by Linnea May
“Do you understand?”
My question is met with an instant nod from her, but no words. She presses her lips together, processing the command. It’s as simple as it is hard, and I know that. She may consider this a test for me to see how compliant she is, but that’s not what this is about.
“Answer me,” I urge. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
“I’m not your Master yet,” I correct her. “Sir will suffice for now.”
Her eyes twitch with a hint of annoyance, but she’s smart enough to keep it to herself. I can sense the defiance in the way her body reacts. I can see the urge to roll her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, and it is followed by a remark I never want to hear. “Fine.”
All of that is seething within my beautiful Alena, and that’s a good thing. But she fights it back for now, her chest heaving seductively as she takes a deep breath to respond in the manner I deign appropriate.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” I praise her. “Go.”
She suggests another nod and springs up from her seat, as if to push herself before she thinks about it too much. Her eyes seek mine for one last moment before they trail down to the floor, her shoulders hunching slightly when she turns around and walks away from me toward the stage.
My eyes are glued to her pretty backside, and she’s aware of that. It shows in every single motion, the way she subtly sways her hips while walking, the way she pauses when she reaches the velvet rope, unsure whether she’s allowed to touch it. I shift in my seat as I watch her ponder what the correct decision is. Eventually she decides not to open the rope, but finds a way to slip through beneath it, hollowing her back as she does, teasing me with the most beautiful view of her firm ass.
What a naughty little minx.
She walks fast as she meanders through the room, ignoring every single gaze that follows her as she makes her way up to the stage.
I never have a plan for my hunts, because I know I don’t need to. Things always evolve as they should.
Tonight, of course, was different, because I learned that Alena would be here. But even that hiccup did not force me to come up with a detailed plan—and what little I did plan never came to fruition because I went astray as soon as the evening started. I walked right up to Alena the moment I saw her sitting at the bar, and then I went from there.
She takes her position exactly as I asked her to, compliantly sitting down on her heels, exposing the white lace adornment of her lingerie and the lavish waves of her chocolate brown hair trailing seductively down her athletic back. Her head is tilted forward, causing a few strands to fall over her shoulders, partly hiding her face as they frame it. She doesn’t lift a finger to move them aside.
I remain seated for a few more minutes, my eyes locked onto the alluring creature on stage. She was considerate enough to place herself right beneath a soft spotlight cascading on the stage.
Even from afar I can see her shoulders moving through her erratic breathing. She’s very tense and unraveled at first, obviously fighting with the challenge I presented her with—but she’s doing it nonetheless. And with each breath I can see her calming down, her shoulders slowly sinking as she begins to relax.
I scan the room, wandering through the crowd to see how many of them are paying attention to my little toy. Most of the heads that turned to her at first have now reverted to whatever they were doing before, but there are others glancing at her now and then. Sometimes their eyes linger before they turn away, sometimes they dart back and forth between me and her, questions written across their faces.
I know I can’t sit up here forever. My hunt is not over, despite what may be going on inside my head. There has to be a competition, and for that, I need to find suitable competitors for Alena. My mind shouldn’t be set on her this early.
Baby steps, Raad, baby steps.
Despite my better judgment, I know she will be mine. But that doesn’t change the fact that I will have to find at least two other girls to challenge Alena’s position.
And what if she fails?
She won’t.
She can’t.
I pull my eyes away from her, determined to divert my focus to the task at hand. Subtle unrest spreads through the room when I get up from my chair. It’s just minor fidgeting, a nervous twitch that electrifies the room for a split second, but it’s palpable.
My steps are slow but deliberate when I make my way back to the main room, carefully browsing the guests for white wristbands. A few familiar faces meet mine, not all of them are women or former play partners. I always make sure to invite a few fellow gentlemen, but only those who are attached to their own dolls, because—unlike my girls—I don’t need competition to prove my worth.
It’s a known rule that no one is allowed to approach me or talk to me. I’m the one to initiate any form of communication. But I don’t mind the occasional nod in greeting, often accompanied by a respectful smile.
It doesn’t take long before I pass a guy named Damon, one of the VIP patrons who helped finance the club when it first opened. He’s in the company of his wife, who used to work here.
We exchange a polite but distant nod, and he mirrors my greeting when I wish him a good evening.
We shared a drink together during my first visit to the club, and while I respect Damon for his excellent business sense, I couldn’t help but be annoyed by their lovey-dovey bullshit story.
One thing is for sure: that will never be me.
I have every intention of owning my puppets, and I will own Alena in every sense of the word. But I will never be dumb enough to lose my head because of her. Love is a highly valued but dangerous emotion, reserved for those who lack the backbone to conquer life on their own. I don’t suffer from this kind of deficiency, thank God.
