I Married a Master

by Melanie Marchande

  Ben checked his phone as he approached the door. "Guess they're already inside," he said. "Just stay close to me."

  That sounded ominous.

  The door leading in from the outside was nondescript metal, blending into the grungy city surroundings. But inside, there was a small, elegant foyer with two massive oaken doors that must lead to the rest of the club. Two more bouncers nodded to Ben, who nodded back, his hand resting at the base of my spine. I wondered if he had any idea how much that simple touch affected me.

  Inside the double doors, everything was reds and blacks, low lights and pulsing music. But somehow, it wasn't overpowering. There was something in the air - a hint, a promise of sin, but not quite enough to be unbalancing. I actually felt very calm, and moment later I realized it might have something to do with the music, which thumped at just about the pace of a low-key heartbeat.

  "Over here." Ben led me towards the massive bar, and I realized Maddy and Daniel were standing there. I almost hadn't recognized them in the dim light, with my attention so scattered by everything around me.

  Daniel was dressed similarly to Ben, but it was my old friend who caught my attention. She was absolutely stunning, like some dark medieval princess, in a jet-black corset dress that accentuated her soft hourglass curves, and something I initially mistook for a choker before I remembered where I was.

  Right. Collar. That was a thing that people wore.

  It was just a simple strip of leather with a little silver padlock dangling from it, like a pendant. But I could tell from the way she held her head that she was proud of it.

  "You look phenomenal," I told her, still slightly awed. It wasn't just the getup itself, of course, but the utterly self-actualized way in which she wore it. I glanced at Daniel. There was still that hint of anxiety and defensiveness lurking around him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

  He was so proud.

  "Thanks." Maddy grinned. "You look pretty good, yourself. Where'd you get those boots?"

  I shrugged. "They just showed up. Ask the mysterious benefactor over there."

  Ben and Daniel had their heads together, talking quietly, and it didn't seem like a fight was about to break out. So I decided to leave them alone.

  "I'll make sure to find out later," she said. "I don't know what the hell I'd do with them. I doubt Daniel's going to want to come back here."

  "You might be surprised." I surveyed the rest of the room for the first time, noticing the variety of people mingling there. Most of the men were wearing very similar variations on formalwear with some leather accents, but there was much more variation in the way the women dressed. Some were much more revealing than others, but I did see quite a few corsets. None of them looked as good as Maddy.

  "Can you breathe?" I asked her.

  "Oh, yeah. Of course. It doesn't have whale bones in it, or anything." She smirked. "It's actually pretty comfortable. I got it from a very fancy costume place. I told them I needed Morticia Addams cosplay."

  "Cara mia," said Daniel, appearing out of nowhere. His mouth twitched into a dark smile, and I watched Maddy's whole body language change, subtly, and yet not so subtly, melting to him. "A word."

  She followed him to a quiet corner, and I managed to tear my eyes away.

  "So, that's going pretty well," I said.

  "Very well," Ben agreed. "So well we might not see them for the rest of the night. That wasn't exactly my plan, but hey, whatever gets their marriage revitalized, or whatever."

  I grinned. "I don't know that it needs revitalizing, but let 'em have their fun. This place isn't so bad. I don't know if I'd want to hang out here all the time, though."

  "I don't," said Ben. "But it's always been a good place to meet people. No one gets in without being thoroughly vetted. And it's nice to hang out somewhere where everybody already knows your dirty little secrets."

  "Huh. Like Alcoholics Anonymous," I said, without thinking.

  Ben snorted. "You might want to avoid that analogy when you're talking to other human beings."

  "Sorry." My cheeks were instantly burning. "I didn't mean..."

  "I know you didn't," he said. "Except you sort of did, didn't you?"

  I shrugged, uncomfortably. "I mean, sexual paraphilias are considered by some people..."

  "Please," he said, his eyes growing suddenly hard. "Don't start with 'it's a mental disorder' thing. Studies show people who practice BDSM are more mentally healthy than the rest of the population at large. Not that any of that matters, because if something scares people or intimidates them, you don't want to let any pesky facts get in the way of fear-mongering."

