. “I had a lot of time to think. About submission, about my failures in relationships. I wasn’t totally open with you when we talked about my past. Everything I said was the truth,” she clarified, “but I left out parts of the story.” He saw smudges beneath her columbine blue eyes. She hadn’t slept well. Which made two of them.

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“I didn’t tell you about Joshua. He was my first long-term relationship after my divorce. We were supposed to get married. In fact, the day I found my gown, I also found him in bed with the neighbor. My house. My bed. My man. “Wasn’t just my ex-husband who’d found me so lacking he’d gone looking for a girlfriend. I shut down that day. I stopped trusting, stopped believing anything a man told me. Maybe I sabotage my relationships. Maybe deep down, I don’t think I deserve a good one. “Now I hit the door before the man I’m with can dump me. Like I told you, I look for red flags, sometimes seeing them where they don’t exist. I want out before I get hurt. “I’m no longer sure I know how to be completely vulnerable.” “If you stay, I will demand nothing less. It’s a lot to ask.” She swallowed hard. “I know I want to touch you. I want to deserve you. When you’re happy, I’m happier. I know that for sure. Please,” she said, she begged, “take me where I haven’t been. Teach me. Train me. Allow me the honor.” On her hands and knees, she went to him. She humbled herself before him. Words. Nothing but words. “In the bathroom, there’s a glass butt plug. Get it in your ass.” Her eyes widened. She hesitated. Just long enough for them both to make the same realization. Her surrender wasn’t as complete as she thought. “Can’t get out of your own way long enough?” he asked. It wasn’t an accusation. It was more of a sad commentary. Tension thickened the moment. Wind beat against the windows. Time dragged. Finally, he spoke, “I think you’re wasting my time as well as your own.” “Stop trying to send me away.” “Honey, you’re the one who’s running.”

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“Damn it. You want that dreadful thing up my ass? I’ll get it up there.” There was no yelling. Nothing but cool determination in her eyes and her tone. “But do you know what I want?” He was sure she was going to enlighten him. “I want something from you. An intimacy you keep denying. I want your cock up my ass.” The rest of her words hung unspoken. What was he willing to give? Caught. The paradox. Would he acquiesce to her demands the way he commanded her to bow to his?

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Chapter Nine “Do you know what you’re asking?” She met his gaze. There was iron in his eyes, gold spikes in the green irises. “Probably not,” she admitted. “I’m more than a little scared. I know it will hurt like hell. But it’s not an inanimate object. I want to prove that I’ll go where you want, even if I am frightened. You asked for trust. I’m offering it.” “Two enemas.” She nodded. Then, knowing she’d been dismissed, headed for the sanctuary of the bathroom. Rachel tried not to think it through too much. They were each giving, each receiving. Her submission would please him. The intimacy would please her. If she could stand it. That part, she shoved away. He knew what he was doing. He’d be patient. She fumbled with the box. “Need help?” “No!” Taking steadying breaths, she accomplished the first enema. She could have read a small book by the time she’d finished the second. After cleaning up, she returned to the great room. “My bedroom. All fours at the edge of the bed.” Moments later, when they were in the bedroom he stroked her back and the curve of her rear. Her mouth dried.

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“We’ll take it slow. I’m going to insert a finger, then a second. Make sure you’re lubed completely. You can touch yourself however you want. This is not about you staying in position. Clear?” His words were like a swarm of mosquitoes in her ears. “Rachel?” She tightened every muscle reflexively. Then sighed when he ran a finger over her clit. “Your pace, at least for a while.” He glided his touch backward and slid effortlessly into her rear. “You have a choice,” he told her. “We can do it this way, or I can lie down and you can lower yourself on my cock.” “Which is easier?” “Gravity works in my favor if I’m lying down. Problem is, it’s too easy for you to chicken out.” He continued to lubricate her as he talked. “This way, I control the pace, the depth. If you chicken out, I can still make it happen.” She felt a second finger enter her most private place. He kept a slow, measured pace. “Breathe,” he reminded her. “Nothing you haven’t done before.” “This position,” she said. “I want to do it this way.” He eased out. She heard the thunk of his cowboy boots on the floorboards. The drag of his zipper, the slide of denim, the tug of cotton over his head. “I’ve never seen your body.” “Turn around.” He took her breath away. His shoulders were impossibly broad. Legs strong, powerful. Dark hair ran down the center of his body in a sexy V. His hair there was neatly trimmed. His erect cock was more thick than long. She knew he’d fill her completely. “You’re hot.” “Thank you. I think.” 119

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She wanted this, more than ever. She watched as he unrolled a condom and then squeezed lube into his hand and ran it along the length of his shaft. Trembling, she resumed the position she’d been in. Instead of starting where they’d ended, he started at the beginning, stroking her tenderly and stimulating her clitoris before inserting a finger, then another. In and out. In and out. Then she felt the head of him at her tight hole. She gasped. “Ease yourself back, then forth. I won’t force you.” He might not have forced, but he gave more than a small amount of encouragement. He held both of her shoulders, preventing her from moving too far away. And as she eased her rear toward him, he thrust slightly, penetrating her deeper and deeper. Cold sweat drenched her. “You’re doing great.” She told herself she wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t scream. But she bit her lower lip hard. “Almost there.” If she didn’t get ripped apart first. “Argh!” He pulled her back and shoved his cock in all the way. “I can’t! Stop! Please!” “Shhh…” His words weren’t soothing. They were irritating. “Get out. Please. Please, please, please.” “Rachel, love, you’re there.” He held her still. “Just relax.”

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“When there’s a jackhammer in your ass?” she demanded. He laughed. “I can’t do this.” “Touch yourself.” “I’m not a contortionist.” “Put your head down.” “Then you’ll go in deeper.” “Just touch yourself,” he said around a long-suffering sigh. “Are you wet?” She was. “This is more about you being overwhelmed than hurt. Give yourself over.” Slowly, on deep exhalations, she did. He rocked his hips. Then, when she began to respond, he thrust. She screamed. And came. “That’s my girl.” A few minutes later, he inhaled sharply, and she felt the telltale pulse of his cock as he climaxed. She’d satisfied him. And in trusting him, she’d had one of the most powerful orgasms of her life. “You okay?” “I am.” “Get under the covers.” He left her then returned with a warm wash cloth. She enjoyed the exquisite sensations of being pampered. “Not so bad?” He wasn’t talking about the impromptu bath. “I liked it.” James feathered her hair back from her forehead, traced the outline of jaw. He took her in his arms as the storm arrived, driving snow into the window pane. 121

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She curled against him. Never had she been so totally complete, replete. Happy. She must have slept because his cock hardening against her thigh brought her to full consciousness. “Master?” “Open for me, Rachel.” He was going to make love to her? She spread her legs then reached for him to guide him. There was barely any light, just enough for her to see the intensity in his eyes as he entered her. He thrilled her. Filled her. His arms braced in order to keep his weight off her, James took her again and again. Completion tore through her only moments before his overtook him. When he thought she was sleeping, he slipped from the bed. Feeling emboldened, impish, determined not to hold anything back, she waited until she heard the sound of the shower, then followed him into the bathroom. She yanked back the curtain, catching him off-guard. He was soaping his midsection and lather clung to his face and neck. He was vulnerable and she couldn’t wait to capitalize. “Yummy.” “You don’t have anything better to do than bother a man in the shower?” “Actually, yeah, I do.” “Like?” “Wash said man’s back.” Dropping the soap, he grabbed her and pulled her into the shower. She yelped as she slipped against him. “Get busy, wench.” “You dropped the soap.” “So I can watch you pick it up. Lord have mercy, please squat instead of bending.” She bent from the waist, making sure he had an eyeful. She retrieved the soap and offered it to him. 122

