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“Wasn’t that the point of us meeting today?” her voice dropped confidentially. She felt like she was being rejected – again.
“No. The point of the meeting was for me to assure myself that you were a stable, intelligent young woman. It was also to see whether we were in any way compatible. As a man and a woman, I believe we are. But that doesn’t mean you will be suitable as a submissive,” Joshua paused, studying the effect of his words before he went on. “You have to ask yourself the same question. As a man, am I someone you would feel comfortable around? If you do, then you should come to my home for the interview. After that you can decide whether I would be the sort of Master you would like to be trained by. It’s all entirely mutual, Gabby. We both need to feel comfortable with each other, our motives and our intentions before any training can begin.”
Gabriele stared sightlessly into the passing stream of traffic and the tall high-rise buildings of the cityscape for long seconds. The day was turning to dusk, and her thoughts became brooding when she realized she would be going home to an empty apartment, lonely and abandoned – her greatest fear made nightmarishly real. She thought briefly of Randall then, and felt her heart ache with a pang like grief.
“When would you like me to visit?” she asked at last with a resolute little lift of her chin.
“Tomorrow night at 7pm,” Joshua said. “And remember, it’s an interview. Do not be late.”
Chapter 3:
Gabriele arrived at the address ten minutes early and paused in the back of the cab long enough to draw a few last calming breaths before finally stepping onto the sidewalk. She was as nervous as a schoolgirl on a first date. Her knees trembled, and she patted at her hair one last time with hands that shook in spasms. Her heart felt like it was lodged in her throat.
So much depended on these next moments of her life.
She looked across a wide manicured lawn to the front door of a sprawling two-story mansion with a high-pitched roof and a dozen windows facing the street. A porch light was on above a bank of three garage doors. She was wearing low heels, and the sounds of her steps along the concrete driveway as she approached the light were so loud in the silence that she felt herself cringe.
The home was in an exclusive suburb filled with magnificent architect-designed houses on large open blocks of land. Luxury cars formed neat lines along the curbs. Gabriele, still in the grey slacks and jacket she had worn to work that morning, felt dowdy and out of place.
The night was eerily calm – so different to the restless hum of city life that she was accustomed to. She could hear the frantic beat of her pulse, and the strained rasp of every breath.
Gabriele reached the front door and knocked lightly. Behind a curtained window, she saw a light inside switch on, and then calm measured footsteps approaching. She brushed nervously at her hair with the back of her hand and drew herself straight, shoulders back. The careful smile on her face was fixed in place before the door even opened.
Joshua stood in the threshold, backlit and outlined by the light so that the broad of his shoulders and taper of his torso was emphasized in silhouette. He was wearing a blue open-necked shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and denim jeans. The casual attire threw Gabriele off balance. She’d never imagined him in anything other than the suit jacket he had worn to their meeting at the gallery. He turned his arm to glance at an elegant gold wristwatch and, satisfied, stood back from the entrance.
“Good evening,” he said simply, but Gabriele caught the gleam of concealed pleasure in his eyes.
She stepped into a foyer with a tiled floor and white walls, hung with original landscape paintings. The décor was simple, understated and seemed in some subtle way to be a reflection of the man; refined and orderly without the clutter of anything unnecessary.
“Hi,” Gabriele breathed, her voice husky with anxiety. She licked her lips nervously. Her smile faltered like a flickering light, then beamed again.
“Thank you for being on time,” Joshua’s deep modulated voice made Gabriele’s body clench in a sudden delicious spasm. “It’s a measure of good manners that I appreciate.”
He turned on his heel and she followed wordlessly down a long corridor, past several closed doors, before the passage opened into a dark wood-paneled study. The walls were lined with shelves of leather-bound books, and behind a heavy dark green curtain was a bay window. Joshua gestured to an empty seat and then rounded an antique desk. He dropped into a deep chair of upholstered leather that matched the color of the drapes. The whole room was decorated in rich earthy greens and the dark tones of brown.
Gabriele sat carefully, knees pressed together, hands clasped in her lap, clutching her purse to keep her fingers from fidgeting. Joshua had a secret knowing smile on his lips that unsettled her. She felt herself tensing under the cool scrutiny of his gaze so to distract herself she cast a careful glance around the room. On one wall, between nests of bookshelves, were several framed photographs of men in military uniform. Gabriele arched her eyebrows in fresh surprise. Joshua saw the direction of her eyes and then her expression.
“That’s me in the middle,” he nodded to a photo in a simple black frame that showed three buddies with their arms around each other’s shoulder, smiling with comradely expressions into the camera.
“You served?”
Joshua shrugged. “Not on the front line,” he admitted. “I spent nine years in Naval Intelligence. We got to wear the uniform but all our work was behind the scenes.”
“When did you leave the Navy?” Gabriele was genuinely curious.
“Three years ago.”
“You retired?”
A dark shadow of hurt passed across Joshua’s eyes and then he smiled thinly. “I guess so,” he said without explanation. “I went into business investing in stocks and shares.”
