Three Strikes (Desire Island 3)

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied, feeling so buoyant with happiness she might have floated to the ceiling if he hadn’t been cradling her in his strong arms. He carried her to bed, where they made love for the rest of the afternoon.

Early that evening, they walked hand in hand along the beach. The setting sun had turned the water to molten gold. Abbie touched the links of her collar, proud to have earned the chain. She hoped against hope that by the week’s end she would be worthy of the leather collar Master Ryan had challenged her to strive for on their first day together as Master and slave.

She glanced down at the small, neat cut on her right breast, a shiver of residual, thrilling fear moving along her spine as the scene replayed in her mind’s eye.

Abbie could no longer imagine a life that didn’t include this deeply satisfying 24/7 power exchange. But she wasn’t just thrilled to be Master Ryan’s sub. She also adored being his lover and friend. She felt known in a way she never had before, not even with Kendra. Master Ryan and she talked about any and everything, often laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks as they shared various BDSM missteps and mishaps they’d each experienced over the years.

Now, as they neared the cottage, Abbie asked, “Permission to speak, Sir?”

“Sure. What’s up?” Master Ryan dropped her hand as they climbed the short set of steps that led up to the back deck.

“You never told me—how did you first get into the scene?”

“That’s an interesting story,” Master Ryan replied with a smile. “Believe it or not, my first experience was as a bottom.”

Abbie stopped in her tracks, stunned. Master Ryan was dominant to his core. “No way,” she blurted.

“Way,” Master Ryan said with a grin. “Let’s have some ice cream and I’ll tell you all about it.”

In the kitchen, Master Ryan scooped out a double portion of fudge ripple into a large bowl and brought it to the kitchen table. Abbie knelt on the floor cushion, eager to hear his story.

He spooned some ice cream and held it to Abbie’s lips. She eagerly accepted it, savoring the sweet, creamy confection on her tongue.

He helped himself to a bite and then said, “I was twenty-two before I actually got into the scene.” He fed her another spoonful and took another for himself. “Oh, I’d been on the internet, of course—checking out the porn sites and engaging in some online chats—but I had yet to actually experience it for myself until I got out of college.”

Taking his napkin, he dabbed the corner of Abbie’s mouth. “I got invited to this party by a friend of mine named Jake. He was allowed to bring a guest and he knew I was interested in BDSM. It was a private event at the house of this wealthy older Domme named Mistress Ariella. She had this huge, fully-equipped dungeon right in her home. The place was set up like something out of a movie—with collared slaves, both male and female, moving among the crowd carrying silver trays of appetizers and glasses of champagne. People were scening all around me.

“Jake instantly paired off with a submissive he knew, leaving me on my own. I watched various scenes in progress for a while, trying to get up the courage to approach one of the girls. I was nervous as hell, but wild with curiosity. Of course, I had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, but so did half the guys in there. I was like a kid with my face pressed to the candy store window.”

Abbie grinned, trying to imagine this confident Dom as a nervous kid.

“I saw our hostess, who Jake had pointed out earlier, and I went over to introduce myself, explaining I was a friend of Jake’s. I told her the party was awesome and that I had no idea there was such an active, thriving BDSM scene in Durham. She was really nice, and we got to talking. When she asked me about my experience in the scene, I told her the truth—that I didn’t have any actual experience, but that I was pretty sure I was a Dom.”

“‘Let’s do a scene and find out,’ she said, taking hold of my arm. ‘Either way, you need to know what it feels like to experience the sting of the lash, the grip of leather, the burn of rope.’”

Master Ryan shook his head, chuckling. “She didn’t give me a chance to say yes or no. She just dragged me along to this St. Andrew’s cross in the corner of the room and ordered me to strip.”

“Oh, my god,” Abbie blurted, trying to imagine the scenario. “What did you do?”

Ryan shrugged. “What she said made sense to me—a Dom should definitely know what he’s asking of his sub. Half the people there were naked, so that part wasn’t any big deal. I shucked off my clothes and waited, nervous but very curious.”