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“Slipped again. Sorry.” She picked it up a second time. But this time she squatted. “Spoilsport.” Rachel enjoyed the teasing, the laugher, the steam, the heat, the intimacy… This moment was what she’d been craving all along, without knowing it. He washed her, taking his time, skimming all of her skin, missing nothing. She was dizzy with desire. Sensuality was a warm, wet invitation. She sank to her knees before him, opened her mouth. With his hands fisted into her hair, he pulled her away from him. “Rachel—” “Then tell me why.” She looked up at him through the sting of the water, the steam and her confusion. “You were right yesterday,” he admitted. “About Michelle. About my part in the relationship’s failure. I wanted more than she was offering. I blindly refused to see that.” “You wanted…what?” “Something more than a Master/slave relationship. I wanted a commitment. Forsaking all others.” “And what did you refuse to give?” “Intimacy,” he said, words rough, as if a confession. “Pieces of my soul, like the one I’m giving you now. My past was mine. My thoughts were mine. I couldn’t admit fault. “As you’re realizing, true pleasure is found in pleasing another. The reciprocity. In a relationship this complex, each person must learn to want nothing in order to be satisfied. Michelle would not go there. She wanted more. Another adventure, another Master. “And I couldn’t compromise. Refused to. And the damnedest thing? I’m not sure I’ve learned anything from it. When I find the right woman, there won’t be any compromise.” 123

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She was honored by his honesty. She would never betray the trust he’d placed in her. “You just admitted fault. You’ve just gifted me with your thoughts, pieces of your soul. That’s how intimacy is built. “As for compromise, in that case, why would you?” Instead of saying anything more, he drew her head toward him. Hungrily, she accepted him into her mouth. He didn’t climax. Instead, he said, “I’m going to make love to you.” After toweling her dry, he carried her to bed. James took her hard, then tenderly. She had been open, trusting, and she’d survived the emotional storm. Equally astounding, he’d given more than he’d ever offered before. As if they were lovers, Rachel fell asleep cradled in the comfort of his arms. The scent of coffee filled the air. Impossible in the middle of the night. She cracked an eye. Seven-thirty—a.m. or p.m.? “You gonna sleep the whole day away?” She looked over at him. Dressed in faded blue jeans and one of his infamous Tshirts, James lazed against the dresser, coffee mug cupped in one hand, his bare feet crossed at the ankle. Yum. Could she have him for breakfast? “Or are you ready to resume training?” “Master?” “Have you already forgotten the rudimentary basics? It would seem so since you’re still in bed with the covers up to your nose instead of being on your knees.” She scrubbed a hand over her face. “Clean yourself up, then present yourself in the great room. You missed breakfast.” There was nothing remotely soft about him this morning. Hard edges were firmly in place, despite the damp hair clinging to his forehead. “I still think you’re delicious.”

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“Four minutes, slave.” “Yes, Master.” “Did you stick your tongue out?” “No, sir!” “Bend over the side of the bed.” Desire and fear slid into a sensual knot in the base of her belly as she followed his command. She wanted this. Needed it. Needed him. “How many?” he asked, his right hand poised on her right cheek. Her skin was a little chilled, but his, from the coffee cup, was warm. Maybe if she wiggled, he’d stroke her between her legs. “How many?” he repeated. “Uhmm, four?” “Eight it is.” Surprisingly, his bare-handed slaps hurt. She forgot how intimate the act was as she thought about the little stings of pain. “How many is that?” At least five. “Six.” “Funny, I thought it was three.” “I’m sure you’re right, Master.” The next one was harder than the ones before, and she bit at the bedspread to keep her mouth shut. When he was finished, he sternly said, “You’d do well to remember your manners.” “Yes, Master,” she said around a mouthful of comforter. Spitting out the material, she hoped none of the downy feathers clung to her lips. “Thank you, Master.” Rubbing her rear gingerly, she hurried from his bedroom. He didn’t budge an inch as she brushed past him. Across the cabin, she rushed into her bathroom and closed the door.

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She collapsed against the door with a great big smile. This was what she’d wanted all along. Intimacy with a man who understood her deepest, most secret desires. Without having to be told, he knew. He didn’t think she was a freak, didn’t apologize for giving her what she wanted. He was tender and unyielding at the same time. Everything she desired. He’d dried her after her shower, held her while she slept and spanked her soundly afterward. Splashing cold water on her face, she thought of the way he looked this morning… On top of everything else, he was sexy too. Did life get any better? She cleaned herself up as well as she could in the allotted time. At least she’d showered right before bed. Rachel just finished brushing her teeth when he called out a reminder of the time. “Today’s lesson will be a breeze, a kick in your words,” James said, enjoying his second cup—second cup!—of coffee while she knelt at Rest in front of him. “Or it will be one of the more difficult things anyone has ever demanded of you. “This is about total trust and reliance on your Master. Most subs do freak out, at least somewhat, so that’s expected. But you’ve already learned techniques to cope.” She was intrigued. But she wasn’t stupid. If he was warning her, it probably was bad. He hadn’t thought to warn her about anything else. “If you’re one of the lucky ones who thinks it’s fun, just enjoy the ride. If you’re not, remember to breathe. Slowly. Deep breaths. Nothing lasts forever. Think about the fact you’re trusting your Master. And we’ve built trust. You’ve never been asked to do anything you couldn’t do.” True. A lot—most—of it was uncomfortable. But she’d gotten through. “Your attitude will have a lot to do with your success. Be aware, be very aware that struggling and freaking out will not get you out of this. You are expected to endure.

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This is about schooling your fear, your thoughts. Giving over and letting go.” He took a long drink from his mug, draining the bottom. “Without this exercise, your submission will not be complete. “It’s up to you whether you want to continue, to experience the ultimate. Or this is an excellent time to use your safe word.” “I want the experience.” “Good girl.” His approval meant the world. “What are you going to do to get through the exercise?” “Breathe,” she told him. “Think about England.” He laughed. “Think about Master’s pleasure and the lessons I’m learning in trust and reliance.” “Downstairs.” Leaping up, she preceded him. The horse was no longer in place. Instead, a small step stool was beneath the C-shaped hook. Except for the absence of marble steps, it resembled the fantasy she’d told him about earlier in the week. What else had she told him? What other elements might he play on? She felt her pulse throb in her throat. The basement wasn’t quiet the way it usually was. A sound much like a mountain stream filled the air. “White noise,” he explained then added a command, “Get on the stool.” It was small, barely wide enough for her. Length-wise, her toes curled over the edge. She took the step up, finding the wood smooth against her bare feet. But there wasn’t a lot of room for error. If she didn’t stay still, she could fall off the stool. Unlike the horse, which added support, this thing was a threat in and of itself. Master didn’t seem to share her concerns in the least. “I’ve been remiss by not making you wear nipple clamps.” 127

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Which meant the reprieve was over. He moved around until he stood in front of her. They were nearly on eye level with the lift she’d gained from the stool. “I will not make these as tight as you’re accustomed to,” he said, pulling the set of clamps from his back pocket. “I just want you aware of your breasts, your nipples and the pressure on them. This isn’t about causing you pain, just giving you a sensation to focus on.” Why was he telling her all this? To make it better? To make it worse? The not knowing was driving her out of her mind. He rolled her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it gently ’til it swelled. Her eyes drifted closed. Couldn’t they just do this half the day? Matter-of-factly, he attached the clamp. She winced. He repeated his actions with her left nipple. “Definitely should make you wear them more often,” he said. “They’re beautiful.” The chain linking the clamps felt cold against her skin. “Hands over your head.” He cuffed her and attached her to the hook. He tightened the tension so her feet were no longer flat on the wood. “You’ll want to concentrate on staying in place. It’s conceivable that you could end up hanging from the hook with no support for your body. Wouldn’t want that to happen.” She was starting to question her sanity. But part of her was intrigued. Some subs saw this as a kick, he’d said. Maybe she’d be one of them? Probably it was about attitude, about focus more than anything else. “Have you ever worn a ball gag?” Her mouth dried. Wordlessly, in her bondage, she shook her head. “I want you to submit to one now. But it’s your choice.” Trembling, knowing she couldn’t communicate if she agreed, she nodded. 128

