“Oh! That’s awful!”
She shrugged sadly. “It was completely out of the blue. We had no idea there was even a problem. He never liked to go to doctors. He was strong and in shape, but apparently his heart wasn’t.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Lucia wiped a single tear and then smiled, shaking her head. “We had twenty good years together, me and mi esposo. I thought we’d have another fifty, but then, you never expect something like that. Miguel was fifty when he died—ten years older than me.
“It’s been nearly three years now. Anthony was a huge support during all the craziness after. He helped me sell Miguel’s business and invest the proceeds. Miguel had a life insurance policy too, so I never have to worry about money, and I can help my family.” This time her smile was brighter. “Most importantly, he let me join The Enclave anyway, even without my Master. He understood that in order to heal, I needed the comfort and peace of submission and sensual slavery. It keeps me grounded and happy.” A solemn but radiant serenity suffused Lucia’s expression, though there was still a touch of sorrow in her eyes.
“And it keeps you near Master Anthony,” Jaime murmured, shocked at her own nerve in saying it, but certain she was right.
Lucia glanced sharply at her, but then chuckled, surrender in the sound. “It’s that obvious, huh? And here I thought I was the master of discretion.”
“He loves you, too,” Jaime said. “I saw it in his eyes, Lucia.”
“No.” Lucia shook her head, her arms wrapping protectively around her body. “He sees me as Miguel’s submissive. Miguel’s widow. I’m not sure he can get past that. And he’s got issues with age. Says I’m young enough to be his daughter.”
“He needs to get over it,” snapped Jaime, and then she clapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks warming. “I’m sorry. I’m being disrespectful. I know this is none of my business anyway.”
“You’re right.” Lucia grinned. “It’s none of your business. Just like the fact that you have a major crush on Master Mark is none of my business, but there you are.”
“Oh my god.” Jaime brought her hand once more to her mouth as she glanced quickly around the dungeon. Ashley and Katie had disappeared, but Danielle still lingered nearby. “Does everyone know that, too?” she asked worriedly.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lucia shrugged. “I think you’re fairly discreet, really. But I see it in your eyes when you look at him. And the way your voice kind of softens when you talk about him.”
Jaime shook her head, embarrassed to be so transparent. “It’s dumb, right? I barely know him. I mean, I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like I do know him. He seems so familiar to me. Like we knew each other in a past life or something.”
“Well, he is pretty famous. He wrote all their best stuff, you know. He’s a real poet and it might make you think you know the guy, but it’s just one part of who he is. We think we know people because of their music, but you really don’t know the man behind the musician.”
“What?” Jaime wrinkled her nose in confusion.
Lucia, unaware Jaime had no clue what she was saying, continued, “Think how his fans would freak out if they knew the lead singer of Planck Time was also Master Mark of The Enclave, a confirmed sexual sadist who does all sorts of perverted things to willing, eager slave girls?”
“Wait, what?” Jaime struggled to process and make sense of what Lucia was saying. “What are you talking about? That grunge band that broke up a while back?” A vision of three young guys in dreadlocks and beards flashed into her mind. She’d liked the band, though she didn’t own any of their stuff. They had a dark, intense sound, kind of like that 80’s band, Nirvana. She cast back in her mind, recalling the specifics. The lead singer was Mark something. Mark Wheeler…
“Holy shit!” Jaime blurted, understanding finally fully dawning. She realized Danielle was now staring at her, and she lowered her voice. “Master Mark is Mark Wheeler? But he looks so different!”
“Amazing what a pair of scissors and a good razor can do.” Lucia laughed. “Ashley used to have hair down to her waist when she got here. You wouldn’t have recognized her, either, trust me. And Master Mark keeps a very low profile regarding the band. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“You know,” Jaime said, “I’ve heard him a few times playing his guitar out on the veranda in the mornings. He sounded really good, but I just never connected him…” She trailed off, thinking how weird it was she’d been living with and submitting to a famous rock star for the past ten days, and nobody had even said a word. She vaguely recalled some scandal involving drugs, one of the band members dying of an overdose. Poor Master Mark! “This must be like a safe haven for him,” she mused aloud. “A place to recover.”
