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He’d left Lorraine in the bedroom while she finished preparing, per the instructions. He waited in the den, dressed and pacing while mentally rebelling and anticipating the night. Despite his anger and resentment over the last days he’d begun to admit to himself that he wanted to show Lorraine and the agents that he was good enough to earn the approval of The Guild. He still bristled at their involvement, and his ego was still bruised by what he saw as Lorraine’s betrayal in reporting him. But he was more wounded by the things she’d said to him when they had finally talked. There had been two days of hostile silence and resentment interspersed with accusation and regret. But she’d opened up when he’d come home on Thursday with the bag from the adult store. He’d been belligerent when she had said that he didn’t do it right. He’d protested, denied and defended. It had been her idea, and she was still into it, but not the way he’d done it. And as he waited in the den he’d recalled their conversation. “It just wasn’t very good,” she’d explained, then she’d shaken her head. “No, that’s not true.” She’d reached to his lap, taken his hands and held them. “You. You weren’t very good.” He’d felt the weight settle onto his chest at her words. “Oh, Lucas, I was so looking forward to it!” She’d explained how she had done so much research, described her anticipation, explained how it was supposed to be. And her hurt and disappointment when he had fallen so short. He’d been crude and rough and coarse instead of stylish and firm and demanding. He’d defended himself, of course. He had done research of his own, did what he had learned. She’d gone on and on about what the Dom is supposed to feel for the sub, how the Dom is supposed to act. That he had treated her like a whore, as though she didn’t matter. “Worthless instead of priceless” was the phrase she used. “The Dom understands the sub’s desire,” she’d lectured him. “He allows the sub to express it, through submission to the Dom’s will. That’s how the stories are, that’s what they told me it should be like. That the Dom understands, makes the sub do things she wouldn’t do on her own, out of devotion. It’s not just restraint and suffering and shoving yourself into me.” He’d turned sarcastic and nasty, sniping that she was making this whole thing out to be something it was not, and that she didn’t know what she was talking about. “You hurt me!” She’d told him then that her tits were so sore she couldn’t sleep. Then, when she’d complained about her ass, he’d lost his shit, going on and on about spanking and Doms and what websites he’d visited and the videos he had watched. “And besides,” he’d smirked, “If you’re a sub, where do you get off telling your Dom how to act?” And her lip had quivered. And the tears had welled up in her eyes. “Honey, you beat me raw! I couldn’t even sit the next day! And my asshole? Fuck! I actually cried when I went to the bathroom! You were so… careless.” As she spoke his defiance withered and fell from him like an old worn-out bathrobe, discarded and useless. “You didn’t Dom me, you just treated me like shit. You used me.” She’d looked up at him, eyes brimming. “Instead of being your everything, you made me nothing.” And her face had told him, finally, how he had diminished himself in her eyes. That was the moment he had realized that he would go through with the visit, that he would audition for these, these…bozos. For Lorraine. For her opinion of him. The doorbell rang and he glanced at the clock. They were prompt, he had to give them that, at least. At the sound he stood, nervous and unsure, brushing himself off to answer the door and feeling slightly ridiculous in his dark suit. What was the point of getting all dressed up to have sex, he thought for the hundredth time. But their instructions had been explicit and Lorraine had been adamant about following them to the letter. He suffered another pang of guilt as he made his way through the living room to the door, remembering her confession, her tears, but as it had so often since then, his male pride welled up and rebelled. Had it really been so bad? I did it the way it supposed to be done. I was fabulous! How could she have been so let down by my performance? They’d both wanted it, and to hear her tell it, she still did. His face tightened and his back stiffened as he felt the now-familiar belligerence swelling up again as it had so many times since that office visit, and he struggled to control it. His ego insisted he knew what he was about, and that this whole…charade was a bizarre inconvenience, or worse, a money grab by local ‘officials’. But his feelings for Lorraine warred with his indignation, and they merged into a twisted manifestation. For her, he thought, standing straight and squaring his shoulders, for her I will show these assholes what Luke Slater is all about, that Luke Slater has his shit together and can properly Dom a woman! He stopped in the hallway, checking himself in the mirror. He had to admit he looked good in the suit. It was his best one, the grey so dark it was almost black. His hair was trimmed and styled, his white dress shirt opened at the collar. He glanced down for a last check of the polished black shoes and nodded with