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“We need a signal,” he said. “Equivalent of a safe word. I will ask you periodically if you’re doing okay. If you want to end it and go home, cross the fingers on your right hand.” “I understand.” “Do it.” She did. Secured as she was, she could still cross her fingers. “Open your mouth.” He inserted the pink rubber ball, stretching her jaws wide. She was feeling helpless, frightened even though he was still there, still talking to her in a soothing voice. “This isn’t about punishment,” he clarified. “You understand that?” She barely heard him over the rush of her heartbeat. “This is about me taking you to the ultimate in submission, about you surrendering the last of your control.” He buckled the gag’s leather strap behind her head. “Comfortable enough?” She shook her head. He stroked her hair. “It’s big for your mouth,” he agreed. “But it’s definitely pretty.” Coming back around in front of her, he tugged on the chain linking her nipple clamps. “Cross your fingers.” She did. “Other than the fact you’ve got mild discomfort from this,” he pulled the chain again, “and from the gag, are you okay?” Rachel nodded. Maybe if they got on with it, it would be over quicker. She could show her appreciation and he’d hold her in his arms. And she’d never have to do this again. From a table off to the side, he picked up something. He brought it closer to show her. Ohmigod. Good thing he’d gagged her. Adrenaline was clawing at her.

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“It’s a hood,” he told her. “Leather. There’s a nose hole, so breathing will not be a problem unless you panic. There are no cutouts for your eyes, so you won’t be able to see. Of course, you’re gagged, so you can’t speak. Your arms are restrained, and if you move too much, you’ll fall off the stool.” Very clever. Each piece meticulously thought out and pieced together. She wasn’t sure she could do it. He held the hood with his left hand. Clearly whether they proceeded or not was up to her. With his right hand, he reached between her legs and unerringly found her most sensitive spot. He worked her gently with his fingers, and as she became more aroused, she relaxed. “Sensory deprivation, my little sub. The ultimate. It allows you to let go in a way you’ve never experienced before. You’ll be out of control. Show me your safe signal.” She forced herself to concentrate. Even remembering something so elementary was difficult. She crossed her fingers. He brought her almost to climax. “Don’t forget, some people think this is a kick. Not knowing what to expect, rather like being on a roller coaster. It doesn’t have to be terrifying. Nothing will happen to you in the next few hours you haven’t already experienced, at least on some level. And your wildest fantasies will come true. “What’s it to be?”

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Chapter Ten Every event over the last few days had brought her inexorably to this moment. She wasn’t going to admit defeat. Rachel intended to conquer her fear. Uncrossing her fingers, she nodded. “You’re not in actual pain anywhere?” Discomfort, yes. Pain? No. She shook her head. Sir James shocked her then. He kissed her forehead. “You can enjoy this if you want. Mind over matter.” She closed her eyes as he slipped the hood over her head. Then, afraid, she opened them again. As if it would help. The sharp bite of new leather filled her nose. James fitted the contraption, making sure she could breathe. She could no longer see, had lost sense of her bearings. Then he began to cinch the lace at the back. Not usually claustrophobic, Rachel began to panic as the leather tightened on her face. “Let go.” She held onto the sound of his voice as if it were a lifeline. And it was. She was blind, her touch was denied by her restraints, her mouth was filled with the taste of rubber. “Trust.” With one hand on the top of her head to hold her steady, he yanked on the string to pull the hood as tight as it would go. It closed in on her, pressed against her, even made hearing more difficult. She started to hyperventilate, breaths coming on tiny sobs, sobs that weren’t fully formed because of the hated gag. She wanted this over. Hated it! 131

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He spanked her right butt cheek. “Stop. Unless you’re going to use your safe signal, stop this behavior this instant.” His reprimand settled her in a way nothing else could. James tied a knot at the base of her skull then made sure the hood wouldn’t move even slightly. “Now breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. Control your thinking and you’ll control the fear. Breathe.” She did. In and out. As simple, as complex, as that. He kept a hand on her hip for long moments until she learned to control her thoughts. Then slowly, slowly, he moved away. The sound of the mountain river—white noise—became louder. He’d intentionally set it to drown out all of the cabin’s noises. Now if he could only do something about the voices in her head. She had no idea where Master was, if he was still downstairs, if he’d left the house. In the absence of sound, of light, of anything to orient her, time had no meaning. Her world became the scent of leather, the sound of water, the delicate brush of heated air on her nude form, the taste of rubber and the subtle recognition of her body…the fatigue in her calves from being raised slightly onto her tiptoes, the cramp near the arch of her left foot, the ache where her wrists were attached to the C-hook above her head, the pull of metal on her aching nipples, the ache in her jaw from it being stretched way too far open. As she listened to the next layer, she heard it. The sound of her own heart. Time passed. Flying or dragging, she didn’t know. She shifted, making sure to keep both feet on the wooden stool. The thought reminded her of what he’d said earlier about her fantasies coming true. Suddenly, something painful caught her across her rear. She gasped. Struggled. 132

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She’d thought she was alone, and the invasion stunned her. The pain came again. A crop? She couldn’t ask questions. She was well and truly helpless. Vulnerable. And wasn’t that part of what she’d shared? Part of the turn-on? The rush? Her body jerked when she took the next blow. There was no explanation, no words at all. By the time the fourth strike landed, she’d settled into the rhythm. It was a belt, not a crop. Her favorite. She gave herself over to the experience. The beating wasn’t punitive, it was meant to titillate. The blows weren’t too hard, too varied, from too great a distance. She lifted her buttocks to receive the seventh stripe. Just as suddenly it was over. Or was it? She could hear nothing to clue her in. Her own, tiny moan seemed to echo inside the mask. Where earlier she’d felt fear, now she felt anticipation. What would happen next? Could she endure it? Somewhere along the way, the heater must have turned off. She noticed her skin was cooling. Then the sensation of being warm again. How had she never noticed these things in everyday life? Right now, nothing seemed more important. She thought she heard something. A noise. She cocked her head that direction. Nothing. Still alone. Unless she wasn’t. Uncertainty was a secret thrill.

