By: Tara Crescent

“Can I see the playroom now?” It would help to prepare myself mentally. I didn’t want to start a session with Alexander until I’d accustomed myself to the room. But if I told him that, I knew he’d put me on a plane back to Cleveland. So far, I hadn’t learned too much about Alexander, but I suspected that he wasn’t going to have a session with me until it was clear to him that I wanted to. I gave him a seductive look through my eyelashes. “Anticipation is good for the soul, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” I wasn’t sure if I’d fooled him. He could read me entirely too well for my own good. “Okay, if you are done with lunch, come on.”

I would have liked another piece of that baguette, but I couldn’t allow myself the treat. I needed to work out. I needed to train as well but that weren’t possible when I was Alexander’s submissive. Jenny Fullerton from Cleveland would not have been seeking a boxing gym. She’d be lifting pretty ten-pound weights. That was the cover story.

Besides, I’d lost so much weight to achieve the wispy figure that was Alexander’s preferred female form that I’d probably get my ass handed to me in the gym.

I pushed those thoughts to the background again, where they buzzed like bees in a box. “Let’s go,” I responded. I leaned up and kissed him, swearing to myself that it was only to allay his suspicions. Not because I yearned to.

Alexander. His lips on mine. His hand around my hips, pulling me into his body. The way his fingers entwined themselves around my hair, pulling the strands until a delicious pain sparkled all over my scalp and I moaned into his mouth. It made no sense at all, but the chemistry could not be denied.

“Ah, Jenny,” he groaned, pulling away. “You are making me break each and every one of my rules.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that; I didn’t want to ask. I just wanted to kiss him, to feel his cock in my needy pussy. I wanted his fingers pinching at my nipples and I was ready for the flogger’s kisses on my naked back. I wanted to submit to Alexander.

“Playroom?” My voice was breathless with longing.

He smiled. His eyes were clouded with desire. “Playroom.”


Did I expect my heart to beat like a trapped butterfly might beat its wings against its prison? Did I expect to feel the signs of an oncoming panic attack? Was my skin supposed to get cold and clammy? Should I have instructed myself to take deep breaths and focus on my mission?

But my mind was fuzzy with arousal and my body wanted to test itself. I was ready to feel everything that Alexander would put me through. If there was fear, it was thickly overlaid by layers and layers of lust and want and need. It was buried behind a slick cunt and rock hard nipples.

I looked around with undisguised curiosity. The racks where a submissive might be restrained. The assortment of whips and floggers hanging on the wall. The metal chains that hung from the ceiling. The gleaming wooden X of a St. Andrews Cross.

The only thing that made me shiver was a row of canes. There wasn’t enough lust in the world to bury that particular memory.

He noticed. “You have caning scars on the back of your thighs,” he said quietly. “I won’t use them unless you want me to. I’ve no desire to trigger a painful memory.”

God, he was so perfect. And yet, he was dating Sylvia, who had been in the room the night those scars were caused.

“Come here.” It was an order.

I obeyed. In this space, obedience came automatically.

His hands wound through my hair, tilting my head back. “Listen to me, Jenny.” His voice was firm. But sincerity shone out of his eyes. “I don’t know what kind of hell your previous Dominant put you through. But I promise you, I don’t cause pain without giving pleasure. I will give you what you crave. Nothing more. The idea of you cowering in fear makes me sick to my stomach. Everything in me, every bit of who I am is urging me to send you away. You don’t need a Dominant. You need a therapist to help you heal.”

I had a mission. Kill Dylan in Hanoi. That was my therapy. The hours upon hours of my training. The pain felt by my body as I was repeatedly thrown on a gym mat until I started to learn to inflict pain of my own. Broken legs. Broken wrists. Aching, burning muscles from flat-out running. The prickling feeling of unease over my entire body as I practised going days without sleep. Hunger. Thirst. Pain. Agony.

Top Books