“One step at a time, Nate.”
A week later, I hadn’t made a decision about The Warehouse, nor had I engaged in a conversation with Sera about the night I’d spent at the club. She’d repeatedly hinted at wanting information, but I’d ignored her attempts to pry. I needed to work through this on my own, but she was relentless in her approach.
“Come on, Bastian. At least tell me what it was like inside. It’s the elite of the elite around here. Without going somewhere in New York or LA, it doesn’t get any bigger or better than The Warehouse. Except maybe Baltimore, which is just weird in and of itself.” While her need for information was cute, I didn’t really see what giving it to her would accomplish.
“What do you want to know? It’s gorgeous, but I have nothing to compare it to. So I can’t say it’s better at this or needs improvement there. I can tell you the security is impeccable, the equipment all appears to be brand new, and the focus on health safety is high.”
Her expression was eager, childlike in wonder. “What about the people? Did you recognize anyone?”
“You know that even if I did, which I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to share that.”
Her pouting was about the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. I resisted the urge to place my lips on hers, to feel their warmth on mine. Jesus, the temptation was overwhelming.
“Are you going to join?” Sera’s eyes were wide, and her cheeks were pink; I wanted to give her everything she’d ever desired, including this.
“Do you want me to?”
She shrugged, not wanting to seem overly eager. “I think it would be fun to be able to go play there.”
“You would want to go play with me?” That had taken an interesting turn.
Her head tilted to the side, and the glitter that had made her irises shimmer only moments ago turned to a pool of pity. “Bastian,” she touched my arm to soften the blow, “you know I love you dearly, but the kind of playing I’m referring to isn’t something you can just pick up in a week. You could really hurt someone.” The irony of her statement was not lost on me. “I don’t have sex in clubs. I only play publicly for pain. Someone skilled with a whip or a cat of nine tails can send me soaring. The Warehouse is known for the Masters they have behind the leather. So yes, I would love to go play in that respect.”
“So, you want me to join so another man can beat you?” It was a low blow. Luckily for me, Sera didn’t take it that way or missed the insinuation altogether. “That’s an expensive endeavor. Why don’t you become a member?”
She huffed out of her nose and gave me a look I couldn’t quite describe. “I’ve tried, Bastian. I’m on a waitlist.”
My jaw dropped, and I wondered how that had never come up in the hours we spent with the owner. “What? James never mentioned a waitlist.”
Sera closed her eyes as she rolled them and shook her head. When she reopened them, she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. “How do you think I knew he was aware of who you are?”
“But you’re just as big as I am, Sera. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nowhere even close, but thank you. So? Are you going to join?”
It was tempting to do it just to please Sera, but that couldn’t be my motivation. “I haven’t made up my mind. James called me this morning to see if I had made a decision. I told him the things I’m struggling with, none of which have anything to do with his club. He referred me to a local guy at Stone Ground. Ever heard of it?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s another high-end club here in town but much smaller and nowhere near the clientele of The Warehouse. It’s actually run out of one of the homes over off Augusta Road. Their pool house is dedicated to play. The house functions as an office of sorts. Old money, completely different kind of place but just as reputable.”
“I called them today. The owner’s name is Zane. I had a great conversation with him as well. Truth be told, I think I can get what I’m looking for locally for a lot less money. The time investment would be better spent actually working with a mentor than on the road for two hundred miles a trip. I told them both I’d make a decision by the end of the weekend.”
“Are you leaning toward Stone Ground?”
“I like the anonymity The Warehouse offers—well the distance that adds to the anonymity—but for the type of mentoring I’m really looking for, I think Stone Ground makes more sense. I want to work one on one with a Dom or Master before I try anything public. It’s the mentality I want to adopt.” I sounded like a broken record, and I wasn’t sure if it was me or her I was trying to convince. “I want my confidence back.” That part was one hundred percent true, but I didn’t bother to mention the other things I hoped to gain in the process.
Until I was a man she respected and could see herself with, until she saw the transformation, acknowledging what I wanted from her would prove fruitless and ruin any chance I might have in the future. This was a marathon, not a sprint, and I couldn’t afford a false start off the block.
In the midst of the conversation, it occurred to me that I’d made my decision while I talked. For the time being, Stone Ground made the most sense. A year or two from now, The Warehouse might make more, but right now, local was where I needed to be.
When Sera left, I called James to let him know, and I was grateful for his open-ended invitation to come by any time. And at some point, I fully intended to take him up on that offer. Zane was happy to hear from me sooner than anticipated and seemed surprised I chose Stone Ground over The Warehouse. He didn’t ask, so I didn’t offer that I thought he was a better personality fit for me than James. Instead, I scheduled a time to meet with him, and tomorrow we would set up meetings and individual instruction. His approach was more public than I’d anticipated, but right now, I was open to just about anything.