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She knew Master well enough to know his word was good. He wouldn’t demand trust unless he deserved it. If he’d left her, he’d check on her periodically. When? Had he noticed her shifting? Noticed the way she was being so complacent in her bondage? This time, she did hear a noise. Something sharp, like a heel on wood. Her stomach knotted. Or maybe her imagination running away with her. Rachel forced herself to take measured breaths. Think of England. Think of England. Think of— There! She wasn’t making it up. The sound of the mountain stream became quieter. She wasn’t alone. Couldn’t be. “Are you sure you want to keep her? She’s an awful lot of work.” Dampness drenched her. She felt something warm on her upper thigh. Warm, soft. A woman’s hand. No! This wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have listened to her fantasy so deeply, so completely—the exact words—and then made it happen. “You’re right. She is a lot of work.” Master. Agreeing with the nameless, faceless woman. Rachel noticed a faint whiff of perfume. Nothing cloying, but sophisticated. Everything Rachel, naked and bound, hooded, was not. She yelped behind her gag when a belt landed square across her buttocks. This wasn’t like his earlier beating, which had been more a caress, a tease. Rachel couldn’t take it. It was her fantasy. She knew where it went. This part was supposed to feel punitive. And when Master was done, it would be the woman’s turn. By the time Master had landed an even half dozen strokes, Rachel was all but panting. He knew. If she wasn’t so totally helpless, unable to see, she could not have let go enough to enjoy this moment. 134

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“Keep your balance,” the woman said. Then there was a yank on Rachel’s wrists as she was pulled higher. She knew if she lost her footing, she’d be dangling, even more at their mercy than she was already was. “Madam,” James said. Rachel wasn’t prepared. She expected the woman to wield a cane with less power than James had yesterday. But the first cut made Rachel scream behind her gag. She didn’t know how many stripes to expect or where to expect them. There was a vicious whoosh and her body convulsed. A third knocked her from the stool, leaving her dangling. Her body was on fire. The woman cupped her breasts. Her palms were smooth, the right size to squeeze Rachel’s clamped tits, which the woman did, painfully. When she turned the screws one more notch, Rachel jerked. Was Sir James even still in the room? Was he enjoying himself? “The upper thighs?” There was no answer. The woman steadied Rachel’s body then moved into position for a brutal cut across her thighs. Then there was a hand shoved roughly between her legs. Sir James. “You’re wet.” Rachel’s humiliation was complete. Then there was another bite from the unyielding cane. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening next. There was a head between her legs. A set of hand on her thighs, another parting her labia, then the warmth of a tongue on her clit. There was a sweetly painful small nip, then she was being sucked on.

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Was it him? Or her? She cried out again and again and again. Huge tears stuck to her cheeks beneath the hood. Rachel’s climax overtook her and she shamelessly ground her crotch against the mouth beneath her, beyond caring who received the heat of her orgasm.

***** “I forgot to thank you.” She sank deeper into the water, the bubbles closing in on her chin. “I’ll let it go since you were a little out of it.” Out of it? She’d known nothing after the intensity of her release. Somehow, and she wasn’t quite sure how it happened, she’d ended up in the bathtub. “Brunch is waiting in the kitchen. Then you’re to sleep the afternoon away. You’ve another big evening ahead of you.” Her eyes widened in shock, in horror. “I…” “You’ll like it.” She’d pretty well liked everything else, hadn’t she? “If you dawdle, all the coffee will be gone.” He left the room, closing the door behind him. She ignored the threat and enjoyed her bath. When the water had cooled, she climbed out, finding her robe warming on a rack. Maybe she’d never go back to work. “Decaf,” he told her, pouring a cup and adding a generous gulp of cream. “Because you’re going to sleep.” Contentment was an aphrodisiac. She munched strawberries and toast then nibbled a piece of bacon. “How’re you feeling?” He looked at her intently. 136

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“No worse for wear.” She drank deeply from the rich coffee and started to explain what she was having a hard time finding words for. “I—” He held up a hand. “I want to hear about your experience. Later. After you’ve had more time to process.” That suddenly made her want to turn on the faucet that was her mouth. “Later, slave.” She would have stuck her tongue out again, but even she wasn’t that foolish. Another swat might send her over the edge. “Go lie on my bed, face down. Naked.” He folded his arms. “And get those naughty ideas out of your head.” He joined her a few minutes later, a tube of cream in hand. “Arnica,” he said. “To make sure you don’t bruise.” He massaged the backs of her thighs and buttocks with the cream, working it into her skin. Then he pulled a sheet over her. “Sleep.” She surprised herself by doing exactly that. When, hours later, she padded naked into the great room, she found him there working a sudoku puzzle. Anyone watching—okay, anyone watching who hadn’t peeked in the downstairs window this morning—would think they were an ordinary couple enjoying a snowy afternoon together. “Turn around and grab your ankles.” So much for being an ordinary couple. “One small bruise,” he observed. “Do you hurt?” “Not at all.” “Give yourself an enema then insert the plug you’ll find in your bathroom. If you need help or find yourself peevish, let me know. I’ll put it in for you. You’ll find clothes in the closet.” “Clothes?” “Things people wear to cover nakedness.” 137

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She opened her mouth and then shut it again. “We’re going out for dinner.” A date? Or a test of her obedience? “The other guests might think it odd if you’re naked. But if you don’t mind…” He shrugged as if unconcerned and went back to his puzzle. The plug sitting on the granite bathroom countertop was the size of a monster. But his words of the other day replayed themselves. “Is this plug going in your ass or not?” She knew the answer. One way or another, it was. Probably better, less painful if she did it herself. She found a tube of lube under the sink. Scowling at the hated phallic-shaped thing, she squeezed the lubricant all over it. Men had gotten to the moon in less time, and with fewer histrionics, than it took her to fill herself with the plug. Finally, that done, she hurried to the closet. She felt as though she’d discovered a pirate’s chest. He’d left her cosmetics and hair products and an amazing black cocktail dress. She pulled it down, hangar and all. Beautiful silk, a plunging neckline and…scandalously short. She dug through the rest of the packages. Silk stockings and a garter belt, outrageously, okay, fuck-me high heels, a bra that cupped the underneath of her breasts but left her nipples alluringly bare. He’d even thought of earrings. He hadn’t given her a time limit, so she took a quick shower, luxuriating in body wash and designer shampoo. The little pleasures. For the first time in nearly a week, she styled her hair. Loose or up? In the end she settled for leaving it loose and flowing at her shoulders. Makeup was a treat. Until now she hadn’t realized she’d sell her soul for a tube of 138

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mascara. A sweep of blush and she was finished in the bathroom. The shelf bra felt wicked. Her nipples pouted. She touched them and winced a little. They were still tender from their earlier clamping. Probably even the dress would irritate, keeping them pebble-hard all night. Then she struggled with the stockings and garter. Attaching the stockings to the belt was more difficult than she’d imagined. “Are you mobilizing a small army in there?” he called out, knocking on the door. “Just a few minutes.” “I’ll warm up the car.” Finally, she adjusted the stockings and belt in the mirror and then reached for the dress. It slid down her body like a waterfall, clinging in the right spots, flowing over others. She smiled. He’d chosen well, and she was feeling spoiled and pampered. The shoes? Uhmm, no, they weren’t so great. She sounded like a Clydesdale on the wood floor. The pumps squeezed the front part of her foot so tightly that they might feel better if she cut off her little toe. But there was no denying they added height, shifting her center of gravity so her calves looked long and lean. What was the old saying? It was far better to look good than feel good. The earrings were the finishing touch and she surveyed the end result in the mirror. The sight of herself fully dressed after nearly a week of nudity was somewhat shocking. But she had to admit Sir James had chosen well. Every detail was perfect. Her knees weakened when she saw him. He was mouthwatering in a navy-colored suit. He wore a starched white shirt and a conservative blue tie. “Lovely,” he approved. He wound his fingers into her hair and lifted the strands to his nose, inhaling deeply. “Absolutely lovely.” “Master is totally hot himself.” 139