The fact that Joshua had served in the Navy seemed to fill in a small piece of his personality puzzle. To Gabriele, it explained his calm confidence and the sense of instilled discipline that he radiated. To her, it was also vaguely reassuring.
“And what about your knowledge of art. Surely they don’t teach that in the Navy?”
This time Joshua threw back his head and laughed. “I picked up a few insights along the way, but the origin of my appreciation goes back to my mother. She was born in Amsterdam,” he explained. “So naturally I became interested with the Dutch masters, and then later I developed a more extensive fascination when I realized that art could be used as a metaphor for more important aspects of life.”
“Such as women,” Gabriele remembered his impassioned explanation at the gallery.
Joshua inclined his head. “Yes.”
Apart from the few photos there were no other personal pieces of memorabilia in the office. The desk was orderly with just a penholder and leather blotter, and the bookshelves held no keepsakes or mementos. With nowhere else to look, Gabriele’s eyes were compelled to drift back to meet Joshua’s patient waiting gaze.
“I know you’re nervous,” Joshua spoke softly. “Please don’t be. I had hoped that our meeting at the gallery would help to put you at ease. I do realize that you are in a strange house with a man you only just met.”
Gabriele acknowledged Joshua’s appeal with a nod and a smile she couldn’t hold on her lips. “I am nervous,” she confessed.
“Do you have any other questions?” Joshua made a gesture that embraced the room. “Anything else that might help you to feel comfortable?”
Gabriele thought for a moment. Her voice was so low that Joshua barely caught the words.
“Are all submissive women expected to like physical violence as a part of sex?”
Joshua frowned and took great care with his answer.
“Firstly, not all submissive women enjoy or respond to physical violence from their Master,” he explained. “And that’s perfectly fine. I’ve known a lot of women who are abhorred by anything physical beyond maybe an occasional spanking. For those ladies, the erotica of submission lies in the more emo
tional aspects of the role. They enjoy the mental peace of submitting, the thrill of being able to let themselves completely shed their day-to-day persona and become someone very different. The sex for these women is still submissive, but their obedience isn’t encouraged by being physically hurt. What is critical is willingness. If the woman being trained is willing and knows her limits… why would physical punishment be necessary? If a Master is displeased with a submissive, it’s just as easy to use orgasm denial or some other form of pleasure deprivation to correct misbehavior.”
Gabriele pondered the answer. “But some women like whips and torture, right?”
“Sure,” Joshua said. “And for them, those things are part of the whole sexual experience.”
“Is one type of submissive right and the other wrong?”
Joshua shook his head. “Not at all. So long as everything that happens is safe, and provided both the Master and submissive are willing and consenting, then it’s entirely their choice. Matching a Master with a suitable submissive is no different that any other relationship match. There are some people you just aren’t compatible with because of your beliefs, interests… and everything else that make us unique. Generally a successful BDSM relationship is a matter of compromise; the Master and the submissive discuss their limits and interests and there might be a trade off.”
Gabriele sat up straighter in her chair and studied Joshua’s face.
“Trade off?”
Joshua nodded. “The submissive might like to be whipped, but the Master might find such physical punishment beyond his interest. But the Master might insist on anal sex. Often they can find a place in the middle where both their needs are met, at least enough to be satisfied.”
Gabriele fell silent again, but Joshua could see that she was immersed in thought.
“What kind of Master are you?” she asked finally, her voice made small as though she didn’t know how to phrase the question.
She was looking into his eyes.
“I’m a Master who is still learning,” Joshua admitted frankly. “But I train each new woman to the best of my abilities and in accord with my own rules. I believe in erotica before sex; I believe in sensuality before orgasm. I think a caress is more powerful that a spanking and that a whisper resonates more than a shout. I hate sex without kissing, and I’d prefer to see a woman’s face masked by rapture than twisted in pain.”
Gabriele felt herself give a silent little gasp of sensual swooning, mixed with a growing sense of confusion. Everything Joshua spoke of seemed diametrically opposed to her experiences.
“Why do you advertise in the newspaper?”
Joshua tried to keep his tone neutral, his reasoning balanced as he explained.
“Because there are a lot of women out there, interested in the lifestyle – interested in submission. And there are an equal, if not far greater, number of predatory men who would think nothing of taking advantage of a woman’s earnest urge to sample BDSM,” Joshua said. “The inspiration behind my advert is to offer a safe, sane environment where women can experience small aspects of submission without falling prey to ruthless men who believe submission is just another word for brutal punishment and one-sided sex.”
“But you make a living off the money the women pay you for their training…”
Joshua dismissed the question with a short abrupt gesture. “I make no money at all from the training I give,” Joshua clarified, then straightened himself in his chair. “Look around you, Gabriele. The paintings on the walls are originals, this mansion is owned outright. I have a Ferrari in one garage and a new Cadillac in another. The money I have earned has all come from my business investments – not from training women in the art of sexual submission.”
“But you still charge a fee.”