I had no idea if I was even in the right place. There was no sign, and this area of town was nothing but old money. It wasn’t the type of place I could knock on a door to ask about a BDSM club that I had to wonder if the neighbors even knew operated in their midst. It was just another mansion on Cresent Avenue from the outside, but once I rang the bell and a stunning woman answered the door in a leather maid outfit, I was certain I had found the right place. Leather and lace showcased her phenomenal assets, and I couldn’t deny the view had my heart racing as I followed her down several halls.
She introduced me to Zane, then quickly dropped her eyes to his chest, curtsied, and exited.
The title Master suggested a certain something, and Zane’s voice had instilled all that title suggested by phone—respect and fear. I’d expected an imposing man, especially with a name like Zane. But before me stood nothing I had anticipated. A ginger, I’d guess about five-ten, average build, mid- to late-thirties. Outwardly, there was nothing remarkable about him, although he did have striking green eyes that would prove difficult to paint and a splattering of freckles. But the moment he extended his hand, I got the first glimpse of the authority he yielded. It radiated off him, oozed from his pores. If a handshake could tell you anything about a man, the guy before me was great. It wasn’t the force in which he shook hands, it was something in his posture, the shake, and the way he introduced himself without ever breaking eye contact that told me Zane was a man I wanted to immolate.
I’d made the right choice.
“Bastian, please, have a seat.” He motioned to a sofa to the side of the room as he closed the door and took his chair. “We spoke some about what you’re looking for and hoping to gain from this, but I wanted to go into a little more depth about what I’ll expect from you.”
“Certainly, the more clarification you can give me, the easier it will be for me to follow instructions.”
He steepled his hands in front of him, elbows on his armrests. “You mentioned having a desire to learn about the dynamics here but also in regaining your confidence again in everyday life. Should I assume there is a woman involved?”
“Two actually. My wife, who passed away almos
t six years ago, and the first woman—hell, the first person—who’s sparked any sort of life in me since that day. I want to make my wife proud of the man I was able to become after almost losing myself, and I want to have the confidence to be the man the new woman needs. I’m a long way from either place, but until I can be happy with who I am, I’m of no use to anyone else.”
“I respect that. Most people don’t recognize they need to be whole before they become a pair. That being said, I really want to focus more on your confidence, and I want to do that by teaching you to respect a Master.” His brows lifted, and he waited to see if I’d interject, which I did not. And then he really laid it out. “You will not be a sub, but you will treat me with the same respect a sub would. You will do as you’re told without question, and you will trust the things I have you do are purposeful and benefit your growth. I don’t believe anyone can lead unless they first have followed. It’s critical for any successful Dom or Master to be able to relate to their sub or slave. They can only do so if they’ve been in that role, and every Dom or Master here was trained in this same manner.”
I listened, not really knowing what any of that meant.
“This is not a transformation that will take place overnight—you know that, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m aware, and I’m invested for the long haul.”
“Glad to hear it. Let’s get started.” He pulled out a folder that had to be half an inch thick and slid it across the desk with a pen.
My God, the contracts and lists: lists of interests, things I would do, things I wouldn’t do, things I might do, some sexual, some routine life events. The contract outlined the training and my expectations with clear precision and detailed explanations.
I looked up at Zane, and I could only imagine the bewilderment he saw staring at him. “You want to know everywhere I go and what my plans are while I’m there?”
“Yes, you’re accountable to someone else from now until you’re released. When you stop seeing this as a requirement and start thinking of it as a privilege, that someone cares for you enough to want to know your whereabouts, you will start to change the way you view yourself. You’ll start to see your worth. It’s a tedious task initially, but it’ll become second nature.” He was missing my point.
“I don’t want to bother you with that kind of thing, though.”
“That’s exactly why you need to do it. It’s not a bother; it’s a commitment I’m making to you, to ensure your safety and wellbeing. As a Master, I enjoy the responsibility it brings, the confidence that I’m caring for someone else. And, Bastian, if I don’t think it’s in your best interest, you won’t be going.”
Or maybe I was missing his point. “Seriously?”
“Your response going forward is simply, ‘Yes, Sir.’ Trust the process.” He smiled warmly at me, easing my discomfort.
“Yes, Sir.” I signed on the dotted line, agreeing to all aspects of the contract, knowing if I violated them, Zane could either punish me or release me, and if he violated them, I had the option to walk away as well, but no recourse for punishment I noticed.
Before I left, we decided I would meet with Zane every morning at nine o’clock, ready to workout, five days a week. Zane also had me give him a basic outline of my typical day, who my friends were, people I associated with, et cetera, reminding me I was never to leave my house without expressed consent from him via phone or text unless prearranged. Even then, I was to text him when leaving and returning and any stops in between. I confirmed my understanding, clutching my copy of my contract. Zane hugged me goodbye, which I found a bit awkward, but I went with it anyhow and agreed to see him in the morning.