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“Take off the dress.” She was trained well enough not to argue. While he released his hold on her hair, she pulled the dress over her head and released it, allowing it to float to the floor. “Better than I’d imagined,” he said. His next words stopped her smile before it fully formed. “Grab your ankles.” Just in case she’d confused this with a real date… She bent at the waist and waited. He slapped her cunt, and she sighed with satisfaction. Then he took hold of the plug and yanked it out. She pursed her lips, determined not to make a sound. Then he forced it back in. In and out, fucking her with it. When she was trembling, making little sounds, he drove it deep then left it. He wiped his hands on a towel he’d kept handy then used it to dry the lube from her skin. “Get dressed.” “Thank you,” she said. “You’re welcome.” When the dress was smoothed into place, he said, “One more thing. Come stand in front of this mirror.” Wishing she were a little less loud in the pumps, she moved to where he indicated. “Lift your hair.” She did. “I had this made for you.” It was a collar, about an inch thick. Black, made of leather. Looking at it, there was no mistaking exactly what it was. It didn’t appear to be a necklace or stylish choker. It was a collar, stout, with a sturdy buckle to hold it in place. It had a clip in case he wanted to attach something to it. “We’ll be testing your training, your obedience tonight. I trust your behavior won’t disappoint.” He had also thought of a coat, and he held it while she shrugged into it. James turned up Miles Davis on the CD player, not inviting conversation. He drove 140

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her to one of the nicer restaurants in Genesee. As he checked her coat, she was hyperaware of wearing his collar. His fingers were in the small of her back as they followed the maître d’ across the dining room to a window table. “When you sit,” he said against her ear, “pull up your dress so that your bare butt is on the chair.” She was grateful the restaurant had white linen tablecloths and a small amount of privacy. “Is the plug comfortable?” he asked, surveying the menu. “Gargantuan.” “Shift slightly so you have more weight on it. Drive it a bit deeper.” The wine steward appeared. James ordered a bottle of house red. After approving the selection, he offered a toast. “To new experiences.” They touched the brims of their glasses. “Now dip your finger in your wine and rub it against your clit.” In her mind this definitely couldn’t be confused with a date. “How does that feel?” “Wet. Naughty.” “You like being naughty, don’t you? You like being submissive? You like being my slave? It turns you on.” “Yes,” she admitted breathlessly. “More.” “I like being naughty,” she said. “I like being submissive. I like being your slave. It turns me on.” “So lick your finger.”

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To anyone watching, putting her finger in her mouth might be a bad habit, or maybe a sign of concentration as she listened to what her companion was saying. But she knew different. It was simple obedience. The waiter arrived, and she realized she hadn’t even glanced at the menu. Not that that mattered. Master ordered for her. A small steak, shrimp and a Caesar salad. He didn’t ask if he’d chosen well. When she’d finished her salad, he told her to go into the ladies’ room. “Take off everything except your shoes and dress. Leave the plug in.” Her fingers were shaking as she unhooked the garter belt in the bathroom stall. She’d hung the dress from a hook, and she continued stripping even when other women came in, gossiping and laughing. Finally, the undergarments stuffed into her pocketbook and the dress back in place, she washed her hands then freshened her lipstick. One of the women seemed to fixate on a reflection of her collar but, thankfully, said nothing. Anticipating the order ahead of time, she opened her purse on return to the table. Saying nothing, he topped off her wine. “Tell me about the experience of wearing a hood.” “It was terrifying at first.” She took a sip from her wine. “The gag was awful. It was bad enough that I was salivating and couldn’t swallow, but the pressure on my jaw was awful.” “And not being able to talk?” “I was okay with that.” He raised a disbelieving brow. “Really!” she protested with a laugh. “I don’t have to talk all the time.” “Your clit must be getting dry.” Total trust.

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She did not glance around the dining room to see who might be looking. Instead, she dipped her finger and slipped it beneath her dress. “Continue the story.” “I thought I was going to be okay when you first put the hood over my head. It was still loose, and you were still talking to me. It was as if the idea were abstract. “And then you tightened it, I became claustrophobic. It was pressed against my skin. If I blinked, I could feel the leather against my eyelashes. It even pressed against my cheekbones.” She shuddered. “That’s when I started to lose it.” The waiter served their meals and James indicated she should keep talking. Since she’d already ascertained that you really couldn’t die from embarrassment, she continued. “The slap on my rear helped settle me. I was able to focus.” “Anything else at this time?” “We’re fine, thank you,” James told the waiter. He lingered a few moments longer than necessary. “We’ll be the talk of the evening.” “If you don’t finish the story, the spanking you’re going to get in public will be the talk of the evening.” With that, he cut a chunk from his T-bone. “I want to hear about having your fantasy come to life.” “Who…” She drank deeply from her wine. This was someplace she didn’t want to go. “Who was she?” “Someone who can be trusted. You don’t need to know her name.” Someone she could meet again and never know. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. If you asked me if I wanted to have it fulfilled, I’d have told you no.” “And yet…?” “I’m glad it happened.” There, she’d said it. She looked down at her drink. “Look at me, Rachel. You’re allowed no secrets from me.”

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“It’s unbelievable what’s happening in my mind. I may know that woman. She beat me.” “She did, didn’t she?” “And you’ll never tell me.” He shook his head and bit into another piece of medium-rare meat. “It’s torture.” “That was part of your fantasy too. The humiliation of someone saying you weren’t worth the effort, of being bound and naked, all your delicious womanly parts exposed to the world. Of other people watching you submit. It would never have been as memorable for you if there hadn’t been witnesses.” “Witnesses?” she demanded. “Plural?” He shrugged. “You were hooded. It’s immaterial.” She sat back in her chair. The plug shifted deeper. Her mind spun backward. There could have been more people in the room. She would never know. She just had to trust, didn’t she? The few bites she’d taken sat in her stomach. “I’m curious about one thing.” He looked at her. “When I came…from oral… Who…?” “Doesn’t matter.” To her it did. Didn’t it? “Just enjoy having had the experience. That you’ll never know is part of the new fantasy.” “But—”

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Effectively, he changed the subject. “What I find most intriguing about your scene?” he said. “The contradiction. Despite their words, your Master and the woman both show you, prove to you that you’re worth any effort. Definitely worth having. “Interesting how it all fits.” “What?” “You told me about your previous relationships. How you hit the door first so you don’t get hurt. That deep down, you’re not sure you deserve something good. Then in the scene you masturbate to, you replay that scenario with a twist. “Despite the fact your behavior was way out of line, that you’ve not been obedient, Master does not give up on you. He stops his party because you need attending to. He gives you proof that you do matter. You’re the center of attention. He doesn’t let you get away, doesn’t send you away. In fact, he won’t let you go.” The waiter returned. “What was the most erotic part of your beating?” he asked. To the waiter, he said, “No dessert. Just coffee. I want her wide awake for what’s coming this evening.” “Very good, sir.”

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Chapter Eleven “You were very well behaved,” he said, sliding the vehicle from reverse to drive. “Very submissive. I might even be able to take you to one of my parties.” She slipped off the shoes and wiggled her bare toes beneath the car’s heater vent. “Thank you, Master.” Then she shook her head. “What do you mean, one of your parties?” “I attend some, host others. It’s where I met Cindy. Where she met Kevin, actually.” That fiend never mentioned them. “Takes a well-trained sub to show up with her Dom and not embarrass either of them.” But they both knew she’d never attend a party as his sub. The week was almost over. And she wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. Even tonight, misbehaving in public. She’d had a great time, apart from his laser-like accurate analysis of her fantasy. How did the blasted man see so much? Most men wouldn’t have recognized the similarities between her fiction and reality if it had walloped them upside the head. Not that she would have blamed them. She hadn’t seen it. Maybe that’s what she wanted, a man to prove to her that she was valued, that even in a room full of beautiful people, even sleek, sophisticated women, she’d be the chosen one. When she blew a man off, and he went, it proved he wasn’t worthy. She’d been right to end the relationship all along. But then again, maybe she hadn’t given decent men a chance. When they returned home, he said, “My bedroom.” While he parked the SUV, she dashed inside, pulled off her dress, kicked off her