I continue to meander through the room, my path as aimless as my wandering thoughts. In spite of my intent, my eyes keep roaming back to Alena. And every single time, she’s sitting in the exact same spot, in the exact same position, just as I told her to. She’s so still that one could mistake her for a lifeless stature.
What a good girl.
I’m sure she’s finding solace in her punishment, because I took something away from her that she was all too willing to give. Responsibility. She doesn’t have to think about what to do next, she doesn’t have to ponder, consider, torment herself with an array of options, because she doesn’t have any. All she can do is sit there on display while still shielding herself from the world.
It will get harder for her to do with every passing moment. Her body will itch to move, she will want to shift as her legs start feeling numb, and curiosity may force her attention back to the room and her surroundings, maybe in search of me. God help her if she gives in to any of those impulses.
A faint glimmer of ire flares deep inside me at the thought of it. There would be a much more severe punishment if she did any of those things, a punishment that would leave no room for any self-discovery or reflection.
But I trust her. I trust Alena to prove herself to me.
Because that’s what she was made for.
Chapter 9
Alena
Something has changed. Something deep inside of me.
When I first walked up to the stage, I was very self-aware of everything. From every little fiber of my being, the way I carried myself as he watched me walk away, the way I moved my hands as I balanced s, the way I swayed my hips for his pleasure, to the way the texture of the floor felt against my knees when I carefully lowered myself into the position he ordered me to. It was odd, as if my senses were suddenly heightened to notice things that would be overlooked under regular circumstances.
I don’t know how else to describe it, but my body felt very... loud.
I felt very aware of everything I did, every motion, every look, every step I took. Ever since I sat down onstage with my hands on my thighs, my palms facing upward as instructed, directly beneath a warm spotlight, as i
f I were receiving the word from above, everything has been changing slowly. I could almost feel my mind slowing down, no longer the constantly racing engine it has been for so long now.
I calmed down. I relaxed.
There were no more questions, no more agonizing contemplating about what I had to do next. I didn’t have any decisions to make because my decision had been made for me.
I’m forbidden to do anything but sit here in silence. I can’t speak, I can’t move around at will, I can’t even raise my eyes.
I’m confined to abide by his command—and I’ve never felt more free.
Essentially, I realize this is really what this is all about. I quit my job, and while I relinquished a steady income, my sense of security, and any hope of climbing the corporate ladder in that organization, I have gained something else, a virtue that was necessary to even be able to show up here for the hunt.
Freedom.
And that is why I’m here.
I want to know what it feels like to be truly free. To have the freedom to evolve into the person I’m supposed to be. I don’t know who that person is, but I know she needs guidance.
And I know that in order for that to happen, she needs him.
Other women my age would worry about finding a husband, starting a family, building a home. And all I crave is to submit to a handsome but sadistic master—and the most mysterious and alluring man I’ve ever met. Ever since the first time I attended one of his hunts years ago, I have been unable to forget him. There has always been a part of me wanting to know what it would be like.
What he would be like.
And now that I’m beginning to understand that, I want him even more.
I just need to remember one thing: he is a lot of things—beautiful, sexy as sin, wealthy, a seductive mystery, and said to be a generous master, if his puppet proves herself worthy.
But he’s not marriage material. He’s not a man to love or be loved.
I know he will ask for a committed devotion that could be conceived as deeper than love, even more profound and meaningful than love.
But it’s not love. It can’t be.
That is imperative to remember, even for a rational person like me, one who has often been called “too cold” and “cunning” by others. Those terms hurt when they were callously used to describe me then, but they offer me solace now. Because that’s exactly the kind of person I need to be with him.
I want to shake my head to cast the troubling thoughts aside, but I don’t. I have not received permission to move. Instead, I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, redirecting my focus to the task at hand. I have never meditated in my life, but I guess this must be what it’s like. With a little more practice, a little more focus, I might be able to silence the chatter in my head entirely.
But I know it’s not that easy. I can’t do it on my own. I need his helping hand to get there, and right now there’s nothing I want more than for him to choose me.
My mind drifts back to when I saw him for the first time. It was shortly after I moved to Boston but before I started working for Mr. Hammond. I was jobless, but hopeful—and maybe a little naive. Melina was one of the first friends I made in this city, and it was a spur of the moment thing when I followed her suggestion to attend the Puppetmaster’s hunt. I felt so brave, so adventurous, because I opted to wear a white wristband without the first clue of what I was getting myself into.
And then I saw him.
I saw him stride through the room just like he did tonight, owning it, but barely acknowledging anything happening around him. He was so intimidating, so inconceivably handsome, so powerful and determined. I wanted to become his from the first moment I laid eyes on him.
But he didn’t see me. He didn’t even notice my existence.
So, I did what I was taught to do in such moments. The only way to get what you want is to take it—violently, if necessary.
You see, where I grew up there was nothing wrong with a girl who used her fists not only to defend herself, but also to get what she wanted. If anything, it was necessary. You either became someone to be feared, or someone who fears. And I did not want to be the latter.
