The entire estate has the feel of old money. I would guess it was built or at least renovated fifty years ago.
Taking another deep breath, I enter the room. It’s clearly an office, and it’s enormous. The same dark wood paneling that covers the hallway extends into this giant room. The desk, situated several yards in front of me, is made of the same wood. It’s large enough for at least four people to occupy it at the same time.
There are two comfortable chairs on the opposite side of his desk and across the room is a fireplace with a sofa and two armchairs angled around it. All three pieces of furniture are a deep brown soft leather. Also worth noting is the wall of bookshelves loaded with more volumes than I would own in a lifetime. Or even have the chance to read.
Master Roman is standing behind the desk, his leather chair at his back. He’s so imposing and large that he actually makes the desk seem smaller. His gaze is on the paper he’s holding between two fingers, hovering an inch above the wood surface. I’m staring at the top of his head, his thick hair messy from running his fingers through it. The fingertips of his free hand are tucked just inside his suit pants pocket. He’s wearing exactly what I’ve always seen him in—dark slacks, starched white shirt, dark tie. The matching jacket is draped over his chair.
I hesitantly inch farther into the room, feeling awkward, unsure if he knows I’m here. I have never felt more out of my element as I glance down at my drab outfit and tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear. I suddenly wish I had the skills to have put the long unruly curls up in a fancy bun or something. Instead, it’s gathered in its usual ponytail at the base of my neck.
Before I can come up with the courage to clear my throat or speak, he beats me to it. “Have a seat.” His voice is deep, sharp, demanding.
I flinch as his tone penetrates. I know almost nothing about him except that he’s a Dom and he owns his own club. I’ve never heard a single person refer to him by any other name than Master Roman. I don’t even know if that’s his first or last name.
Before I take another step, I start trembling. Half of me is nervous as hell because there is no way I won’t get tongue-tied and blow this interview. Half of me is concerned that if I look directly at him, I won’t be able to speak at all.
Master Roman is the object of every girl’s fantasies, mine included. He’s larger than life, commanding, and intense. When he steps into a room, he fills it with both his size and his magnetism. Heads turn. People stop breathing. Panties dampen. Including mine.
I knew I would freeze up at this moment. I even rehearsed it in my head many times over the weekend as I paced my tiny apartment muttering to myself. And yet, here I am, exactly where I expected to be. Frozen.
Perhaps I’ve made a mistake applying for this position. I’m not at all sure I’m cut out to work for this man. Nor do I believe I’m qualified. Hell, I’m not entirely certain what Master Roman is looking for in an assistant, but judging from the impeccableness of this office, I’m not the girl for this job.
Master Roman lifts his gaze. His brows are drawn together. “Do you have a hearing problem?”
I jump in my spot then find the will to move toward the chair opposite his desk. “Sorry,” I mutter.
As I lower my shaking body onto the chair, I realize the paper he’s holding is my application. While he continues to peruse it, I take the opportunity to soak in his frame. He’s even taller than I remembered. Over six feet. A giant compared to my ridiculous five-foot frame. His shoulders are broad. I guess him to be about forty, but his ever-present serious expression gives the impression he’s much older. He’s intimidating to say the least.
Obviously, he’s a Dom. After all, he owns the club—Surrender.
Without lifting his gaze, he speaks again. “It says here you’ve been a receptionist with Martin and Sons for two years.”
“Yes.” I chew on my bottom lip, concerned that this is the first moment he’s had a chance to read my application. I feel incredibly inadequate. I’m surprised he hasn’t laughed out loud yet and told me to get out of his office.
He lifts his sharp gaze and stares at me. “You’ll address me as Sir.”
I stop breathing and nod. “Yes, Sir,” I murmur.
“And, though I won’t permit you to raise your voice in my home, I’ll at least need you to speak at a level I can discern.”
I force my voice higher, sitting up straighter at the same time. “Yes, Sir.”
His gaze lingers a few more moments on my face and then lowers back to the paper. “Do you have family in the area?”
That is the oddest question to choose to start this interview, but I shake my head. “No, Sir. My parents have both passed. It’s just me.”
He looks my direction again. “No siblings? Aunts? Uncles? Grandparents?”
I shake my head again, still shocked by his line of questioning. What does it matter how much family I have?
He lifts a brow. “Speak, please. I don’t respond well to timid head shakes and nods.”
I swallow the fear that is climbing up my spine, fighting hard to keep from crying. I have no idea why I’m suddenly emotional. It’s not rational. If Master Roman finds me lacking, fine. Why should I care that he has so many quirks? No wonder he has gone through three assistants in the last year.
“Lucy.” He speaks my name sharply, his voice raising.
I realized he’s still waiting for a response. “No, Sir. I don’t have any family nearby. My only relative is a grandmother I never see in Chicago.” Is this a problem?
“You live alone?”
“Yes, Sir.” I sit up straighter, forcing myself not to squirm on my seat. I’ve never been so unnerved in my life. He’s so intimidating. He makes me feel like a small child instead of a grown adult. Every piercing glance from him shrinks me, and I start to tremble.