  Maddy and Daniel returned from their corner, without actually having disappeared into one of the mysterious back rooms, where I assumed all kinds of debauchery took place.

  Ben was angry, and I had a feeling I wasn't going to talk my way out of this one. Nor did I want to, really. I wasn't exactly alone in thinking this whole thing was more than little bit weird.

  "Oh my God. Dan. Look." Ben jerked his head towards the front of the room. "Three o' clock. Who let him back in here?"

  I followed his gaze, spotting a tall, ruddy-faced, lanky man in a white suit. He had a stringy brown ponytail hanging down his back, and an ill-fitting fedora perched on his head. Judging by his hand gestures, that very hat was the main substance of whatever argument he was having with the bouncer.

  Finally, he handed it over, stalking into the room in a huff.

  "Oh Jesus," Daniel muttered. "With the hat, again."

  "The dress code is very clear," Ben explained, glancing at Maddy and me. "No hats. He's been fighting that since day one. He finally got himself banned a couple years back when he made a stink about some other meaningless bullshit, but apparently somebody decided it was a good idea to let him back in."

  "Danny!" Fedora guy bellowed, coming over to clap both men on the shoulder. "Benji! I haven't seen you in ages."

  He turned to both of us, and the men sidled closer, as if on cue. Daniel's arm wrapped around Maddy's waist, slowly pulling her out of fedora guy's tractor beam.

  "Milady," he said, offering me his hand. I shook it, gingerly, which seemed to put him off. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Master Jordan."

  "Jordan," said Ben, firmly. "You don't have to call him Master if you're not his sub."

  Jordan's lip twisted into a sneer. "Since when do you make the rules, Benji?"

  "I'm just explaining the etiquette," he said, calmly. "It's her first time."

  "She under your protection?" His eyes had a hungry glint to them, and I didn't like them at all. His attitude and his bearing stood out like a sore thumb among all these people, subtle and classy and respectful, in spite of (or perhaps because of) the setting. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the whole scene was so new to me, and I didn't want to charge in here like a bull in a china shop and offend everybody.

  I mean, not unless he gave me a really good reason.

  "Yes," said Ben, stiffly. "But she's just testing out the waters."

  "Well, you'd better snap her up quick," he half-smiled, half-sneered. "She's going to be very popular around here."

  Ben's lips thinned. "Thank you for the advice," he said.

  "I mean, she's got it all." Jordan's eyes slid over my body, and I shivered. "But especially those breeding hips."

  My mouth falling open, I took half a second to try and formulate my nuclear-level fuck off response before I saw the fire flash in Ben's eyes - and his body lunge forward, his fist connecting with Jordan's swollen face.

  Crack.

  Jordan let out the most undignified scream imaginable, pitching forward with both hands clutching his injury. Two huge men in suits immediately descended on us from God knows where, creating a physical barrier between Ben and Jordan. Moments later, a very important-looking woman in a sleek pantsuit appeared. Her flint-like eyes darted around the room, before she made a beeline for Ben.

  Maddy and Daniel were still standing, frozen, on the
sidelines. Maddy's hand was halfway covering her mouth, and Daniel had a darkly satisfied smile on his face when as he watched Jordan disappear through the doors of the club.

  "He never should have been let back in here," the woman in the pantsuit said, touching Ben's arm. "Is your hand all right, Mr. Chase?"

  "Yes, thanks. I aimed for soft tissue, mostly." He managed a slightly shaken smile. "I shouldn't have gotten so carried away."

  "Please, don't apologize," she said. Belatedly, I realized she must be the manager. "I'm sure it was justified. It's pretty clear at this point that his actual fetish is harassing women, and he's not even smart enough to avoid the ones who came with someone who's got a killer left hook." She smiled at me. "Or who might have a killer left hook themselves, given the opportunity. Welcome to the Silo, miss. I'm very sorry about this incident, but please don't let it color your opinion of the place. My name is Lucy, I'm the manager here. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

  "Thank you." I wasn't sure what else to say. I was still reeling from the suddenness of it, and all I wanted to do was sit down in a quiet corner and try to figure out what it all meant.