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shoes and presented herself. Shamelessly she watched him undress. His shoes, British and expensive, were tossed in the direction of the closet. The suit he hung. The tie he looped around her neck. His shirt and socks landed in an untidy heap. On her knees, she couldn’t help but fixate on his arousal. He was magnificent and she hungered for him. “Ah… Hold the phone a moment,” he said. “I asked you once before if you’d ever ground yourself against a whipping post while you were wearing a plug.” He pointed toward the door. “Downstairs.” “You have a whipping post?” “You’re anxious for that ball gag again?” “No, Master!” With that, she leaped up and headed for the door, not quite fast enough to avoid his light slap of encouragement. There was no trace of the stool in the basement. In its place was a whipping post, standing straight and tall beneath the ceiling hook. She froze in place. “Your reward,” he told her. “And mine. You’ve got seven minutes to get yourself off.” Self-consciously, but knowing he knew that, she moved toward the post. “Are you going to restrain me?” “If you request it.” “Are you going to beat me?” “If you request it.” Grabbing onto an idea, she lay down, opened her legs and inched toward the pole. She lifted her hips slightly. She managed to bring her private parts in contact with the post, but her plug kept getting jarred. There was one plus to this vantage—the view of Sir James’ penis was inspiring. Rachel rocked forward, feeling the fabric against her. But it wasn’t enough. She 147

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made a funny face. “Are you enjoying this?” she asked him. “Immensely.” She sat up and wiggled herself closer. Better. But not quite… “You could try backing in.” “What do you think I am, a car?” “No. But I think I might like watching you try reverse.” Rachel shot a scary scowl at him. He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m just a simple male. I like watching a woman’s rear wiggle.” With a laugh, she tried the position he suggested. But unless she was a contortionist or had spent more time in yoga class practicing Downward Dog, she was going to be unfulfilled. “Still not quite right?” “Maybe you should spank me.” “Maybe I should.” He took a couple of steps toward her. “Stand up then.” She did. “Wrap your arms around the pole.” “You’re not going to bind me?” “I think you might find my suggestions agreeable.” She wrapped her arms around the post. “Bend your knees slightly. No, not that much. There’s a girl. Now maneuver yourself so that you’re intimately pressed up against it.” She did. James didn’t so much spank her as move her against he pole. Then he gave her a gentle, open-handed swat. “Move yourself up and down,” he said. He continued the gentle spanks that merely encouraged her own motions. “Lovely,” he said.

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She didn’t know if it was the repetition of her movements or because of James’ participation, but she felt the power of an orgasm start to work its way through her. “I’m…” “Tell me.” “I want… I—” “You want…?” “I want to come.” He spanked her hard, sending her over the edge. She called his name as release thrummed through her. She thanked him. Joy sang in her. They’d had a remarkable day. He was pleased with her, and she was soaring as high as an eagle on a Rocky Mountain thermal. “Upstairs,” he said. Now they were talking. “Do you want to be fucked with the plug in,” he asked when she was on top of his bed, “or do you want me to take it out?” “I dunno. Oh wait. I’m supposed to say, Whatever Master prefers.” “It’ll be a tighter fit with it in. Maybe more intense. But it could just be uncomfortable.” “Uhmm, whatever Master prefers. Because I’m a good little submissive.” “Loses some of the punch if you have to keep reminding me how good you are.” She liked him like this. Mellow. But there was no doubt in either of their minds who was in charge. “Choice is yours.” Why not live dangerously? “In.” Even though he hadn’t expressed a preference, his eyes darkened. She’d made the right decision.

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He took her from behind. He was right. It was uncomfortable. A tight fit. More intense. Breathtaking. Just when she thought they’d explored all the territory, he took her into uncharted terrain. Impossibly, she came from just the vaginal stimulation. James pulled out the plug and she yelped. Then he took his own satisfaction. She crawled to the pillow, and he joined her there, tucking her against him. They dozed. Laughed. And, feeling him start to harden against her thigh, she shimmied down his body to take him in her mouth. His hands curled around her head, and he showed her exactly how he liked it, where he liked her tongue…right there, beneath the head on that sensitive area on the top of his cock. As always, James stopped her before he ejaculated. He pulled her up, tucked her securely against his side once more. “You’re good at that.” It was the opening she needed. “James—” “Leave it, Rachel. Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish.” Was she? Should she leave it alone? Savor a great day? Be grateful for what she had? “Here’s the deal, Rachel.” Evidently, he didn’t want to leave it alone any more than she did. “Our week is up. A day. Two. Just a number. What then?” Her heart thudded. What was he asking? She pulled away and sat up, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms protectively around them. In the darkness she could barely see him, not good enough to make out the infinite details of his expression. “You go back to your safe little world that has no real commitments. You date. Decide he’s not that into you. But your hand will be on the door way before that. Because you won’t open up, won’t trust, won’t give it a fair shot. Then the cycle begins again. This week of vacation becomes a hazy memory. Maybe there will be a few things 150

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that you can masturbate to later, when you’re home alone. Maybe you’ll hit my phone, see if I’m up for a session. “I won’t be,” he said, voice cold as Rocky Mountain snow. “You’re being unfair.” “Am I? Every time you push, every question you ask, you’re testing. Me. The limits. The boundaries. Trying to see if I’m lacking. No, wait. You’re trying to see where I’m lacking.” “This—” “Wasn’t supposed to be about you. Right? Supposed to be about me, about why I won’t shoot a load in your mouth, as if that matters in the long run. Who gives a fuck, Rachel? But because I won’t, you’ve made it a big deal. Oh he has trust issues. Won’t give enough to a relationship. Red flag. Out the door. Right? Am I right?” “Damn it, James.” “Tell me I’m wrong.” He reached for the light on the nightstand. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to see the anger etched beside his eyes and in the tight set of his jaw. “You pissed me off. You crossed a line. I want more, Rachel. I want all of you. No holding back. I want you to stop blaming me for someone else’s sins. I want a relationship where you won’t run at the first sign of trouble. “Complete commitment. Your love. As I told you weeks ago, I want your abject, onyour-knees surrender. Or nothing at all. Oh and one more thing, you have to have the guts to ask for it. To go out on a limb as you expect others to do for you.” Her stomach knotted. He couldn’t be serious. But the intractable set of his chin told her otherwise. She rubbed at her arms as if she could find protection that way. “What are you saying?” “That we’re done with this charade you and your friend dreamed up. End game.” She was suddenly cold from the inside out. “You’re sending me away?”

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“Your biggest fear, right?” He grabbed hold of her shoulders and dragged her toward him, holding her steady, looking her dead in the eye. “Get this straight and make sure you keep it straight. I am not sending you away. You’re walking away. Running away. I’m offering you the chance to stay and you won’t take it.” He released her and she nearly collapsed. He raked a hand through his hair. “Hell, I’m an idiot. I’m not just offering, I’m hoping. I want you to tell me I’ve got it all wrong. Tell me you’re not scared, that you’ll make this permanent. Nothing held back.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t.” “Won’t,” he corrected, the word bitten through clenched teeth. “You’re welcome to stay in the guest room tonight.” Sent away. Banished. Her worst nightmare. With as much dignity as she could muster, she tipped her head back and headed for the guest room. How had a day that had been so magical gone so terribly wrong? In the privacy of her own bed, she curled into a numbed, self-protective ball. Sleep would be impossible, she knew. And so was what James demanded from her. Take a chance? Not have one hand on the door? She’d spent the last few years building a secure world for herself. She was self-reliant, paid her own bills, lived life on her terms. She kept relationships with men on her terms too. And that’s how she protected the heart that had been broken one too many times. Letting go, surrendering, was too terrific a risk to contemplate. For the first time in years, Rachel admitted her emotional pain and gave in to selfpity. She cried quietly, tears chasing down her face, tangling in her hair and settling on her pillow. The next morning, she woke, feeling raw and abused. In the bathroom she splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, pulled a comb through her hair and drew a deep breath.