“It is, I’m sure.” Lucia nodded. “When Anthony met him he was holed up in a house in Charlotte, living pretty much like a recluse. He came out at night to hang out at some of the private BDSM clubs, and that’s where they met. The Enclave has given Master Mark the freedom and the privacy to really explore his dominant impulses and his core needs without the spotlight of the media or anything else distracting him. He’s only been here a little over two months.”
Jaime tried to process the mountain of information being thrown her way. “Wait, so he’s not a permanent resident here at The Enclave?”
Lucia shrugged. “He doesn’t have an ownership share the way the other Masters and Mistresses do, so yeah, I guess he’s not really permanent at this point, though I do know they really like him and want him to stay. So if he decides to make it permanent, they’ll work that out, I guess.”
Jaime was silent as she pondered this. As her two-week period drew to a close, she knew she would be faced with making a decision, assuming she was offered the chance. She realized she’d been assuming—even counting on—Master Mark as part of that equation.
As if reading her mind, Lucia said quietly, “I didn’t come here for Anthony, Jaime. You can’t come here for Mark.”
Guiltily, Jaime started to protest. “I wasn’t—”
Lucia cut her off with a wave of her hand. “I’m not saying you are. I’m just advising you from the heart, because I like you, and I don’t want to see you do something stupid. This place isn’t about finding a lover or a partner. That does sometimes happen, though most of the couples here were already together when they arrived. But if you sign on at The Enclave as a staff slave, you’re making a commitment and promise to serve all the Masters and Mistresses to the very best of your ability, every second of every day. Someone might claim you, with your express permission of course, but that doesn’t mean they are your lover, and you need to be very clear about that, Jaime. The Enclave is unique, and we subscribe to a lifestyle that suits only a very few. If they offer you the chance to become a member, you had better think long and hard about your decision. If you join The Enclave, it’s because you want what we offer here, and because you need to serve. End of story. No Master/husband/boyfriend/lover should enter that equation. You got it, chica?”
Jaime swallowed hard and looked away. Something tore in her heart, but she knew Lucia was right. “Yeah,” she said glumly, aware Danielle was now openly eavesdropping on their conversation. “I got it.”
Chapter 14
Jaime turned slowly on her stiletto heels as she admired the room. She set down her bucket and supplies, surveying the space as she decided what to tackle first. She was charged with cleaning all surfaces in the dungeon and making all the gear and equipment shine. As always, just looking at the sexy bondage and torture gear was enough to get her juices flowing. She’d been honored by the cleaning assignment, given the special event to take place at the dungeon that evening.
She surveyed the different stations, letting her mind linger over the bondage table where Master Mark had taken her to the edge with the intense knife play. She had been so scared at the start of the scene, the thought of those sharp, terrifying blades pricking her skin, slicing her flesh, drawing the hot gush of h
er blood… Yet, as it had a hundred times in the days since that powerful experience, Jaime’s mind drifted back to the session itself, and to the amazing man who had so thoroughly engaged every fiber of her being—mental, physical and spiritual—with that intense and incredibly mind-blowing scene.
Ever since her talk with Lucia after yesterday’s Sadie Hawkins experience, Jaime had been mulling over and trying to distill her feelings for the handsome, sexy Master Mark. While her newfound knowledge of his status as a rock star was intriguing, she could honestly say her awareness of his fame didn’t really impact her feelings for him one way or the other. She was curious about his experiences as a musician and hoped someday they might be close enough where she could talk to him about it. She would love to hear him sing a song just for her. All that, at least for now, was a distant dream.
She thought about Lucia and Master Anthony, about how obvious it seemed to Jaime that the two of them would be a perfect couple, but then, nothing was ever as simple or clear as it might seem from the outside. She recognized that, though she felt a deep and intense attraction to Master Mark, at least some of that had to do with his mastery as a Dom. And she further understood that just because someone was fabulous in a scene and could take you to spiritual and sensual places you never dreamed of, that didn’t mean he was destined to be a partner in your life.