  "Come on," said Ben, as if he could read my mind. "Sit down. I'll get you a drink."

  "No thanks," I said, softly. "I just need to breathe for a minute."

  "Okay." He sat down nearby, but not too close. "I'm just going to stay here, unless you want me to go.

  "That's fine," I said, glancing at him. "Thank you."

  "I should've kept him away from you," Ben said, shaking his head. "There's no particular honor in the fact that it escalated to violence."

  I smiled. "All the same, it was pretty impressive."

  "Yeah?" Some of the color was coming back into his face. "You think so?"

  "Absolutely. You could probably have your pick of these women tonight."

  He glanced around, following my line of sight. "Any woman in the room?"

  "Sure," I said. "I mean, word's going to spread fast, even if they didn't see it."

  "Any woman?" He smiled at me, and I finally caught his meaning.

  I cleared my throat. "That's not what I meant."

  "I know," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you realized what you said."

  "I seldom do, until it's too late," I admitted. "Listen, I still feel really bad about that whole...mental illness thing. I shouldn't have said it. It was dumb. I'm just some naive girl trying to understand shit that's beyond me."

  "You're not naive," he said. "And you already understand a lot more than most people do."

  On impulse, I reached out and grasped his hand. He was a little puzzled, for a moment, then he smiled.

  "Seeing as we're a couple and all, I said, softly, scooting closer. "We should probably look like one."

  "Right." He stroked my hand, absently, with his thumb. "Maybe we should put on a little bit of a show."

  Guiding me to my feet, he laid his hands on my waist and turned me to face him.

  "I think I should kiss you now," he said.

  "I think you should, too." My breath started to quicken.

  "Good," he murmured, his hand stroking the side of my face. He leaned in and kissed me, gently at first, and then I felt the tip of his tongue nudging against my lips. Asking for permission. They parted, without any conscious decision on my part, welcoming him in. Warm and soft, but demanding, he utterly possessed me in less than a moment. His hand curled around the back of my neck, gentling me. Steadying me. Instinctively, I pressed my body tighter against his, letting us melt together in the midst of the crowd.

  I swayed against him, but he held me steady.

  When he finally broke away, his eyes looked dark and heavy. His body's reaction to the kiss was unmistakable. I wondered if I said the right thing, would he take me into one of those back rooms and teach me exactly how much fun this could be.

  He gave me one last look of pure longing, and then broke away. He adjusted his jacket and took a deep breath.

  I asked a question to break the silence. "What does that mean? Being under your protection?"

  He made a slight face. "I only said 'yes' because I thought it would make him go away. Some people take it seriously, or basically just use it to mean mentoring, but I've never liked it. Just because someone's entering the space as a woman, or as a potential submissive, doesn't mean they should need a Dom's protection."

  The words made sense, but the idea of him...protecting me, whatever that actually meant, made me shiver a little. In a good way.

  "It does sound a little medieval," I admitted. "But if it keeps people like Master Jordan at bay, you can tell anybody anything you want."

  I wondered if I'd live to regret saying that.

  The irony didn't escape me, either - the guy who was basically into 1950s roleplay thinking that something was condescending towards women. Ben was a lot more complicated than he seemed at first glance.

  Then again, so was Maddy. So was Daniel. So was all of this.

  If I managed to get through the next few years with my sanity intact, it would be a miracle.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jenna

  I just couldn't forget that kiss.

  Ben was haunting my dreams even more than usual, now. And even though I'd fulfilled at least part of my end of the bargain, I hadn't even started thinking about how to get my reel ready for him to give to Spencer Holloway. I knew it was something I needed to put together, sooner rather than later, but I'd been so caught up in everything that I barely had time to think about it.