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She smelled coffee, which meant he was up. Leaving without saying good-bye was chicken, but she was tempted. She found her clothes near the front door and she hastily dressed, her fingers shaking. He had to have heard her but he made no effort to leave the kitchen. It was all about her having to go to him, wasn’t it? Her keys hung near the door in invitation and promising escape. Pocketing them, she straightened her spine and told herself she wasn’t a coward. “Good morning,” she said, entering the kitchen. Her breaths almost strangled her. “You’re leaving.” “You’re giving me no choice. I would have gladly stayed the last two days.” He saluted her with his coffee cup. “Thanks for playing.” As if that’s all it had been. With a half-hearted attempt at a smile, she said, “Thanks for training me.” “Travel safe.” She walked away, heart breaking. She had no idea leaving him would be the most impossible task of her entire life.

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Chapter Twelve Grit and determination got her through the next five days. She’d learned both at the hands of her Master. What she hadn’t learned was how to give her love and that was the one thing he would not compromise on. When she’d walked away, wanting a life of her own choosing instead of taking the risk to love, to serve, to trust, she’d made her decision. Dear heavens, if she’d only known how difficult that would be. She’d moped—a punishable offense. She’d snapped at her co-workers, especially her male ones—another punishable offense. And she’d masturbated, as he’d known she would, consumed with fantasies of her training. That she’d been unable to orgasm, despite using her vibrator, made her misery worse. A phone rang. Ghostbusters, rather than her desk phone’s trill, and she lunged for the cell. Stupid, she chastised herself. He wouldn’t call. He’d told her, more than once, he wanted her abject, on-her-knees surrender. If she wanted a relationship to work, she’d have to go back to him. “Where the hell are you, workaholic? Or are you in hiding?” Cindy demanded. “It’s Friday night and you’re supposed to be at my house.” In the background she heard loud music. “Cin—” “No excuses, Rachel.” She exhaled. There’d probably be alcohol, maybe other people and, thankfully, a break from the constant, teeth-grinding loneliness. Still, she hadn’t seen Cindy since the ordeal at Sir James’…yeah, so sue her. She’d become one of the slaves that called him that. Rachel hadn’t forgotten that she’d earned Cindy the beating of a lifetime. And Cindy wasn’t likely to let her forget. 154

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“I mean it,” Cindy warned. “Give me ten minutes to clean up my desk and I’ll be on my way.” To tell the truth, talking about him, about the complexities of a Master/slave relationship, may be exactly what she needed. “I’ll save you a margarita.” Rachel ended the call then stared at the time display ticking away the minutes of her life. She remembered the first time she’d talked to James. “I don’t play kiddy games.” And the last, “Get this straight and make sure you keep it straight in your head. I am not sending you away. You’re walking away. Running away. I’m offering you the chance to stay and you won’t take it. Hell, I’m an idiot. I’m not just offering, I’m hoping. I want you to tell me I’ve got it all wrong. Tell me you’re not scared, that you’ll make this permanent. Nothing held back.” Her ten minutes were up. For the first time in her fastidious life, she left her desk messy, just like half her employees did. At five, most of them up and left. At five on a Friday, even the neatniks took off in the middle of whatever project they were working on. Everyone but her. She drove to Cindy’s town home near Denver West. Colorado Mills mall called to Rachel with its outlets. Shoes were always good for ninety percent of everything that ailed her. Retail therapy. If that wasn’t enough, there was a Starbucks kiosk in the mall. Chai and an espresso-laced brownie fixed the other ten percent of her problems. Or it had until this week. Cindy opened the door before Rachel rang the bell. In seconds there was a margarita in her hand, and Cindy pulled Rachel through the kitchen and living room, past the stereo that blared The Dave Matthews Band and out onto the miniscule balcony.

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She perched on the bar-tall stool and propped her elbows moodily on the glass table. For May the evening was exceptionally mild. Through the trees, she could see an outline of the Front Range and a hint of orange sky. Cindy popped a pretzel in her mouth. She waited all of thirteen seconds before asking, “So what the hell happened?” “Meaning?” Rachel rubbed at the salt on the glass’s rim, playing dumb. “This is me, okay?” Cindy demanded. Rachel took a couple of fortifying sips, remembering that Master barely allowed her to drink during her week with him, demanding she be fully aware in every circumstance. “Did he send you away?” “The week was over.” “Poof.” Cindy snapped her fingers. “Just like that?” “He wanted more than I could give.” This time Cindy leaned forward. “What?” “He said my trust wasn’t enough.” Cindy hooted. “He’s got it bad for you.” When Rachel just stared into the bottom of her glass, Cindy asked, “Why would you want a relationship that was anything less than that?” For Rachel, the question was more complicated. Could she give everything she had to offer, with no guarantee, no security? “What if he gets tired of me?” “Like he did Michelle?” Cindy guessed. Rachel twirled the stem. “You’re nothing like her. She was already trained when she went to Sir James. She’d never stayed with one Master more than six months. Michelle didn’t give everything to him. She gave it to everyone else. She didn’t sleep with other men to

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please her Master, she did it to please herself. She’s on her third Master since Sir James. She’s just looking for a free ride.” “He wants me to tell him I love him.” “Right on! Means he loves you.” Rachel shook her head. Quietly, thoughtfully, not at all her style, Cindy asked, “But do you? Love?” “Not enough to give up me.” “I always thought of you as fearless.” “Chicken,” Rachel confessed. “Thought you’d learned a thing or two about conquering your fears over the past weeks. Get over yourself. As Todd,” their mutual hair “artist”, “would say, get off the cross, we need the wood. “Seriously, Rache, I’m tempted to beat you myself.” Rachel nearly choked on her margarita. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Would you prefer I tie you?” Rachel’s mouth dried. “I owe you for getting me beat by Sir James.” “Gotta go,” Rachel said, reaching for her keys. Cindy placed her hand over Rachel’s. “Sir James is intense. There’s no shame if you cannot handle it. Most human beings aren’t cut out for this kind of life. You’ll find some guy who can give you what you want. Vanilla with a touch of spice on the side.” Rachel pulled her hands away. Find another guy? She didn’t want any other man. She wanted him. “When you want a beating, I’ll give it to you. Cuz there’s only one thing worse than taking a beating.” Not getting one.

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Her smile was forced, forced and fake. When Rachel went back to work on Monday, she wondered what it was all about. Same pile as when she left Friday, same pile that would be there tomorrow. Same routine, same boss, same employees. The same humdrum routine. Boring. Tired of humdrum, she skipped out on the office coffee and grabbed a five-dollar bill from her wallet, heading for a coffee shop in the lobby of the 17th Street high-rise. She entered the elevator. Was that the Bee Gees on the stereo system? How deep is your love? Cute. Obviously hers wasn’t deep enough. She switched the Venti—Venti instead of grande, how was that for living it up?— from her right hand to her left to punch the button for the twenty-first floor. “Hold the door!” Automatically, she did then nearly groaned when Martin Sheldon got in the small car with her. Since he’d gotten rid of the thick glasses that were routinely sliding down his nose, she noticed how handsome he was. Hair gelled, smelling of the outdoors, fresh and spicy. His white cotton dress shirt was somewhat crinkled, appealingly so, and his red tie hung askew, loosened at the neck. Her gaze fixed on the tie, similar in color to the one James had shoved in her cunt. “Latte?” “Tea.” “Good?” As if she’d drop four dollars on a drink she didn’t like. “My favorite.” Master had done a good job of teaching her some manners. She took a sip, enjoying the ginger and spice. Small pleasures. She’d learned to appreciate those as well. “So. There’s a new show at the Buelle.” Denver’s top-notch, Broadway-quality theater. “The Producers is in town, and I have two tickets for Friday night’s show. I was hoping…” 158

