At His Mercy (Masters Club 1)

“Okay,” Jess said slowly, absorbing the information.

“Let me help you back into this,” Cleo added, holding up the corset.

“Thanks. I appreciate that. The ties in back can be a bit tricky.”

As Cleo tightened the sashes at the back of the corset, Jess hooked it together in the front. While she was rolling on her stockings, Cleo asked, “When’s your physical?”

“Sunday, ten a.m.,” Jess replied. She furrowed her brows. “What’s going to happen? I mean, I get that it’s a real physical, but Mistress Dominique said I should be prepared to submit, not only to the exam, but to whatever else Master Hayden might have up his sleeve. What usually happens at these things?”

“From what I understand, it varies with every applicant, and it varies from club to club. When I joined the London club, my physical was just a boring old vanilla exam. I was actually kind of let down.” Cleo flashed a grin. “Regarding the exam process here in New York, I’ve heard various things. Brandon, he’s the other staff slave, was put in a pillory for his rectal and prostate exam. Let’s just say, he went through a lot more than ‘bend over and cough.’”

“Yikes,” Jess exclaimed anxiously. “I’m already having nightmares about speculums! I hate those damn things at the best of times.”

Cleo shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry. That kind of intense medical play isn’t likely to factor into your initial exam. Mistress Olivia, who’s a registered nurse in her vanilla life, will do the blood work and take a medical history. Master Hayden will do a more”—she waggled her eyebrows in a silly way—“intense physical exam. Very, uh, hands on,” she added with a grin.

Deciding Cleo was right—why borrow trouble—Jess shifted the focus of the conversation back to something less anxiety-provoking. “That must come in handy, having all kinds of professionals as members of the club,” Jess observed, thinking about the legalese in the documents she’d signed.

“Yeah. This place is a regular boys club of influence,” Cleo remarked. “Only, girls get to be in it, too. There are some very wealthy and extremely influential people in our worldwide network of clubs, and not all of them are Doms. One of the staff slaves at the London location is a famous architect in his vanilla life. One of our regular submissive members is a mover and shaker on Wall Street. She’s worth a gazillion dollars.”

“You mentioned there’s an app so I can read up on them all?” Jess queried.

“Oh, yeah. If you end up joining us, you’ll get a link to download the app. It’s a great way to get up to speed on the various Doms you’ll be serving. There’s a lot of personal info on there, as you might imagine. That’s one reason for all the non-disclosure stuff. People could really be harmed by being outed. Though it very rarely happens, if a leak of that kind is traced back to someone, they’re instantly and permanently barred for life from the club. But once you’re in, it’s a really incredible place to be. I hope everything works out for you.”

Warmth moved through Jess at Cleo’s kind words. “Thanks. I hope so, too,” she replied, aware as she said it how much she meant it.

They left the audition room together and moved down the hallway toward the garage. Jess was wildly curious about the rest of the place. She was dying to see all the dungeons and play rooms it surely housed. She could hear murmuring and soft music coming from a room somewhere past the hallway.

She had a million questions for Cleo, but at the same time, a bone weariness had come over her. She was physically and emotionally exhausted, and ready to fall into bed.

Cleo gave her one last hug at the garage door. “See you Sunday. Master Hayden is awesome. He’s known for giving a lovely sadistic twist to his exams, so be prepared.”

Chapter 7

When Jess got home that night, she ran a hot bath, adding lavender oil to the water. She poured herself a large glass of cold white wine and returned to the bathroom. She eased herself gingerly into the tub, mindful of the recent welts. But Cleo had been right. Whatever was in that balm, the marks were already fading, and there was very little lingering sting.

Her mind was in a whirl. She was exhausted but agitated, her body still primed from the intensity of the evening.

The scene had to be the most intense she’d ever experienced. Not because the caning was so hard to take, though it had been pretty difficult, but because of the total abdication of control. At the public clubs, the scenes were negotiated in advance. She rarely hesitated to stop the action if it made her uncomfortable.

That was it. She’d been lifted out of her comfort zone. When she scened at the public clubs, it was little more than a game she’d played over and over, the rules clearly defined, the players in their specific roles. But the audition, and the promise of what she might expect as a Masters Club submissive, hadn’t been a game.