“I…” She trailed off. A sudden attack of nerves left her brain feeling like scrambled eggs.
They waited.
She understood. They’d show as much patience as needed, but she wouldn’t be able to get out of answering their questions.
She took a steadying breath and tried again. “As I told you on the phone, Sir, I have had some BDSM experience. I go to a club in Dallas fairly regularly, and I’ve dated a couple of men who are Dominants. But I’ve always come away a bit disappointed.”
“Go on.”
“I’ve heard others talk about subspace. I’ve read about it.” She sighed. “Maybe it doesn’t really exist, but I’ve seen other women, men too, getting into a scene so deep they seem as if they’re somewhere else. I always feel as if I’m distracted. This may be naïve, but I wonder if there’s a part of the experience I’ve completely missed.”
“You’re hoping to get that here?” Master Eric asked.
He sounded so very different from Master Rafael. Master Eric’s voice was crisp and cool, like a winter morning.
“I’m not sure that’s realistic or even possible,” she admitted. “I think I’m the problem. I think I mentioned that I always feel distracted on some level. I’ll think about work or how things could be better. I notice if the room is too hot, or too cold or I need more pressure or the bindings are too tight.”
Again they waited.
“I can’t get out of my own head long enough to really let go. A couple of my boyfriends have told me I’m a control freak.”
“Are you?” Master Eric asked.
“It seems a bit at odds with someone who wants to achieve the ultimate, I suppose.”
“You like BDSM, but you like to be in control,” he surmised.
She nodded.
“That’s the thing about a D/s relationship,” he continued. “It seems the Dom is in control, but the sub truly has the power.”
“I’m not sure I want it, Sir. I think that’s been part of the trouble. I wanted to control every aspect of each scene. I think what I want is to just let go.”
Master Rafael spoke, “For a sub to truly let go, a huge amount of trust is required. Your Dom needs to know you completely.”
Which might have been part of the reason he’d instructed her to phone him every day for the past week, in addition to answering his numerous emails.
It seemed no part of her life had been left unexplored. He’d requested a copy of her health report, he’d asked about men she’d been with, he enquired as to how many enemas she’d administered to herself.
Everything had been so matter-of-fact she hadn’t been mortified.
“Have your Doms taken the time to get to know you?” Master Eric asked. “Do you play with people you trust?”
“No one has talked to me like Master Rafael has, Sir. I have trusted the men I’ve been with. They’ve all stopped when I asked them to. When I ask for more, they have given it to me. When I say I don’t like something, they have tried something different.”
“Trust is about more than that,” he said. “It’s about knowing limits in advance. It’s about knowing you, what you want, what terrifies you. It’s about pushing you to the edge.”
She shivered in anticipation. That was what she wanted.
“I want one thing perfectly clear,” Master Rafael said. “What you’re talking about isn’t just trust. You’re talking about topping from the bottom. With us, that’s not an option. Everything will have been discussed in advance. We’ll establish the trust you require so that we can give you what you want. If you want to achieve subspace, we’ll get you there.”
“You think it’s possible, Sir?”
“I’d generally want more than just a couple of days. But if we’re focused, if you are willing to do what it takes, we’ll get you there.”
She nodded.
“As we discussed, if you are beyond your comfort zone in a way that frightens you, use your safe word. Sunday.”
He’d remembered.
In their first e-mail exchange, he’d asked her for a safe word. She’d never really used one before. It had been her agreement with the men she’d played with that stop meant stop.
Master Rafael had explained that he wanted her to have the freedom to scream no and stop and let her continue with a scene. She’d come up with Sunday because it was Sunday when he’d asked. She wished she’d been a bit more creative, but he’d said as long as she would remember the word it would work fine.
“If you overuse the word, sub, you will be sent home.”
She blinked. “Sir?”
“No topping from the bottom. Your safe word should be reserved for times—as I’ve mentioned—that you are beyond your comfort zone in a way that frightens you. You need to manage your reactions and emotions in order to go beyond what you’ve experienced before.”
Beforehand, they’d agreed that she could ask to slow down by using the word yellow. Using that word would grant her only a short reprieve, a two-minute timeout. It wouldn’t stop the scene, it wouldn’t change the scene, but it would give her a chance to gather her wits.
“Remove your blouse.”
Her heart thundered from the sudden realisation she truly had no idea what she’d been in for when she’d entered the online BDSM site’s silent auction. There had been a host of items to bid on, from autographed books, to engraved floggers, to erotic artwork, to weekend escapes. She’d bid on several different items since the proceeds all went to charity.