She had to laugh at the direction of her thoughts. Lucia was right. Of course she was! If and when Jaime was faced with the decision of joining The Enclave, she would leave Mark solidly out of the equation.
She brushed her palms together in a gesture that meant she was washing her hands of the whole thing and picked up a fresh rag, ready to tackle her assignment. She would start with the dusting, and then move on to oiling the leather gear, polishing the chrome and the mirrors, and cleaning the counters and sink. Lastly, she would sweep and mop the floor. She had two hours for the task, and she would use every second to make the place sparkle. Energized, she set to work.
~*~
“We’re delighted to have you here with us for a few days, Stefan,” Anthony said. “I’m sure I speak for us all when I say I’m excited to see your branding techniques firsthand.” Stefan Janssen, a friend of Anthony’s, had just arrived from Amsterdam for a brief visit, his reputation as a branding expert preceding him.
Anthony looked down the table to Mason. “Are you and slave Ashley still planning on participating in an actual branding?”
Master Mason nodded enthusiastically. “You bet your ass. Or should I say, Ashley’s ass.”
There was laughter around the table. Mark quietly studied the diminutive, tattooed girl to Mason’s right. She had her eyes on her plate, but a small, secret smile played over her lips. She was one of the most self-contained submissives he’d ever met. Her self-control and high pain tolerance were very impressive.
“What’s your take on the subject, Mark? Have you had any direct experience with branding?” Master Anthony asked.
Mark shook his head. “Tonight will be a first for me.”
“You are in for a treat,” Stefan said eagerly. His accent was barely discernable, notable primarily because of his perfect diction. “As with so much in the scene, it’s as much a matter of what is in the head as it is of the body. It’s about the anticipation, the fear and the desire, even more than the thrill of burning one’s permanent mark into the flesh of another.”
Jaime, who sat to Mark’s immediate right, drew in a small but audible breath. Mark glanced over at her. “Branding is not your cup of tea, hmm?”
She looked back at him with wide eyes. Her long, wavy dark hair was down tonight, tendrils curling prettily around her cheeks and falling softly over her shoulders. She, unlike Ashley, wore her emotions on her face, and he could see the fear there. “No, Sir.”
“So, if I, as your Master, wanted to brand you, to mark you as mine in that way, you would refuse me?” he teased.
Color seeped into Jaime’s cheeks, her mouth falling open. “Oh! No, Sir. I mean, yes. I mean, I wouldn’t want to disobey but—”
He was immediately contrite that he’d put the trainee in an awkward position with his teasing. “Hey, I’m just kidding. And I’m with you.” He flashed a grin. “Branding is not my cup of tea, either.” She looked so relieved it was almost comical.
“Permission to speak, Sir?” Danielle, who sat to Mark’s left, lightly touched his arm.
He turned toward her. “Yes, slave Danielle?”
“I believe a properly trained slave should always submit to her Master’s wishes,” Danielle said with a lift of her chin. “If you wished me to be branded, Sir, then that is what would please me.”
“I appreciate that, Danielle,” Mark replied. Something in the girl’s tone and countenance reminded him of a particularly smug teacher’s pet he’d known in middle school, but he pushed the ungallant thought away. “While I recognize that branding can be a valid and powerful expression of ownership and submission, I would never ask my sub to alter herself in such a permanent way for me, unless it was something we both agreed was right for us.”
Danielle lowered her thick fringe of lashes and echoed softly, “Us. Yes, Sir. Thank you for teaching me. I understand.” Mark had the momentarily unpleasant feeling Danielle had deliberately misunderstood him, but he decided to let it go.
When dinner was cleared, dessert and coffee on the table, Stefan turned to Anthony. “I would like to take a look at the facilities and get set up before the demonstration. Is that possible?”
“Of course.” Anthony looked to Lawrence. “Would you accompany Stefan?”
