Claiming Cleo (Masters Club 2)

Mistress Dominique believed if a slave wasn’t performing to expectations, whatever they might be, it was the Master’s responsibility to find out what the issue was and address it with compassion. This philosophy was one of the reasons Cleo loved belonging to her and Master Grayson.

“But we’ll wait and assess the girl before we make any snap judgments,” she continued. “We don’t personally know this guy but Grayson spoke with him on the phone. He’s applied for a spot at one of our special auctions for external slave placement to find his second girl. Meanwhile, Eric has agreed to handle Rowan’s ten-day training regime while her Master is out of town. She‘ll board with us for the duration. I’ll put her in the spare bedroom next to yours. Eric has asked that you be available to participate in a session to help her work on scening cooperatively with a second sub.”

Eric Franklin, a dominant member of the Masters Club, was a top-notch professional slave trainer. He trained both novice and experienced subs, creating a unique program for each charge. He worked with Cleo when she first arrived in New York, and she had learned a lot from him. With her owners’ permission, he occasionally tapped Cleo to assist with positions training and to serve as a model for proper slave decorum and behavior.

“Of course, Mistress. I’m yours to command.” This declaration helped center Cleo. Whatever did or didn’t happen over the next five days, she still belonged to Master Grayson and Mistress Dominique. Master Jack was just a distraction—a delicious, dangerous, temporary distraction.

Mistress Dominique smiled. “Thank you, Cleo. I’ve already checked with Jack, and he’s fine with sparing you for an hour or two. In fact, he might tag along. Eric and Jack will coordinate the timing.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Cleo readily agreed. She was very curious to meet Rowan. If nothing else, it sounded like the girl could use a sympathetic ear.

As Cleo attended to her usual tasks over the course of the day, time moved in that odd way it had, at first dragging endlessly, and then suddenly speeding up. While Jess, busy attorney that she was, wasn’t available to chat on the phone, they exchanged a number of texts. The gist of their conversations involved Cleo freaking out and Jess calmly bringing her back from the edge.

“You’ve come a long way,” Jess reminded her. “You’re not that same girl who let her heart be broken back in London. You got this, girlfriend!”

Finally, at five minutes to seven, rolling suitcase in hand, Cleo made her way out of the lovely old brownstone to wait at the curb for Master Jack. The evening was cool and pleasant. She wore an elegant black dress with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons that ran down the front, her legs bare, her feet shod in black heels. A small beaded evening bag hung from her shoulder. She had styled her hair into a loose twist. Her only jewelry was the Masters Club slave ring she wore on her right ring finger that marked her as property of the club, along with her royal blue leather slave collar. The collar had O rings around its perimeter, and those in the scene would easily identify it for what it was. But to the uninitiated, it was just a quirky choker.

Her heart lurched as a sleek, dark blue Mercedes pulled up in front of the brownstone. Master Jack climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking better than any guy had a right to. He smiled as he saw Cleo. “Good evening, Cleo.”

“Good evening, Sir,” she replied, nervous butterflies fluttering inside her as if this was a first date. Leaning down, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. She breathed in his delicious scent of cedar and citrus, resisting a sudden urge to pull him down for a real kiss.

Careful, she reminded herself. This is a play contract with a temporary Master. It’s not like I’m going to fall ass over tits for the guy—not again.

He opened the passenger door, indicating she should slide in while he put her bag in the boot. She obeyed, settling herself in the comfortable seat, her mouth dry with excitement. What was her problem? She was a seasoned, trained slave. She had a high tolerance for erotic pain. Whips, chains, rope, gags, edge-play, sensory deprivation? Bring it on. She could handle anything this guy meted out, and then some.

Master Jack climbed back into the car. Cleo tensed, anticipating his first command. Would he go all Story of O on her, directing her to remove her knickers and plant her bare bum on the leather seat? Would he inform her of all the delicious tortures he had planned for her? Would he remind her in that deep, sexy voice of his that she was his personal property for the next five days? A shiver of delicious anticipation moved through her.