The Surgeon’s Secrets

by Michelle Love

  Before the door opened, I took a small breath to knock the edge off. It opened swiftly by who I guessed was his personal doorman. “Ms. Greenwell, Mr. Grimm awaits you.” He gave me a smile, stepping aside to let me in.

  I was in a trance as I saw the décor of his home. It was feminine yet it had a bachelor feel to it. I couldn’t see the hard-edged man living in such a place.

  Who was Nicholai Grimm, really?

  NICHOLAI

  I loved to see her face and how her eyes lit up when she was at a loss for words. She hadn’t seen me when she walked in as her attention was on the décor.

  I stood, gazing out the window when she arrived. “Would you like a drink,” I asked her as I took a sip of my bourbon.

  She searched around for me, trying to see what direction my voice was coming from until her eyes fell on me. It was becoming more obvious to me, she needed more than just reading glasses.

  I walked over to meet her as she came further into the room. “A glass of wine would be great. Thank you,” she said with a soft tone to her sweet voice.

  So much was sweet about Natasha. She wore a gold dress that wasn’t her style at all. She was pulling it off, don’t get me wrong, but she looked like a woman who would be more at home in elegant clothing. I made a mental note to purchase her some attire that was more fitting for her.

  “You can have a seat,” I said as I made my way to the wine chiller at the full bar in the main living area.

  She was looking around more as I went to the bar. When I walked back toward her with her glass of wine in hand, she took a seat on the white leather love seat. Right in the center of it, which I found a little amusing.

  “Thank you, your house is very nice. I would’ve expected something with a bit of a harder edge to it, like yourself. You know, black leather, perhaps a set of shackles in that corner over there,” she said with a grin and a wink then took a sip of the very expensive wine.

  I untied her mask, taking it off and placing it on her lap. “Well, I’m not into everything everyone else is. But you will soon see that.” I turned on my heels to go back and get the box that held the papers that would cement our deal. “I wanted to see you for both business and pleasure tonight. We have a bond agreement that needs to be signed and I will run over the rules. Understood?”

  I watched her as she seemed to be weighing things up in her mind. I was unsure if she was going to sign the papers I'd had the BBC draw up for us.

  The way it made me feel off kilter was startling to me. I had never cared if any one of the subs in the past signed or not. I could easily find another who would.

  Her demeanor was off-putting and had me nearly wringing my damn hands with a nervousness, the likes I had never known.

  I was standing there, with the damn box in one hand and a pen in the other and I didn’t know what the hell to say or what I’d do if she simply refused. That was not like me. Not like me at all!

  NATASHA

  I contemplated a bit before answering because I was unsure of what he was asking of me. “When you say bond agreement and rules, what exactly do you mean? Is it to control my consumption of calories, how I dress, how I style my hair, down to the color of underwear you will allow. Or will you appear out of nowhere to stalk me and say I’ve had too many drinks? What does that really mean?” I chuckled at the thought of him doing such things.

  If he wanted to control my life, then this was the end of any agreement he was after. I would never allow a man to tell me how to dress, what to drink, or anything that wasn’t logical.

  He cleared his throat, setting his bourbon on the bar that he’d walked back to, swirling his finger around the rim, after placing the box and pen back on the bar. “It has nothing to do with any of that. Nothing in the rules is any aspect of control. At least not in that sense.” He gave me an annoyed look. “Come with me.” He held out his hand.

  I sat my own glass down on a coaster on the dark wood coffee table that looked like one very expensive antique. Then went to him and took his extended hand. I marveled at how it felt when our hands clasped. It sent a sensation through me that was nowhere near sexual. It was comforting and very natural. I envisioned holding that hand for years to come, though I knew inside, it would never be that way.

  We went into the dining area and he pulled out a chair. “Sit!” he said with a stern tone that did not go with how he was holding my hand or treating me at all.

  I took a seat and waited for him as he walked away then reappeared with the box from earlier and this time what looked to be a thick stack of papers.

  In my mind, I was already overwhelmed with my homework, now he had paperwork for me to read too. He handed me the papers which had a notebook attached to it, but he kept the box.

