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real
handcuffs on her, she’d kill me the minute she was free.”
     “Damned right
she would.” Jason stretched out on his bed and opened the book.
    “But there are women
who like this?”
    “Yeah, there
are.”
    “Huh.” Jeff
pointed the remote at the television. “Whatever floats your boat, bro.”
    Yeah. He
had a pretty good idea what floated his boat, now. Reading the first chapter of
the book he’d confiscated from his brother, he realized there was a whole
protocol to this kind of sexual encounter he knew nothing about. He tuned out
the sit-com rerun Jeff had settled on and read. He wanted to be up to speed the
next time he went to the Dungeon. Knowledge was power, and power was something
he craved.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
    She wasn’t going
to another munch. Three times was supposed to be the charm—only it hadn’t been,
so why would she think four would be any better.
    Carrie deleted
the email, sighing at her dismal mood. She opened the next email, sighing once
more. Work. That, at least, was a place she felt comfortable, secure in her
ability, confident of her talent and worth. It had taken years, but her
reputation as an investigative reporter was rock-solid, providing her a nice
income and her pick of stories. She scanned the message, noted the possible
story, then moved the email to the folder marked “ideas,” and moved on to the
next email.
    She’d nearly made
her way through her inbox when her cell phone rang. She found it across the
room, buried beneath a magazine. Working mostly from home had its disadvantages
sometimes. One glace at the caller ID and she smiled.
    “Hi, Brooke.
What’s up?”
    “Can you meet me
for lunch?”
    Hallelujah! Lunch with her best friend was just what she needed—time away from the
computer, and better yet, time with someone who understood her personal
dilemma. Her southern socialite mother constantly asked if she had a boyfriend
and had made it clear she didn’t understand why her beautiful, talented,
successful daughter didn’t have a string of men vying for her attention. The
truth was she’d turned down dates with dozens of men over the last few years,
and not for any reason she was willing to share with her mother. She played the
fictional conversation over in her mind.
    “What happened
to (insert name here)? He was such a nice young man.”
    “Oh, you know,
Mom,” She would say, dismissing (insert name here) with a wave of her hand. “He
didn’t want to spank me.”
    Yeah, that would
go over well. She’d imagined a million ways to tell her mother that not just
any man would do—especially not some country-club-going, golf-club-toting,
pastel-wearing, pasty skin momma’s boy. At sixteen, she had compiled a list of
qualities she wanted—no, make that— required , in a man, and in the decade
since, she’d seen very few who came close to meeting those specifications.
    Brooke’s Dom,
was one of them.
    She envied
Brooke. The owner of a successful specialty cake bakery, she spent her days
making decisions and shouldering responsibility. She was good at what she did,
and the success of her business was a testament to her ability. She didn’t envy
her friend’s workload. It was the way Brooke spent her nights that turned
Carrie green.
    She spent her
evenings in subservience to her master. The man had it going on, and the few
times he’d invited her to join them, she had obeyed without hesitation. He was
thoughtful and considerate, and very much in control. Just remembering his
voice commanding her made her knees weak. Being mastered by him had been a
pleasure, and she sincerely hoped another session was the reason for the lunch
invitation. Her panties grew damp at the prospect.
    Happier than she’d
been in weeks, she powered down her computer and set out for her lunch date.
    Thirty minutes
later, she entered the sandwich shop and spotted her friend, who waved to her
from a booth in the back. Brooke was one of those rare creatures,