When she’d entered a large amount of money for a weekend retreat with one of the scene’s most reclusive yet
respected Doms, she’d had no real expectation of winning. But the website’s picture of Master Rafael had inspired her. In a way he reminded her of a pirate with his pulled-back hair; smooth, brown, bare chest; low-riding black pants and black boots. She’d entered the secret bid and hoped, dreamed, even masturbated to images of the handsome man tying her to a St Andrew’s cross.
But she hadn’t honestly believed the sum was large enough to beat everyone else who wanted a personal, private forty-eight hours in Colorado with Master Rafael.
And if anyone else had known Master Eric had been added to the pot…
“The blouse,” Master Rafael prompted.
Her fingers shook as she unbuttoned her blouse from the bottom up. Feeling utterly self-conscious, she shrugged out of the silk and dropped it on the floor next to her right knee.
“Now the brassiere.”
He hadn’t even seemed to have noticed the lacy black material. She’d spent half a week’s wages on new lingerie for this weekend, and neither man had given her bra a glance.
She unfastened the clasp then dropped the bra.
“Lovely,” Master Eric approved.
“We’ve spent the last week talking about your limits, Lindsey. I wrote down everything. But you’re going to go over them with us again for clarity. We’ll have no misunderstandings.”
“Yes, Sir,” she told Master Rafael.
Master Eric crossed to one of the end tables and picked up a piece of paper. She assumed he was looking at her contract. She tried to remember all the things she’d discussed with Master Rafael but knew it would be impossible Master Eric spoke. “Tell me your hard limits.”
“Cutting.”
He nodded.
“Actually, anything that would leave a permanent mark is a hard limit, so that includes brands and tattoos.”
“Piercings?” Master Eric asked.
She nibbled her lower lip. “I’d have to think about that one. I don’t think I want to be pierced, but if it pleased my Dom, I might be open to it. But it would have to be in a permanent relationship, not a weekend thing.”
Master Eric nodded again. “Any other hard limits?”
She shook her head.
“Soft limits?”
“I’ve never been caned. The idea frightens me.”
“You’re willing to try it?”
Was she? “Could we negotiate that at the time? I want to say yes but I’m scared to.”
“Of course. We’ll give you the opportunity to experiment.”
Already she was starting to trust this man. He wouldn’t force her past her limits, but he’d encourage her to go past them.
“What about other forms of corporal punishment?”
Her stomach was tied in knots, but now it was more from tension and excitement than fear. “To my knowledge, they’re all fine.”
He scanned the list. “And your favourite type of punishment?”
Was she really being forced to admit all this out loud? It was one thing to write it in an email and talk about it over the phone. It was another entirely to discuss it with two men while she was on her knees and wearing nothing from the waist up. “Open-handed slap to my buttocks.”
“How else do you like to be punished or beaten?”
“Is there a difference?” she asked.
Before answering, he glanced at Master Rafael, as if seeking permission before answering. Even amongst Doms there was a hierarchy?
When Master Rafael nodded, Master Eric explained, “Beatings can be erotic and for amusement. If you’re going to attain subspace, it will most likely be from a beating, not from punishment.”
Master Rafael added, “When you’re being punished, your comfort is a secondary consideration. When you’re being beaten, your enjoyment is a primary concern.”
“In that case, I’ve never really been punished. One man gave me a spanking for misbehaving, but I really hadn’t misbehaved.”
“More of setting up a scene?” Master Eric asked.
“Yes.” It had been exactly like that, as if they were acting out a part in a play.
“What implements have been used to beat you?”
She realised Master Rafael was letting Master Eric take the lead. She and Master Rafael had gone over all this, but it was new to Master Eric. “I’ve had only a few experiences with a flogger but I really liked it.”
“What did you like about it?”
She thought about the answer for a moment. “The pain is spread out a bit. The flogger my Dom used had about a dozen leather strands and they were pretty thick.”
“Have you been beaten with a belt or anything else?”
“I’ve only played with a belt once. I found it a bit overwhelming, but I liked it, especially in retrospect.” She blushed.
He continued to regard her silently.
Pretending she wasn’t drowning in embarrassment, she continued. “I think about it a lot.”
“Do you masturbate to the memory?”
She closed her eyes momentarily before admitting, “Yes.”
Despite her blush, Master Eric continued his questions, as if there were nothing to be embarrassed by. “Is there anything that wasn’t on the list that you want removed from consideration?”
“Whips frighten me, but I’d be willing to try them.”
He nodded.
She felt lost in the depths of his kind, light blue eyes. He seemed to encourage her to open up in a way she hadn’t with others. With him, perhaps, it was safe not to feel ashamed of her longings.
“Anything else? Ways of striking you that you’d like added to the list? Things you’d want removed?”