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It was a testimony to Sir James’ training that she didn’t choke on her tea. Martin seemed nice enough. Solid. Secure. Solicitous. He’d been with the company as long as she had and she knew he made more money than she did. No glass ceiling there. Great benefits. Magnificent December bonus. Fantastic retirement portfolio. He’d treat her well, like a lady, probably expect no more than a good-night kiss after the show. Boring, that devilish voice she recognized so well whispered. Boring. Boring. Boring. She imagined the look on Martin’s face if she asked him to take off his hand-tooled belt and flay it across her ass. Better yet, if she handed over her nipple clamps, placed her hands behind her neck and called him Master. Probably the same reaction as her exhusband had. Having had a taste of pure bliss, could she go back? “Thanks,” she said, letting him down with a smile, “but I have plans. I really do appreciate you thinking of me.” He attempted to return her smile. A gentleman through and through. “Maybe next time.” She made her escape when the doors opened. What was wrong with her? She was lonelier than she’d ever been. Martin would be good companionship, good husband material even. Everything she wanted. She could have life on her terms, manipulate him. She could probably run the relationship. He could end up hen-pecked. Was that really what she wanted? She leaned against the wall. It wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. Now that she’d tasted complete surrender, she wanted more. And that meant she had to give something more.

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She’d told herself that she wanted what Kevin and Cindy shared. But she couldn’t have that until she was prepared to give, as much and as openly, as her friend. Sir James was right that first night at his cabin. If she wanted her deepest desires to become reality, she had to let go of her inhibitions, her expectations, her desire to please only herself. She had to risk it all.

***** “Sir? Mr. Windsor? You have a visitor.” He dropped his pen when, without permission, Rachel followed his secretary through his office door. “Thank you, Mary.” Mary scowled at Rachel. “Shut the door on your way out,” James said. Mary shot another scowl at Rachel. He came around the desk, propped himself against its corner. “Still not minding your manners. It’s customary to wait for an invitation before barging into someone’s office.” Almost a month. He’d doubted he’d see her again. His terms had been clear, harsh. For the first time in his life, the stakes had been high for him. He’d never been in love like this before. Lust, he knew. Desire, he knew. Love, total and unconditional, he didn’t. He wouldn’t settle. All or nothing. Restraint, in his opinion, was an overrated virtue. She opened her rain jacket, her gaze fixed on him. “Master,” she whispered, dropping her coat and sinking to her knees. She placed her hands behind her neck, spread her thighs wide. Without his urging, she spread them even farther.

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She was dressed—or partially dressed—the way he preferred. Tall, spiked heels that flexed her calves when she’d entered his office. White stockings and garters, even though she preferred black. White shelf bra. Nipple clamps. She’d left her hair loose and she’d doused herself with only the barest hint of makeup. No more war paint. “May the slave show her appreciation for Master seeing her during the middle of a work day?” “One should have done so immediately, rather than seeking permission.” She hastily obeyed. With a grace she hadn’t been capable of weeks ago, she leaned forward, arms extended, palms facing up. She kissed her Master’s feet until he snapped his fingers. “Inspect.” She effortlessly transitioned from her front to her back. Unlike several weeks ago, she kept her eyes open as she opened her legs. “Butt plug,” he approved. “Yes, Master, the glass one.” She held open her pussy lips, and he inspected her for any sign of stray hair. He’d trained her well. She’d been an exemplary student. He slapped her cunt. “Thank you, Master.” He slapped her a second time, harder. “You may not orgasm.” She gave a tiny exhalation but she didn’t protest. “Thank you,” she said. The third time, he held nothing back. Breath whooshed from her lungs. “Thank you,” she said. Hell. Did she smile? “May I kiss Master’s hand?”

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“Present.” He went back to work, ignoring her. For over an hour, she didn’t move, didn’t protest. Eventually, not wanting to read something that wasn’t there, he bit. Turning away from a balance sheet he’d barely looked at, let alone comprehended, he said, “Tell me about the game you’re playing, Rachel.” “There is no game, Master.” He forced himself to ignore the pounding of his heart. “Permission to speak?” “Freely.” And it might be for the last time. He cared about her too damn much to play games. “I quit my job.” He snapped a pencil. Then, realizing his betrayal of emotion, dropped the pieces in the trash can. She looked at him. Still subservient but not referring to herself in the third person. Training, after all, was over. This was different. “All my belongings are in storage.” He saw her swallow deeply, noticed that she laced her fingers tighter, a betrayal of nerves. When she spoke again, her voice was raw, thick with unshed emotion. “My apartment has been sublet. I am homeless, jobless, and my greatest desire is to serve.” “Keep going.” No compromises. “Master’s right. You’re right. The more I give, the more I get. I cannot get what I want without giving everything I have. My trust. I’m here, supplicant, begging for you to be my Master. I trust you to make my decisions. I trust that you want only what’s right for me, that you’ll place my wellbeing above yours.” The words he’d demanded. Almost. She took a breath and her words never faltered. “I want your love, so I offer you mine, unconditionally.” 162

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He wanted the words, and by now she’d know that. “I love you, Sir James Windsor. I want to be your slave.” His breath was sharp. This was what he wanted. “I accept your trust and will not betray it. I am honored by your love.” He took the gamble, the risk. “I want more than a slave. I want you to be my wife.” “My greatest desire is to fulfill your desires.” “The slave’s greatest desire?” he demanded, the words sounding hoarse. She shook her head. “Not just the slave in me,” she said. “All of me. All that I am, all that I have, all that I am becoming. Yes, James, I want nothing more than to be the wife you deserve.” “With a golden ring through your cunt.” She didn’t flinch. “If it pleases Master.” The image did please him. “A ring on your finger for the world to see. A ring in your clit for me to see.” “Yes, Master. Yes, yes, yes!” He went to her. “Stand.” When she did, he then lowered himself before her, on one knee, their positions reversed, equal. He took her hand. “Allow me the honor of caring for you, of providing for you, of treasuring you, of loving you. Be my wife, Rachel.” “Yes,” she said, simply. He stood. His hand in her hair, he tipped back her head. She received his kiss, offered her own. “I love you,” he told her. James laved her nipple with his tongue then tightened to a bite, hard, then harder ’til she gasped and arched her back. He rubbed a hand between her legs. “I love you, James.” The words he wanted. Needed. He kissed her, hard, deep, with passion. She met it, responded. 163

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Her hand curved around his swelling cock. “I want this,” she said. “I want you to come in my mouth.” Trust was a two-way street. “Yes.” She gracefully sank to her knees, unbuckled his belt then slowly lowered his zipper, the sound a rasp in the quiet. She licked and sucked, loving him and his erection. He was hard, harder than he ever remembered being. Rachel, slave, wife-to-be, looked up at him, and he held her gaze as long as he was able. Then he lost control. His hands fisted in her hair. He dragged her closer, filled her mouth with his hard cock. His orgasm built then exploded. He came in her mouth, giving them both what they wanted. She savored every drop, cleaning him with her tongue, swallowing deeply, thrilled with his trust. Despite what he’d said before she left, this did matter. There were no secrets now, nothing between them. She took one last pass over the head of his penis. Not boring, whispered the devilish little voice inside her. He was everything she’d dreamed of, desired. She’d learned the greatest lesson of all. The more she gave, the more she got. It wasn’t boring at all.

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About the Author Born in Northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home. She’s an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn’t stopped since. Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.

Sierra welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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