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She gave a small, embarrassed laugh. “The thing was, I did want it. In the worst way.”
She sighed, remembering that first, heady night. “Master John asked me to remove my dress so I could better experience ‘the sensual kiss of leather.’ Once he had me strapped to the cross, he looked me slowly up and down in this way that left me shaking with lust. Then he’d produced this gorgeous flogger from his gear bag and proceeded to give me the best flogging of my life, hands down.”
“Sounds awesome.”
Rowan nodded. “To give you a little context, I’ve been going to the clubs since I turned eighteen. First, I would just hang around and watch, thrilled to have found other people like me. Eventually I got up the nerve to participate, and oh my god, Brandon! It just felt so right, like finally, finally I could be myself—the real me.”
Brandon was nodding, his expression knowing.
“For a while,” she continued, “it was enough just to experience the erotic pain I’d always craved. I didn’t particularly care who I scened with, as long as he had a good whip arm,” she admitted.
“Nothing wrong with that,” Brandon replied with a smirk.
“To a point,” Rowan agreed. “But Master John was different from anyone I’d scened with before. He actually talked to me. He asked me what I liked and what I feared. He told me exactly what he was going to do to me, not in graphic, vulgar terms, but in this sexy, mesmerizing way that had me trembling with lust and desire and a bit of fear before he’d even touched me. It was super intense—not just the physical aspect of it, but the instant and powerful emotional connection. It was like he’d woven this dominant spell around me—I don’t know how else to describe it.”
“I’d say you’re doing a pretty good job of it. Sounds fucking amazing.”
“Yeah, it was.”
Rowan settled back on her elbows, almost forgetting where she was. It felt so good to have someone she could talk to who not only wouldn’t judge, but totally got it. “We met several more times at the club, and then I started going to his house in Westchester. He has this awesome dungeon set up, and we were able to get a lot more intense. It was incredibly exciting.”
“But?” Brandon asked gently.
Rowan sighed, blinking away sudden tears. “But lately all I seem to do is fuck up. I want to please him. I really do. As hard as I try, I keep letting him down. I don’t know how to be what he wants me to be.” One of the tears escaped and rolled down her cheek.
She wiped it away. “God, I hate it when he looks at me in that way he does when I’ve let him down. A true sub embraces her fear and trusts that her Master will catch her if she falls. He says I’m blocking my inner sub. My resistance to adding another slave to the household is proof of my failure to fully submit. Sometimes I think maybe I’m just not cut out for this whole slave thing.”
She gasped, covering her mouth, as if she could retroactively stuff the words back inside. Had she really just said that aloud?
But Brandon didn’t seem at all shocked. He only nodded, his playfulness gone. “You might not be, Rowan. It’s definitely not a lifestyle to be entered into lightly. The good news is, you’re in the very best place right now to figure that out.”
Chapter 3
Eric looked up at the sound of a light tap on the doorframe. Brandon, whom he’d texted again a moment before, stood waiting, Rowan just behind him. “Thanks, Brandon. I’ll take her from here.”
“Yes, Sir,” Brandon said with a deferential nod before slipping away.
Eric was pleased to see Rowan looked significantly better, no more tears, her posture more relaxed. He ignored the sudden hardening of his cock at the sight of her naked beauty. She belonged to another, and he needed to keep that foremost in his mind.
He’d chosen a different training room for this session, one with a St. Andrew’s cross set up in the center of the space, a fully stocked rack of impact toys nearby.
He sat on one of the two armchairs set up at the back of the room, a large, thick yoga mat placed strategically in front of him on the floor. There was a small cabinet between the chairs with various supplies tucked away inside. As in every recovery and play room at the Masters Club, a small refrigerator hummed along in a corner, stocked with bottles of water and juice.
Not having moved from the doorway, Rowan was staring at the beautiful cross, which was made of rich, polished wood, its straps of soft, strong leather.
“Come in, Rowan,” he said with a smile. “Would you like to sit down beside me or are you more comfortable kneeling on the mat?”