  I watched as he made his way back to the living room and found him coming back with our drinks. He sat mine next to me and took his down in one gulp before pouring more from a decanter inside of the china cabinet that was filled with an old style set of plates. The man was into antiques, apparently, and that was interesting to me.

  He was dressed in a tuxedo. To say he looked handsome is too simple a word. He looked devastating. I knew he had to be going somewhere in that getup and I wondered if I’d be asked to go with him.

  “Open up to page seven.” He sat and turned to face me. I opened the packet and went to page seven where the heading said: Master/Slave Bond Agreement.

  “Slave?” the word croaked from my throat. I would be no slave and there was no way I would actually call myself one. My eyes tried to take in what my brain had already processed.

  “Don’t be afraid of what’s in front of you. This is a bonded agreement between us that we’ve already discussed. But this is to give you some enlightenment as to what I expect. It is a document that is considered to be legal. You must read it, thoroughly. Do not sign it until you do.”

  “Why do I need this? It’s a contract.” I asked, still trying to comprehend the crap. “And we’ve discussed so little, Nic. I don’t know if you realize that or not.”

  He folded his hands and smiled, slyly. “I’m a man of few words. I told you I had a bond I wanted you to sign. You know I want you or I’d never have branded you. And it’s not a contract. Contract is too complicated of a word to use. That’s why it’s a Bond Agreement. We need this to ensure that neither of us breaks the rules. For both our safety.” He pursed his lips together and paused. When I said nothing, he went on, “Now, turn to the next page.” His voice low and soft was meant to keep me calm, I knew.

  After turning to the next page I saw the glint in his eyes as mine looked at the page with more surprise. There were photos of women in leather bonds, blindfolds, and gag balls. I looked in horror as that was some of the things he had done to me already.

  The pictures looked intense and brutal. I swallowed hard as my palms felt sweaty just from looking at the photos. “Although contrary to what I’ve already let you do to me, I’m not into any type of abuse like this. This looks sinister.” I pointed to a picture with a woman up in the same contraption I had been in that club. “Is that what I looked like in that thing? That’s horrible!” I continued onto the next page without his permission and there were more photos.

  “It’s not abuse,” he said with a quiet tone to his deep voice. “And you looked sexy as hell in that thing, if you want to know the truth. Did it hurt you at all, Natasha? Be honest.”

  “It didn’t hurt. But it looks horrible. If this isn’t abuse, then what is it?” I asked, knowing for sure those pictures depicted some type of abuse.

  “It’s a form of BDSM and I will go over all the rules to help you understand.” He acted as if that was a normal conversation that normal people had.

  I had heard about BDSM and even read a few books where it was a key subject. I was far from interested in anything that kinky. Don’t get me wrong, introducing new things into the bedroom is fine and dandy. But we shared no bedroom. Hell, we barely knew each other to even be bored enough to need more
at that point.

  He cleared his throat as I was lost in my thoughts. “Now, turn to the next page.” He gestured. I did and came upon a list of rules.

  “Rule number one, it is one of the most important rules. Master/Slave shall never inflict physical, mental, and/or emotional harm on the other. This is to help you understand that there is no type of abuse or harm going on,” he said in a concerned manner. But it would take a lot more than his word to convince me. “It’s what we consider the SSC, safe, sane and consensual. There is a handbook that explains that to you in-depth which will also need your signature.” He eyed me, gauging my reaction.

  I was still quiet because the information was putting me in a whirlwind and he had just begun with the rules.

  “Rule number two, another important rule you must never forget, a Slave is never to have sex or any type of intimacy without the Master's permission.”

  My head shot towards him because that meant I had to be monogamous. “Does that mean you can sleep with whoever you please, while I basically live monogamous to you. That sounds a little unfair.”

  “I am the Master, Natasha. I can do whatever I want to. You are the slave. You have to do what I tell you to,” he said as if it was an easy concept to understand.

  It was supposed to be a game and he wanted me to be loyal to him while he played in the sheets with others, putting me at risk. “I don’t agree and will never agree when my health is involved. I mean you can have sex, intimacy with whoever you please while I submit open and bare to you?” I asked with an annoyed pitch.

  “Natasha,” he said my name once again in an attempt to silence me.