resignation. For her he would do this. To make her happy. Not because some thugs pressured him. Fucking push me around in my own office, he thought, the rebellion rising again. And coming to my house! In my fucking house! he railed silently. To show her, to show them! The doorbell rang several times rapidly, snapping him from his reflections. “Okay, okay, cool your jets,” he muttered as he closed the last few steps and reached for the door. Grabbing the knob he paused before turning it, taking a few deep breaths and stilling his inner protestation. Fucking impatient on top of pushy and nosy, he thought, and focused his thoughts on Lorraine, waiting patiently in the bedroom. He wondered what she was wearing and realized he had no idea. He shook his head in disbelief and turned the knob, forcing himself to smile. The door opened to reveal a pair of men dressed in business suits, complete with smart, stylish ties. They were tall, well groomed and imposing, filling the doorway. The first was dark-haired with a sharp, strong jaw, the second slightly taller, six-three at least, and was sandy-haired with a square head and a small scar crossing his left eyebrow. “Mr. Slater?” said the first of the two, stepping forward and extending a hand. Luke regarded it before easing his arm forward and shaking the offered grasp. The grip Şişli escort was powerful and soft at once, and he felt immediately intimidated. “I am Mr. Ratcliff, and this is my associate, Mr. Monroe,” the man intoned. Luke looked at him and saw a mild irritation in his otherwise blank expression. “I believe you are expecting us?” He released Luke’s hand and stood facing him. Luke realized he was waiting for an invitation inside, and felt suddenly embarrassed that they had had to ring more than once. “Yes, yes,” he mumbled, stepping aside and waving them in. The one named Monroe carried a small overnight bag, and from the look of it, a damned expensive one. He saw a look pass between them as they entered and felt… evaluated. Worse, he felt he’d been graded and had fallen short. He struggled to recover, closing the door behind the men. “Yes, of course, we were expecting you, sorry about the doorb–” “Is Lorraine here?” Mr. Ratcliff cut him off as if he hadn’t even spoke, not even turning in his direction. He instead scanned the room, seeming to take in the surroundings and making mental notes. “Uh, yes, she’s, uh-m, inside,” Luke replied, and hearing the tentative sound of his own voice, coughed and repeated himself, adding his business tone to his voice. “Yes, she’s in the bedroom, waiting.” In an attempt to regain his perceived control of the situation he used one of his business tricks. “And call me Luke,” he added, smiling his office smile. “What shall I call you?” He addressed the man’s back, as he still hadn’t turned, but the question got him a backwards glance. “You may call me Mr. Ratcliff.” “Oh,” he squeaked, feeling his effort backfire. “Mr. Monroe, check him, please,” Ratcliff instructed, and the taller gentleman placed the bag on the coffee table and turned to face him as Ratcliff continued. “Which way is the bedroom, Luke?” Luke grimaced inwardly at losing the advantage. He pointed at the doorway. “Through the hall, uh, third door on the right. She’s uh…” “Thank you,” Ratcliff cut him off again and turned to the hallway and disappeared from sight behind his large companion who stood with his palms outward as Luke moved to follow. “One second, please,” the man said, and his voice rolled softly through the room in a baritone so rich and melodious as to feel like thick fabric or liquid. Luke stopped in his tracks and the man stepped towards him, hands out, fingers splayed. The gesture did little to lessen the confident menace the man projected. Luke craned his neck trying to see down the hallway until Monroe filled his vision. He turned to face the man, feeling like he was in the guy’s shadow despite the well lit room. Monroe held his face impassive and expressionless. “Arms out, please,” he directed, and Luke felt himself obey. He received a thorough pat down as he wondered what the purpose was. Was he checking for weapons? Wires? Recording devices? The large gentleman patted down his legs, his pockets, his sides and arms, and Luke remembered the instructions. No watch, no wallet, no rings. Pockets empty. He was checking his compliance! Monroe’s face remained blank and he worked in silence until his hands rubbed up the outside of Luke’s suitjacket. Then he stopped, slipped a hand to the front and lifted the lapel, fingering the material with a gentle, studied caress. One corner of his mouth curled slightly as he opened the jacket and peered below the inside pocket. He released it with a nearly audible derisive snort and resumed his check. He examined his wrists and hands, he even checked his ears. Yeah, right, Luke thought, like I’d wear an earring! Finally he motioned for Luke to put his arms down, and the big man returned to the leather bag, unzipping a compartment. Luke started for the hallway but was stopped by a giant, gentle but immovable hand at his waist. “Not yet,” he said, bending over the bag, “he’ll call.” He stood then and Luke saw he held an iPad. “Sit,” he said, and Luke obediently dropped to the easy chair at his side. He watched as Mr. Monroe scrolled