  The next morning, I didn't have anything on my schedule, so I started by searching for demo reel production companies and briefly snorting coffee out of my nose when I saw the cost. I could afford it, but not comfortably - I didn't like relying on Ben for anything, just in case something imploded, so I wanted to have plenty of savings stocked up. I had to be free to walk away at any time. Even with my generous nanny's salary, a professional demo reel from a well-reviewed company was going to take a chunk. And after I was done with my ridiculous New York City rent, utilities, and meager grocery bill, I just wasn't comfortable with the projected result.

  I decided to give research a break.

  A little while later, I found myself absorbed in a completely different kind of research.

  Still, my brain was struggling to accept everything that Ben was. Everything that he wanted. As much as the newness excited me, my dreams taking on a darker edge with every passing night, I still couldn't quite accept that this was just another version of normal. How could it be? People were supposed to treat each other as equals. If someone truly wanted to be inferior, there had to be something a little bit warped in their brain. Didn't there?

  All the words, all the complicated explanations and philosophizing, were starting to hurt my brain. So I did something I hadn't really done before - not on purpose, anyway.

  I started looking at the pictures.

  At first, I found a lot that made me cringe. Women who looked sad and downtrodden, with strange implements on their bodies and ugly words written on their skin. There was lots of overexposed amateur photography, and plenty of hardcore porn with ball gags and tears.

  I could never be that person. No matter how open-minded I became, I could never quite look at this and see the beauty in it. Whatever it was Ben saw, I was sure it would always elude me.

  Suddenly, I saw something different.

  There were other pictures out there, more artistic, more carefully done. I clicked through one of the image search results and found a whole blog devoted to "the art of BDSM."

  Of course there were professional photographers who did this sort of thing. I knew about Mapplethorpe. But I hadn't realized how popular it was, how many hundreds of thousands of pictures were out there that evoked something the blunter stuff completely missed.

  I scrolled and scrolled, until I saw something that made me stop dead in my tracks.

  There was a man in a suit, fully dressed, but barefoot, sitting
in a comfortable armchair with his feet planted in a wide, authoritative stance. But the focal point of the image was the naked woman curled up in his lap. His arms surrounded her, just holding her in this quiet moment. Whatever had happened to get them here, it didn't really matter. This moment was just for them. So calm. So peaceful.

  My breath caught in my throat, my heart beating faster as I stared at the picture. Despite her nakedness, it wasn't blatantly sexual; strictly speaking, the staging was almost platonic, but it was still the most erotic thing I'd ever seen in my life. It was like I could feel his care, his devotion, radiating from the image. His confidence. How much she'd pleased him, just by being there. Submitting to him. It was achingly beautiful.

  All the reading I had done, all the frowning, confused research, and I'd somehow missed the most important thing. The crucial truth at the heart of it. The reason why.

  Like a lot of people, I'd assumed all the roleplay and the posturing and the implements were ways of keeping distance. I'd seen that theory put forward plenty of times, and I'd never had a reason to disagree with it. But the intimacy of the moment captured in this picture told a very different story.

  Finally, I managed to tear my eyes away. Some of the pictures had little stories underneath them, and I started to read, letting the words sink in deeper than before.

  There was a common thread in all of them. The Dom was so attentive, so focused - but never on his own pleasure. Only on hers. I'd been told, I'd tried to understand, but until now, I didn't. I couldn't have, until I was ready.

  I couldn't remember anyone ever trying to arouse me. Anyone ever deliberately touching me, in a way that was anything other than grasping and taking. I sat there curled up in my chair and I remembered the first time a boy touched me inside. I was a junior in high school. His fingers were rough and bruising, inelegantly demanding. He said he was trying to "get me ready" and I didn't understand what that meant. Was I supposed to be enjoying it? What was wrong with me? Was I broken somehow?

  When I got a little older, got into college, I ended up meeting the man who was "the best I ever had." That was the title I'd assigned to him, anyway. But now I could remember him - more skilled than a high school boy, but still impatient. Still clumsy. Unhappy with my response and always coaxing me, pushing me, wanting more than I could give him. I started faking it more often than not, so I wouldn't feel like such an inconvenience.