He’s staring at me as if I’m in trouble for some transgression I’m not aware of, and it makes me squirm. I’m too warm. I’m a little weirded out by my reaction. Half of me would like him to continue to reprimand me. His narrowed gaze alone is making my nipples hard.
I like this feeling. A lot. Does he know what he’s doing to me? He seems like the kind of Dominant who probably knows exactly what he’s doing to me. That thought makes me flush. He’s interviewing me for a job as his assistant. Not a submissive.
When Master Roman’s gaze returns to my application once again, I glance down at my body, partly to confirm I’m the twenty-two-year-old I know myself to be instead of the small, trembling girl.
I’m wearing my most professional outfit, but it seems quite lacking all of a sudden. Navy pleated skirt and matching jacket. White blouse. Navy flats. I have never owned or worn heels out of fear that I would land on my face if I attempted such a thing.
“You can’t possibly have made enough money to afford your apartment and utilities working for Martin and Sons.”
I lick my lips. “It was tight. I got by.”
When he slowly closes his eyes as if he’s fighting extreme frustration, I quickly add, “Sir.”
That seems to soothe him because although he doesn’t comment, his face relaxes marginally.
I’m out of my element. This man is a Dominant of the highest order. He obviously expects his employees to submit to him. As that thought fully seeps into my system, I shudder. Does he want me to submit to him? As his assistant? And what would that entail?
I draw in a long breath, careful to keep it silent, as I squeeze my thighs together and cross my ankles. It takes every bit of self-control to keep from shivering. The idea of submitting to Master Roman at his club has definitely entered my mind. It enters the minds of every submissive in Surrender. He’s that powerful. Both men and women covet a scene with him.
I have never actually seen him dominate a single member or guest, however. I’m not sure anyone else has either. If he has, it’s been on nights when I wasn’t there, or else he takes his submissives to a private room.
I do not have full membership to Surre
nder. I have a temporary guest membership for six visits. Friday night was my fifth. I’m also aware that I didn’t make enough money to have actually joined after my sixth visit.
I first went to Surrender a month ago on a whim that was way out of character for me.
I don’t know a single member, nor had I ever been to a fetish club. What I had done was bury myself in books from the moment I’d learned to read. As soon as I was past puberty, I switched from childhood mysteries to romance novels. By the time I graduated from high school, I had read more erotic books than most grown women.
I’m an only child. My father was old when I was born, and he passed away when I was only ten. My mother found out she had advanced breast cancer the following year and died when I was eleven. I moved from my small hometown in rural Missouri to live with a maternal grandmother I had never met in Chicago at that tender age.
Making friends was hard for me. The kids made fun of my Midwest accent from day one. I didn’t mind, though, because I was an introvert. So, I buried myself in books. Reading saved my life.
Reading erotic novels fueled my curiosity, which led me to explore the fetish world. I don’t have a computer, but I learned over a year ago that the public library has a shocking lack of security on their computers. It took me no time at all to open a FetLife account and absorb every detail I could about the community. That’s where I stumbled upon Surrender, the local club, and somehow managed to find the willpower to get a guest membership.
I still can’t believe I walked through the door that first night four weeks ago. Alone. Eager to explore. Wanting to sate my curiosity.
Am I submissive? I’m still not sure. But I know my body lights up when I watch women submit in the club. I don’t even care if they submit to other women or men, though men usually make my heart beat faster, probably because of their sheer size.
I jump in my seat as Master Roman rounds the desk and then leans his butt against the front, his feet inches from mine, perfect unscuffed black dress shoes catching my eye. “Should you decide to work for me, I would pay you far more than the ridiculous salary requirement you listed.”
I swallow, my eyes widening. He speaks as though he’s about to hire me. I’m shocked. We’ve discussed nothing except the fact that I have no local family.
“However,” he narrows his gaze, “I need to be sure you understand a few things.” He crosses his arms, staring down at me intimidatingly. I can still see his hands though. Enormous. I don’t know why I’m so intrigued by them. Probably because it’s impossible not to wonder what it would feel like to have them on my body.
I jump when he continues speaking, yanking my thoughts away from his hands. “I require very long hours. I would expect you to be here at seven o’clock sharp every morning. I can’t guarantee what time you will leave at night. Sometimes I work twelve or more hours six days a week. In addition to your salary, you’ll make time and a half for overtime.”
I stare at him, doing the math in my head. That’s a lot of hours. But hell, what else do I have to do? It’s not like I have friends. I have work. I have books. I don’t even own a television. I can’t afford one, and I don’t care. I have always preferred reading to watching mindless TV.
“Would that be a problem for you, Lucy?”
“No, Sir.” My voice squeaks. I need this job, and it’s starting to seem as though Master Roman is leaning toward offering it to me. Besides, I suddenly feel a strong urge to be the person who doesn’t quit in three months. Apparently three weaker women have not been able to hack the demands. If long hours were what broke them, I will not be affected by the time constraints of other people.
Though I don’t yet know how much he intends to pay me, if it’s more than I was making and includes benefits and overtime, I know I will find the will to make this work. I have to.