through several screens, poking the device deftly with a thick finger. “You did okay, so far,” he said, not looking up from the screen, “no sharps, no contraband, no prohibited materials. You should have worn a tie.” “The email said it was optional.” He glanced up from the screen to regard him and indulged him with a polite smile. “That was a test.” “But no one…” “And you’ll have to do something about the suit.” Luke felt a protest start, but it was overridden by a sense of insulting inferiority that cowed him. “Regular guys wear department store suits.” “This suit cost over six hundred dollars!” he sputtered. “Then you overpaid, Luke,” the other man advised bluntly. “I’m emailing a list of places where you can buy proper dress clothes, befitting a man of the stature you aspire to be,” he continued, then looked up and smiled that little half smile again. “Start setting some cash aside.” Luke began to protest but was cut off again. “Did you get everything on the list?” “Yes, yes, of course,” he defended, head spinning, still recovering from the criticism of his wardrobe. “Yes, I got everything I was supposed to get.” “And Lorraine?” “I don’t know, I guess. I think so.” He shrugged and arched his brows. “I mean, she had her stuff to get, I had mine. I assume she got hers.” Monroe stopped tapping and looked at him with dismay. “What? This was her idea, calling you spectacular folks!” he snapped resentfully. Mr. Monroe grimaced and held up a hand silently, signaling for calm. Luke sat back in his chair and petulantly sulked. Mr. Monroe tapped a few times on the screen, scrolled a bit, tapped more and then flipped the lid closed and placed the iPad on top of the bag. He glanced around the room at the rest of the chairs and frowned, then moved the bag from the coffee table to the sofa, tucking the iPad into a pouch on the side. Then he came back to stand in front of Luke and lowered himself to sit on the table, facing Luke. “Mr. Slater,” he began patiently in his soothing voice, “you understand what’s happening here tonight? I presume Terrence has explained the purpose of our visit?” “He said a lot of things,” Luke offered obstinately, “a lot of bullshit if you ask me.” There was a long pause, then he added, “He said you guys would come here.” He waited for the man to start talking but the damned hulk sat there like a statue. He blew out an exasperated sigh and continued. “Fine, he said there had been a violation, something about a Union Membership Card,” he spilled, “said that there might be a way out, some training, Sultangazi escort bayan or instruction or something like that.” He turned his head, gazing at nothing in the far corner of the room, unable to look the other man in the face, feeling like a schoolboy who hadn’t done his homework. “That’s correct, basically,” Mr. Monroe soothed in his cultured baritone. “You were reported to our organization for mis-practicing a delicate art, apparently without training or concern, Luke. That’s bad. You’re lucky we caught up to you in time, before more serious violations occurred, or caused a serious injury. We’re here tonight to make a proper evaluation, to see if there is something here to salvage, you see?” Fuck, Luke thought, he says it like he’s doing me a favor! Fucking insolent nosy bastard! What a self-righteous overbearing prick! “The instructions we sent were the first part of the evaluation, to see if you’ve got a feel for the Dom role, an innate sense of what’s to be done, you understand? Like the tie thing,” he added. “Not a serious issue, there, but it shows a lack of understanding of your role as Dom. You should look your best, be your best, for your sub. The sub relies on you for example as well as direction.” Despite his anger Luke grudgingly saw the sense in that, and against his wishes, mumbled an agreement. Like I have a choice, with these fucking uppity bastards sticking their noses in my business. “If you’ve followed our directions exactly, well then, that’s in your favor, right? But I have to say,” he intoned with a slight tone of warning, “that not making sure Lorraine did what she was supposed to do, that’s a bit more serious.” He inclined his head when Luke turned to him. “That could work against you.” Luke was suddenly taken by the thought that these men might not approve of him, and he grasped, to his great dismay, how much he wanted their approval, wanted a Union Card. And this hint of ‘working against him’ was more than a little troubling. “Understand, Luke,” Mr. Monroe continued, “being a true Dom, a licensed and approved Dom, that’s not just about telling your sub what to do in the bedroom. It’s not all tying her up and shoving your cock in her and beating her ass red. Those things, done correctly, are part of a much larger picture. You see,” he explained, leaning forward, his voice taking on an earnest intensity, “the Dom is not just in charge of the sub, but is responsible for the sub, for whatever they do. Care for it, help it and guide it to be a good sub, the best sub they can be for their Master. You understand?” Luke sat and blinked at him. “No,” he had to admit. Monroe cocked his head slightly “Look, you have a car?” “Of course.” “You like it. It’s a good car? Fancy and expensive?” “Sure. Mercedes C.” Monroe winced before continuing. “Good. Tell