Lawrence pushed back his chair, dropping his napkin to his plate. “Of course. Slave Jaime,” he said, looking over Danielle’s and Mark’s heads. “I haven’t had a chance to inspect your handiwork. You will come with us.”
“Yes, Sir.” Jaime pushed back her chair and stood. Her bare breast, round and soft, brushed Mark’s shoulder as she stood, sending a jolt directly to his cock. He was glad his napkin hid his sudden arousal, and he kept his eyes down as she moved away.
~*~
Jaime followed the men out of the dining room, through the main living area and along the wide hallway to the dungeon. Master Stefan carried a large gear bag over his shoulder. Jaime tried to imagine what must be inside—branding irons, a blowtorch to heat the metal designs that would be burned into the flesh, soothing balms to treat the wound that would eventually heal into a symbol of servitude and devotion.
She shivered slightly as she imagined the searing pain of the white-hot brand, and the sizzling stench of burning flesh. Not for me. No way, no how. But then another thought slipped in right behind the first. Never say never, and she knew this was true. If someone had told her before Master Anthony’s astounding proposal back at the Garden only a few weeks ago that Jaime would willingly subject herself to complete sexual, submissive servitude at the hands of a group of dominant strangers, she would have dismissed the idea as completely absurd—utterly impossible!
Yet since she’d been at The Enclave, her life had slowed from a frenzy of busywork, struggling to make ends meet and always looking ahead and ahead and ahead, never living for the moment, never content. For the first time in her life, she was living each day purely on its terms, taking in each experience and letting it lift and carry her, taking her where she needed to go.
They reached the double doors to the main dungeon. “Jaime is in training,” Master Lawrence said to Master Stefan as he pulled open the doors. “She has prepared the dungeon for tonight’s demonstration.” They stepped inside, Jaime just behind them, her heart executing a small loop-de-loop in her chest.
She had learned firsthand that Master Lawrence was an exacting man. She had done a tiptop job cleaning the dungeon, but if Master Lawrence was determined to find fault with her work, she knew he could find something to criticize.
“What a marvelous space,” Master Stefan said as he moved into the room. He stumbled forward suddenly, his hands thrust out as he s
truggled to keep his balance. “Wat de hel…” he cried. Fortunately, he regained his footing and didn’t fall.
Master Lawrence rushed forward and then stopped suddenly. “Slave Jaime! What is this on the floor?” His tone was angry and Jaime’s heart clutched in her throat.
“What is it, Sir?” She stepped forward.
He pointed to the floor. There was a puddle of what looked like floor wax directly in front of the door. Jaime stared at it uncomprehendingly. “Unacceptable,” Master Lawrence barked. She started to reply, to explain there was no way she’d left that there, but he cut her off. “Silence. Don’t move.”
He turned away from her where she stood frozen to the spot, confusion and horror short-circuiting her brain. “Stefan, are you all right?” he asked solicitously, moving toward the older man.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” Master Stefan said quickly.
“I’m so sorry,” Master Lawrence said. “I should have inspected the dungeon before bringing you here, but the day got away from me. This trainee was permitted to do this task unsupervised”—he flashed Jaime a venomous look—“and evidently failed to finish the job.”
Jaime opened her mouth once more to protest, but then closed it, recalling his order that she stay silent.
“Oh dear,” Master Stefan said, gesturing toward one of the counters. “A bit of a mess here, I’m afraid.”
Jaime stared in mute horror. The dildos, cuffs, gags and other paraphernalia she’d meticulously dusted and neatly arranged were in a jumbled pile on one end of the counter, some of them in a heap on the floor beside it, as if someone had used their arm in a sweeping gesture along the surface.
Dread moved with an icy finger along her spine. Someone had done this—someone had deliberately made a mess of all her hard work. Her gaze shifted, her eye caught by something white beside one of the St. Andrew crosses. There sat a bucket, a wet rag hanging over its side, another puddle of soapy water on the floor beside it. A dildo was perched on the seat of one of the bondage chairs, a tube of lubricant beside it, as if someone had masturbated there and forgotten to clean up.
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