Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

Eric bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from saying something he might regret. It wasn’t just the content of her words, which he found disturbing enough. It was the mechanical way she’d replied, as if saying something that had been drilled into her head, again and again.

When did sexual domination tip over into abuse? Wasn’t isolating someone from their friends and family one of the ways bullies used to control and more effectively brainwash their partner?

He cleared his throat, reminding himself that BDSM spanned a large spectrum of behaviors. As long as it was safe and fully consensual, what this couple shared was really none of his business.

Instead, he switched topics.

“So, where did you and Master John meet?”

She relaxed a little, almost managing a smile. “We met at Paddles. You know the place?”

“Sure. It’s been around forever. Fine as far as public venues go, though I personally prefer dungeons that cater more to the hardcore scene. Ever hear of Salome’s Lair?

“No, Sir. I’ve been to a bunch of duds over the years. I figured Paddles was as good as it got, at least as far as public clubs go.”

“It’s a small club for serious players. It’s actually owned by some friends of mine. They rent a space over on West 26th in Chelsea. While it’s nothing so grand as the Masters Club, they’ve got state-of-the-art bondage equipment and restraint devices to rival any dungeon in town. The cover’s pretty steep, but it’s totally worth it.”

“Oh, that sounds intriguing,” Rowan replied, suddenly animated. “Maybe Master John will take me there.”

I’d love to take you there.

Eric pushed away the inappropriate thought. He’d lost his objectivity, too attracted to this trainee to think straight. Perhaps she was in the right relationship with the right man for her. Maybe if he could understand her underlying motivations and desires better, he could work more effectively with her.

With that in mind, he asked, “When did you first know you wanted to be a slave?”

She looked startled by the question. “Excuse me, Sir?”

He shifted on the daybed so he was facing her. She responded in kind, turning and tucking her feet under her body. The sudden desire to lean up over her and spread her flat against the mattress so he could drape his body over hers nearly overwhelmed him.

He cleared his throat again and scooted back until he leaned against the wall, widening the distance between them. He repeated the question. “When did you first know you wanted to be an erotic slave? That you wanted that full 24/7, total exchange of power? That you wanted to give up complete control of every aspect of your life to another?”

She brought a finger to her mouth and nibbled on a torn cuticle.

“Stop that,” Eric reminded her gently.

She colored, instantly yanking her hand away and catching it in her other. “Um,” she said, again gazing at the ceiling, her hands now twisting nervously in her lap. “I…I don’t know if I ever had that exact fantasy. I mean,” she hurried on, “I love, love, love erotic pain and bondage and submission. I love serving my Master and anticipating his needs and making him happy. Master John has explained that my slave contract is just another step along that journey toward total submission. He says I will only become more fulfilled and at peace as I learn to lower every barrier—to give myself fully to the one who cherishes me above all things.”

“So,” Eric said slowly. “You, yourself, never particularly had the yearning for that level of submission?”

“I…um…not exactly,” she mumbled, looking down. Then she glanced up again, a determined look on her face. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not right for me,” she said with sudden adamancy, as if he’d challenged her in some way, which, he supposed, he had.

“Master John knows what I need better than I do,” she asserted. “He’s super experienced. He could have anyone, but he chose me. He sees my potential. He says I’m like a perfect block of stone, just waiting for his chisel to bring out my submissive beauty. He says I just need to give it a chance—a true, proper chance—and then I’ll find fulfillment.”

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Eric heard the sound of Brandon’s cheerful whistle as he approached the training room. Without planning it, he suddenly said, “Listen, Rowan. If something doesn’t feel right in a BDSM relationship, you need to pay attention, and you need to speak up. Communication is especially important when there’s a total power exchange involved. A good Master will always listen. Remember, consent is at the core of any BDSM connection. Your Master only has as much power and control over you as you grant him. After our training is over, if you ever need to talk, if you get your phone back, that is, you can always call me. Any time, day or night. I have a super easy phone number to remember. It’s 212-246-8000—a simple progression of even numbers.”