me, do you make it clean itself? Drive itself to the gas station and fill itself?” “Of course not.” He sneered the words. “Of course not. You take care of it, make sure it runs right, keep it clean, make sure nobody fucks with it. Because it’s yours, and you value it.” He looked at Luke with an expression that said he was supposed to glean something from the analogy. Luke blinked at him. “Yeah, so?” Mr. Monroe’s shoulders slumped slightly, then he sat up straight. “So, Mr. Slater, that’s how a Master feels about a sub. Something to be cared for, appreciated for the value and status it brings him.” He inclined his head, lifted an eyebrow, looking for the enlightenment. “Her obedience is your responsibility, not hers. You should have made sure that she was doing what she was supposed to do, guide her, direct her. Correct her if she requires it. Praise her when she does well. You understand?” Luke felt a concept forming in his head, but it sounded like responsibility to him, not fun. “What? I have to do everything?” Mr. Monroe rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. “No. Not do everything. Decide everything. The sub’s role is to please the Master. In every way the Master wishes. For the sub to fulfill their role, the Master has to make his wishes known, until the sub is properly trained and conditioned to anticipate and obey without question. So,” he said, standing and retrieving the iPad, “you should have made sure Lorraine was getting everything she was told, doing everything she was supposed to do. That was your role. It’s expected,” he added, flipping the cover. “It supposed to be as instinctive in you as the obedience and desire to please is in your sub.” He looked at the screen, scrolled, and his thumbs worked furiously over the device for several long, silent minutes. Finally he stopped and flipped the lid closed. “I’ll be honest with you, Luke,” he said, holding the iPad at his side. “You’re on pretty thin ice. It’s not looking good for you right now.” Luke rose, began to protest, but Mr. Monroe cut him off. “Easy. It’s not a lost cause, quite yet. But we’ll be looking for you to redeem yourself inside. Redeem myself? He thought desperately. Monroe glanced at his watch. “Should be any moment, now,” he said. “Are you ready?” “Ready for what?” But before Mr. Monroe could answer they heard Mr. Ratcliff calling from down the hall. “All right then, Luke. It’s time, eh?” he motioned with his hand for Luke to lead the way before lifting the bag from its resting place. Bewildered, Luke began walking down the hall to the bedroom, wondering what was in store, barely paying attention to the whispered advice from behind him. “Pay attention, concentrate, and do well,” came the hushed tones, “and you might just pull this off, with some remedial study for your qualifying certificate.” Luke was hoping for clarity when he opened the door, but he froze two steps into the room, eyes wide and mouth agape. Mr. Monroe had to nudge him through the doorway in order to enter. He stared at Lorraine who was standing next to the bed, wearing, Christ, wearing almost nothing! She was wearing some kind of lingerie that was so thin as to be functionally transparent, he could see her skin through it, all of it. Not that it mattered much, as it was very short, ending just below her waist, leaving her pussy exposed! Fuck, she’d shaved it! And she was in this room with a stranger! With it just… showing! There were slits in the top and her nipples were sticking out! And she had jewelry on them? He looked again. No, clamps! She had clamps on her nipples, with a chain connecting them, and another one leading to a collar at her neck! He stared, dumbfounded, as the two other men talked. “How was it?” Ratcliff asked, his voice as stern Escort Taksim and hard as highly polished wood, a glossy luxurious complement to the rich melodious baritone of Monroe. “You were right, again,” the sandy-haired giant answered, “no conceptual understanding, lack of innate aptitude.” They spoke as if he weren’t there, hearing it all as he gawked at his girlfriend. “Belligerent and argumentative, to boot. I went ahead and started the recommendations.” Ratcliff snorted. “Well, this part is likely a foregone conclusion then, but let’s see it through, shall we?” Luke missed Ratcliff’s smile. “She’s okay, then?” “Oh, she’ll be fine, you’ll see,” Ratcliff said assuredly. “She’s farther along than him, that’s for sure. Practically a natural. She’ll need training, and practice, of course, but for a newbie, she takes to it like a fish to water.” While the Business Agents discussed them, Luke was still working his eyes up Lorraine’s body and had reached her face. She wore a serene expression with a little fright in her eyes. He stared at her until she glanced his way. When their eyes met she smiled just a little and then lowered her head quickly. She stood there, quiet and demure. “Okay, then, Luke,” Mr. Monroe announced, and Luke saw Lorraine’s breath catch at the sound of his voice. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Luke turned away from his girlfriend to face the two men. See what I’ve got? he thought. What, he wants me to take out my cock? Is that part of the test? Do you need to have a certain size to be a Dom? “Go ahead then,” Mr. Monroe urged with pained impatience. “Dom her.” “What, right now?” “What’s the matter,” Ratcliff growled, “you need time to get in the mood?” “Mr. Slater,” Monroe explained, “you remember why we’re here. Please, let’s not delay, shall we?” He flipped open the iPad again and stepped away from the bedside. “Go ahead, please. And remember, this is important. Your chance at membership is on the line.” He inclined his chin towards Lorraine, arching his eyebrows. “Now, please.” Behind Mr. Monroe, Ratcliff rolled his eyes skyward. “Holy fuck, seriously?” he muttered. “We’re waiting, Luke. Please.” Feeling not a little intimidated and on display, Luke stepped towards Lorraine. “Jesus,” he heard from Ratcliff, “he walked to her!” “Give him a chance, Mr. Ratcliff,” Monroe advised softly. “Go ahead, Luke.” Standing in front of Lorraine now, he thought back to all the stories he’d read, the videos he watched on the websites. He tried to think of what to do, what they wanted him to do, what he needed to do to get their approval. “Lorraine,” he said, using what he felt was a commanding tone. “He used her name!” Ratcliff whispered none too softly. Luke winced and cursed himself. He should have known better. “Get on the bed, sub, on your knees.” The words sounded thin to his ears after the rich vibrancy and hardness of Ratcliff and Monroe, but to his delight Lorraine turned and climbed onto the bed onto all fours as he’d commanded. He instantly regretted it, as her ass and pussy were now completely exposed to the other men. Cursing himself silently he went to the side of the bed and opened the nightstand, withdrawing the riding crop he’d been instructed to buy. Well, not the exact one they’d said, that one was ridiculously expensive, but this one was just as good, wasn’t it? And less than half the price. He came back around and tried to position himself between Lorraine and the men, blocking their view of her sex. Fucking perverts, these assholes, he thought, and he raised the crop to shoulder height and brought it down too fast for the protests to stop him. “What are you doing?” Ratcliff called as the crop made contact with Lorraine’s bare ass flesh with a loud crack. Once, twice, he struck in rapid succession. Lorraine shrieked and her body flinched but she held her position. He hit her third time, harder. He had his hand halfway up for the fourth strike when he felt his wrist wrapped in a tight grip and he was pulled away indignantly. Turning his head he met Ratcliff’s grimace inches from his own face. “What the fuck are you doing?” Ratcliff snarled at him, and Luke felt a wave of insecurity and intimidation blossom inside him. The grip on his arm tightened and he felt strong fingers prying his own from the crop. “We said ‘Dom’ her, not beat her!” Luke’s brain swirled as the riding crop was pulled from his grasp. He was unceremoniously shoved and found himself facing Mr. Monroe’s chest. He looked up to see an expression of dismay and acute disappointment glaring at him and he felt again as though he were a small child being called out by the teacher. Monroe’s voice carried a sharp tone now. “Mr. Slater, seriously,” he bit off. “You can’t just set out wailing on her right off. It’s just… not done. It’s wrong.” “Look at this fucking thing,” Ratcliff sneered at his side. Luke turned to see him waving the crop in front of him as though it were a child’s toy. “Cheap piece of shit.” He looked into Luke’s face. “Is this what we told you to get?” Luke never had time to answer. Mr. Monroe stepped between him and Ratcliff, filling the space with his body. He put his hands on Luke’s shoulders and steered him to the corner of the room, turning him around when they reached the armchair against the wall. “Sit,” he clipped, and Luke did. “Do not move.” He was really angry; Luke could hear it in his voice. He sat silently as Mr. Monroe returned to the leather overnight bag and rummaged inside. Over his shoulder he saw Ratcliff standing at the side of the bed, his hand caressing the reddened cheek of Lorraine’s ass where three impressions of the riding crop stood in pink relief. He was leaning to her ear, speaking so softly Luke couldn’t hear his words and he was helping her off the bed when Mr. Monroe returned and his vision was blocked. The tall man held out a spiral notebook and pen. “Here,” he said without preamble, “take these.” Luke took them, cowed and confused. “Clearly you don’t understand,” Mr. Monroe continued, looking down at him. “As such you will require further evaluation. You will be sent to the Assessment Center. Following their evaluation they will direct you to seminars which you will attend. You will go to those classes.” The intolerance and command was thick in the taller man’s voice. “If you can be helped, they will help you,” he told Luke dubiously. “For now, you will observe. Take notes. Bring your notes to Assessment Center. Understand?” Luke nodded obediently, afraid to speak. “Good,” Monroe bit off, then leaned over to speak into his face, angry eyes staring directly into his. “You sit. You don’t move. You don’t say a word, understand?” Luke nodded fearfully, intimidated by the fury he’d stirred in this erudite giant and his own crushing failure at earning their respect and approval. “Pay attention.
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