At His Mercy (Masters Club 1)

The body harness fit perfectly, lifting and emphasizing her breasts while hugging her waist. She applied dramatic black eyeliner and mascara, and a shiny red lipstick. She tucked the tube into her gear bag, along with a pair of jeans and casual top to change into later. She opted for sneakers for the ride to the club, saving the heels for when she got there. She left her hair down, pulling her fingers through the long curls in a vain effort to tame them.

The Uber dropped her off in front of the brownstone with three minutes to spare. She walked around to the back entrance, to which she’d been given the access code. She entered through a mudroom just off the kitchen and came into the hall near the garage. Taking a detour to the sub changing room, she removed her coat and put it and her travel bag into a locker. She took off her sneakers and slipped her feet into the high heels. Pulling out her phone, she shot Cleo a text that she’d arrived.

Cleo appeared a moment later at the door of the changing room. Not quite naked this time, along with her royal blue slave collar, she wore a series of slender silver chains that formed a kind of bodice over her torso, woven artfully around her large breasts and slender waist. Her long brown hair hung down in a shiny curtain behind her back. “Hey there,” she cried, moving rapidly toward Jess on bare feet. “Welcome back to our bit of paradise.”

They embraced briefly. Cleo stepped back and gave Jess the once-over. “You look smashing, darling,” she said in her delicious British accent. “That green brings out the green in your eyes.” She frowned as she examined Jess’s face. “Are you okay, love?”

Jess hesitated a moment, pondering the question. Was she okay? Yes, damn it, she insisted to herself. I’m fine and dandy. “Sure,” she said aloud. “Just a little…confused about things at the moment. I wanted to get your take on it.”

“Absolutely. Let’s go up to my room. That way no one will disturb us.”

Cleo led Jess to the back elevator. They rode in silence to the fourth floor. The elevator opened onto a carpeted hallway with doors along either side. They walked past a large room that contained a king-size bed set into a wrought-iron frame, leather cuffs dangling from each post. Cleo stopped at the door just beyond what Jess assumed was the master bedroom, and entered the room, flicking on the light.

The much smaller room contained a single bed neatly made with a brightly flowered quilt topped by several plump pillows. This bed was also set into a wrought-iron frame, with cuffs dangling at the ready at each corner post. There was a small desk beneath a high window, as well as a large Depression-era wardrobe made of cherry wood, very like one that had been in Jess’s grandmother’s house in upstate New York. Cleo plopped down on the bed and patted a spot beside her.

“Have a seat, pet. Tell me what’s got you bothered.”

Jess sat beside Cleo, warmed by her easy, forthright friendliness. She wanted to spill her guts, but found she wasn’t quite ready. Instead, she lightly touched the ring Cleo wore on her right hand. “That’s so pretty. I love the way this charm looks like an O-ring. It’s very evocative of bondage and submission, while still being subtle. I mean, it’s something you could wear anywhere.”

Cleo held out her hand, examining the ring. “That’s exactly what it’s designed to represent. One of our London Masters is a jeweler. He came up with the design. All Masters Club slaves wear it in some form or another. Brandon wears his around his neck. There’s a slave in Paris who wears hers in the piercing on her labia. It’s kind of like how nuns wear wedding rings to symbolize fidelity to the church. Our fidelity is not to any one Master, but the Masters Club itself.”

As she said this last sentence, that same spasm of raw pain Jess had observed before flitted over her face. This time, Jess pressed, “You look so sad sometimes, just for a second. I hope I’m not being too nosy, but what is that? Does it have something to do with why you came to New York, why you left your home in London?”

Cleo gave a small, mirthless laugh. “Am I that obvious? Here I thought I was putting on such a brave face for the world.”

Jess, who knew all about brave faces, commiserated, “Whatever it is, Cleo, you can talk to me. Maybe it’ll even help me figure out what the hell I’m doing right now.”

Cleo sighed and then jumped up from the bed. “If I’m going to talk about this, I need a little fortification.” She walked over to the wardrobe and pulled open the doors. The space inside contained a closet with a rack of hanging clothes, and a series of wide drawers beneath it. Cleo pulled open a drawer and removed a squat bottle of clear liquor with a round corked top, along with two shot glasses.