I was pretty good at it, actually. I even attended the free martial arts classes they offered at the youth center in my neighborhood. What I learned gave me a big advantage over the kids who simply let their fists be guided by anger.
Of course, I knew that the world doesn’t run like that everywhere. I knew that even before I could finally move away from that toxic environment. But it’s hard to eliminate something that has shaped and defined you for the first twenty-one years of your life. I ran into trouble at every corner, and The Velvet Rooms was no exception.
And, of course, I chose the night of the hunt to leave a bad impression.
It was stupid, it was clumsy—and it was futile.
He was circling the room, much like he did tonight, his black eyes raking over the faces searching for his prey. And I wanted to be that prey so, so badly.
That’s why I did it. That’s why I pushed myself forward with no regard to anyone around me. That’s why I tripped up one of the extra pretty girls standing close to me. I just wanted her to stumble a little, to lose her footing and be off-balance long enough so I could pass by her and force myself right into the Puppetmaster’s focus.
I did not expect her to fall. I did not expect her to fall that spectacularly either, in such an unfortunate way that she ended up with a broken ankle. I tripped her, and she stumbled while trying to hold on to me to catch her balance. But I evaded her grasp and she fell, causing a ruckus around us.
And instead of helping her, I turned around, searching for his gaze, only to realize that he had turned away from us. He didn’t even notice what was going on behind his back as he approached a pretty blonde girl who caught his attention.
I stared. I waited. He didn’t look back once, not even when the girl next to me started crying from where she lay in an awkward position on the floor. And I just stood there as everyone around me was hovering over the poor girl I had hurt, indifferent to her suffering, just waiting to be caught by his attentive eyes.
The worst thing was that everybody knew what I had done. They knew I’d injured her on purpose to gain an advantage. They all saw me do it, and I could feel their spiteful eyes scornfully digging into me like daggers.
Everyone noticed. Everyone but him.
Looking back now, I should consider it a blessing. He doesn’t seem to remember me from that night, but I still managed to draw attention to myself by doing something wrong.
Then again, the Puppetmaster would never waste time on a subject he has no interest in, would he?
“Good girl.”
The words tear me away from my solitary musings, and I jerk up in surprise, remembering just in time not to lift my eyes. He came up onto the stage without me noticing. He was so close to me that I could feel his warm breath caressing my cheek when he whispered those blessed words. My breath hikes when I feel the warm bulk of his body right behind me, his presence towering over me in a protective yet intimidating manner when he sets an end to my timeout onstage.
“It’s time to get up and come with me.”
Chapter 10
Raad
Alena is different than the other girls in many aspects, but there’s one thing she has in common with all of them. There’s the same glimmer of hope flickering in her ocean-colored eyes when we enter one of the playrooms upstairs. I chose a blue room. Meant for sensual deprivation play, they provide a privacy that the other rooms lack. Some of the other rooms don’t even have doors, only curtains that separate them from the corridors. The blue rooms have solid doors and sound-insulated, button-tufted walls. The lighting is dimmed and there’s nothing but a bed with night-blue silk linens and a glass cabinet filled with utensils that we won’t be needing tonight.
The blue light is dim, but it’s not dark enough to hide the expression on her face when she looks up at me. She’s stand
ing tall, her back straight and her hands folded in front of her body, a stance that is both demure and confident.
She looks so fucking perfect that it borders on physical agony not to touch her. She looks so innocent yet enticing at the same time in her white lingerie set, the adorned garter belt spanning across her shapely hips, holding up the sheer white stockings that cover her long legs almost all the way up to her center.
I’m torn between tearing the fabric from her body in a carnal attack so I can fuck her into submission and the desire to stay as far away from her as possible, worried that I might defile her perfectly innocent beauty.
My actions will turn out to be something in between, as I vowed never to touch my puppets before they are locked away in my home back in New York City, but I also want to bathe in Alena’s presence now that I finally have her this close to me. It was sooner than I expected and it didn’t happen the way I planned, but now that she’s here and my mind is set on proceeding with her, I’m determined to relish every single moment of pleasure she’ll give me.
I close the door behind me and move toward the bed, her eyes trained on me expectantly. She remains standing in place, but she slowly turns to face me as I sit down on the edge of the bed.
“Sit,” I tell her, pointing to the floor right in front of me. “On your heels, like you did on the stage. Show me what a perfect slave you can be.”
A smile plays at the corner of her mouth when she follows my demand. Her heels are not as high as I’ve seen on other girls, but she can move in them effortlessly. It’s obvious that she likes to doll herself up, and maybe she’s even used to wearing heels on a daily basis for her job.
She manages to keep her balance just fine as she lowers herself to the ground, taking her position in smooth, deliberate motions, obviously very aware that I’m watching her.