He scrutinizes me for a long time, his gaze lingering on my face for a while and then trailing down my body. “I provide medical insurance and a 401K. Your starting salary would easily be double what you’ve been making, but I don’t like to listen to excuses about my employees needing to leave early, come in late, or take time off.”
A 401K? I hardly even know what that is. I certainly never intended to have one in my life. I at least understand it’s a retirement plan. This job is looking better by the moment. So what if Master Roman is gruff and demanding and keeps long hours?
“What, exactly, would I be doing for you, Sir?” I ask, proud of myself for keeping my voice even and sounding intelligent.
“Whatever I want.” He pauses.
I part my lips, thinking to ask for a few more details.
Luckily, he elaborates. “Working for me can be extremely boring at times. For that reason, you’ll need to get a good night’s sleep every day. I expect you to be near me at all times, mostly for the sole purpose of taking care of anything I might need ranging from coffee to lunch to finding a book in my library to sorting papers, filing. The list is long. The labor isn’t difficult. I’m demanding, and I’m certain my three previous assistants were bored. I often caught them nodding off. I won’t tolerate sleepiness. If you have been enjoying late nights out with friends, those days are over. You’ll come here rested and sharp and ready to serve me.”
Serve him? So, let me get this straight. This man is offering me way more money, health insurance, and a savings plan. In exchange, he wants me to stay near him for long hours with very little required of me. Who in their right mind would turn this down?
On top of everything else, he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever set eyes on, so the view will be constantly spectacular. My biggest challenge will be not squirming in his presence as my mind wanders to thoughts of kneeling before him and letting him dominate me.
I shiver at the thought, my stupid panties dampening again. I have zero experience being submissive. I’m still not even sure I am submissive. If my reaction to Master Roman is any indication, however, it’s probably safe to assume I have my answers.
I’ve done my research. I’ve watched people submit at Surrender on five occasions. Maybe that’s enough to know what I might like. On the other hand, perhaps it’s a very bad idea to take a job working for a man I clearly would rather submit to.
If he gave me a choice right now to take this job or explore D/s with him, I would be hard-pressed to turn down the offer of submission. I’ve heard of girls who train under men like Master Roman. I wonder if he only dominates seasoned submissives or if he ever trains anyone.
I also wonder if he has any intention of dominating me, or if he’s done so with any of his previous assistants. Unlikely, I decide, which is disappointing.
Master Roman shoves off the desk and wanders back to the other side. “Since you haven’t run from the room, I assume I still have your attention.”
“Yes, Sir.” I shake my inappropriate thoughts away.
“And you’re still interested in the position?”
“Yes, Sir.” My heart pounds. Could I be so lucky?
“Good.” He finally lowers himself into his giant leather desk chair and pulls it up to the desk. “Can you start immediately?”
“Yes, Sir.” My luck is skyrocketing now. I can do this. I will not disappoint him. If he wants someone to stand around at his beck and call every day and endure his gruffness, I’m the girl for the job.
“You’ll need a physical. I require regular checkups of all my employees. I’ll make an appointment for tomorrow morning with my physician.” He picks up a business card from his desk and reaches across to set it on the far side. I’m close enough to take it out of his hand without standing, nor does he seem to think it’s necessary just yet because he continues speaking.
“Assuming you’re in good physical condition, I’ll expect you to start the following morning. Wednesday. Does that work for you?”
“Yes, Sir.” I try not to show too much emotion. The truth is I’m excited and elated.
“Excellent. I have several staff members. You’ll need to learn their
names.” He picks up the phone on his desk and speaks directly into it without dialing. “Nancy, Lucy will be joining us starting Wednesday. Would you please provide her with a uniform and see her out? She’s leaving my office in a few minutes.” He sets the phone down without waiting for a response.
Uniform? I don’t even need to provide my own clothes? This just keeps getting better because the truth is, I’m seriously concerned about fitting in with his household using my current wardrobe. Martin and Sons was relatively lax. I always wore a dress or slacks, but I don’t own anything fancy. Honestly, my clothing is as frumpy as possible, most of it acquired from second-hand shops.
When Master Roman speaks again, I jump in my chair. His gruff tone is going to be hard to get used to. “As you know, Lucy, I’m a Dominant. I don’t leave that at the club. It’s who I am. I demand respect from all my employees at all times. You, as the newest employee with the lowest status in my household, will speak to every single person you encounter with respect, addressing them as ma’am and sir. Even the gardener. Your status here is as I deem it unless and until I decide otherwise. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” I’m trembling, and I can hear it in my voice.
“Everyone who works for me has a job to do. I expect you to keep that in mind at all times. You will not speak to anyone unnecessarily unless they have instigated the conversation. If you have any questions, you will bring them to me.”
I nod, slowly, my mouth too dry to speak.
He lifts a brow. “That will be the last time you use a non-verbal response to answer a question, Lucy.”
I swallow. “Yes, Sir.” My voice wobbles.
He narrows his gaze, and I worry for a moment that he might change his mind and fire me before I’ve even left his office. “As long as you do as you’re told and stick to the tasks you’re assigned, you’ll get along just fine. I will warn you that I will discipline you in an appropriate manner to fit the offense if you choose to willfully disregard my instructions.”
Raising Lucy Page 3