Walking back to my house, I pondered everything Zane had said, wondering how well I would do with reporting to someone else, learning to respect them as well as myself. Everything he’d said about building self-esteem made sense in theory, but the practical application might be a different story. I’d already figured out openly doubting him or disputing him was not the way to go, and I realized how quickly he’d formed a bond with me when it dawned on me that I didn’t want to let him down. I wanted to follow Zane’s instructions, so he could see me succeed, be the man I wanted to be. I wanted him to know the time he was investing wasn’t wasted.
I smiled at the thought of making someone proud again. Sylvie had always been proud of me; Nate occasionally, too. It was someone new, who had no reason to be, who didn’t think I was great because I could paint—someone I earned that from, especially someone who taught me a skill. That would make me happy. Eager to please, I did as instructed and texted Zane as soon as I got home.
Me: Arrived home
Zane: Sir
I stared at the message for a moment before my confusion cleared and I realized what he wanted.
Zane: I arrived home, Sir.
And so it began.
Me: I arrived home, Sir.
I waited to see if he sent anything else, and when my phone stayed silent, I dropped it and went to work. Just like every other day, the hours faded with the sun, and it dawned on me that I’d never told Zane about Nate’s nightly visits.
I found my phone, hacked out a text and an apology for the oversight, and hit send. Zane responded immediately, faster than he should have, in my opinion. But it was just to ask a couple questions about Nate and mention that he wanted to meet him. In my effort to please a man I’d just met, I extended an invitation to my house.
Zane was right on time, Nate was late, and by great misfortune, Sera showed up unexpectedly amid the chaos. I often wondered if the world was conspiring against me. Mother Nature never seemed to be my friend, or karma, or whoever it was controlling people’s actions.
Sera had no idea Zane was coming, and I wasn’t ready to out myself about my true motivation in this endeavor. Of course, she made fast friends with Zane because everyone loves her except Nate, who still held her at arm’s length. It wasn’t Sera he disliked; it was the power she held and the damage she could dole out.
The entire situation was awkward at best.
Zane hung back when Nate bugged out, and Sera finally excused herself. No sooner had the front door shut than Zane turned to me. “She’s the girl?”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I didn’t try to hide it. “Yes, Sir.”
He nodded in understanding but didn’t say anything about her before letting himself out.
14
Chapter Fourteen
As the weeks dragged on, nothing got any easier. My creativity was stifled by the constant requirement to answer to another human about my every move. I’d get lost in a project and time would slip away, and before I knew it, I’d missed check-ins or text messages. Zane was unforgiving, although not quite relentless, and my frustration was mounting by the minute when I didn’t perceive any real progress toward my goal.
I hated just about everything involved in this learning process, but worst of all were the workouts. I fucking despised exercising, which Zane and I did five days a week, an hour at a time. I’d been blessed with a physique that didn’t require physical activity to look good—when I wasn’t dying of depression and grief—which was great since I couldn’t stand sweating.
Problem number two was my mouth. I cussed—a lot—and in Zane’s world, which was the one in which I currently lived, that was a big no-no.
Third: I despised checking in with someone about going to work at another studio and having to explain the need to be there instead of my own home. The short and sweet to that answer was so I didn’t lose my goddamn mind. How was that for reality, Zane? He never told me I couldn’t go, but I’d reached a point where I didn’t bother trying to get out of the house, simply to avoid having to answer a hundred questions. I was a grown man—the who, what, when, where, and why seemed ridiculous. The only reason I’d continued this charade was in hopes of becoming the man Sera needed, but I had started to get the sense that nothing I did, no amount of change, would ever alter how Sera saw me. In her eyes, I was th
e man today that I was two months ago, five months ago.
Countless times, I’d tried to talk to Zane about my frustration, but his response remained the same.
“Trust the process.”
The process wasn’t fucking working. Yes, I maintained eye contact now. No, I wasn’t afraid to ask for things I wanted or needed. I no longer had social anxiety over being in public alone. But, my inner irritation was at an all-time high that had started to affect my work. That agitation ate away at creativity like a starving monster. I’d trashed my last two paintings because they looked like they’d come from an elementary school art class and not in a genius abstract sort of way, just shitty painting.
Even Ferry had picked up on it and added his advice to my already complicated mental shitstorm. “I see the mental block in your eyes, Bastian. Whatever it is, eliminate it from your life so you can move forward.”
For the first time in my life, I hadn’t heard from Nate in three days, nor had he stopped by. I’d managed to piss him off the last time he’d been here by refusing to ask Zane for permission to go out to eat. That refusal meant I couldn’t go, and Nate left. But not before he made a snarly comment about Ferry and Sera asking me and my not refusing them or hopping out the door or some equally stupid bullshit.
The fight that erupted really had less to do with Nate’s snippy comment or jealousy toward other people in my life, and more with the level of agitation I felt at asking for permission to go to dinner with my best friend. I wasn’t a fucking teenager. And, he was wrong; I wouldn’t have gone if Ferry or Sera had asked, either. Zane had become an enormous pain in my ass—that didn’t change regardless of who extended the invitation.
Reality's Illusion Page 14