  I was sitting there, seething at his deep voice and how he was handling me with kid gloves. Sure I knew absolutely nothing compared to him but I wasn’t stupid either.

  It seemed as if my concerns meant nothing in the form of fairness or health. “It’s a bond that you must keep to ensure you don’t fall out of agreement just because you find a momentary happiness with another man.”

  I was ready to tell him to forget about it all but I liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. He was more concerned about me finding love with another man and that had me thinking he might have more than just a physical want for me.

  “Rule number three,” he quipped. “There will be no emotional intimacy connection whatsoever, ever, and if the Slave does seem a bit attached, then the Master will show her her place which includes, but is not limited to, whipping and/or observation of sex with another slave.”

  My eyes furrowed at the mention of him being able to have sex with another woman to keep me from getting attached. That summed up all my fears. How was I to keep my emotions at bay? He had to consider my feelings too. It’s not as easy for a woman as it may be for a man.

  “That means you would still have to consider my feelings because if not for love then what is it for?” I asked with an unconvinced look on my face.

  That was grounds to just walk away from the entirety of the bond or whatever the hell his sick mind wanted. “Love rarely happens, Natasha. That’s why I lay down the ground rules so you will know what I expect. And, yes, at all times I will keep your feelings as a top priority. This rule is just to give you awareness. I’m not saying it would happen but I’m also not saying it wouldn’t. You do understand, don’t you?” He sipped from his glass.

  “I understand this will be a game where we play with each other’s bodies and leave our minds out of it.” I scanned over the rules.

  “Me more so than you, but yes.” He pointed at the paper. “Rule number 14 is as important as number one, Master/Slave must be discreet at all times. That means absolutely no gossiping to your friends or family about this agreement. We arranged this to protect both of us from any backlash in business and in private.”

  I could understand that, since it would be both humiliating and disgusting for anyone to know. “I can totally agree to that one. I don’t care for anyone knowing I’m even contemplating this.”

  He frowned a little as he kept his eyes on the paper. “Rule number 22, any broken agreement is subject to discipline/punishment from that of the Master up to the Grand Master of the BBC. That includes lashings, spankings, whippings, and/or legal action.”

  “Wait, what, legal action?” I asked in shock.

  I would’ve never thought you could take such an agreement to court. This violated rule number 14 in every way possible. If the news outlets got the slightest whiff of Nicholai Grimm, heir to the Grimm family empire, being into BDSM, it would ruin him.

  “The next one will explain this, rule number 23, any bond broken could be held in court proceedings of the Lord in Standing, Judge of the BBC. This means that whoever the Lord in Standing of the BBC is, if such an instance should arrive, he will handle any case brought against the Master or the Slave.” He touched my chin to make me look at him. His eyes, though dark as night, looked kind at that moment. “I’m under the same bond as you. Which gives me no special treatment in breaking the rules.”

  “So I can bring a claim against you?” I asked as I tapped my chin with the pen in my hand.

  He nodded. “If I break any of the agreements you could file a claim with the Grand Master. He will then decide if he will proceed with the claim. In any violation of the rules, I can be fined for a claim if it’s found to be true.”

  “Does that happen often?” I asked, as surely the women in those types of agreements get pissed off if they’re treated poorly.

  “Not often, no.” He looked away as if he’d maybe been a part of a claim before. “But it does happen.”

  I decided not to push him too much about that. “Okay. It is good to know that something can be done if I feel something you do is wrong.”

  He squinted as he looked back at the paper. “There are several more rules that I will scan through. Rule number 35, you must commit to drug and disease screenings every quarter. Rule 41, you must obey your Master at all times. That means you will look at me when I’m speaking to you, you will acknowledge me as Master or Sir when we are in private. Rule number 42, you will wear a Chastity belt at all times with no exceptions. And last but not least we have a safe word that we agree upon. Ours is ‘Mercy’ that will let me know that you are either in pain or in some type of distress.” He eyed me seductively. “All the others you will need to read over and make sure you read it carefully.”

  I sat, fidgeting in my seat, as he went through the rules. There were so many my head was spinning. “What about rule 49, Slave must wear a noticeable temporary tattoo that signifies who her Master is. A form of clothing must cover it in public unless with her Master.”

  “I have the one you put on my shoulder,” I said. “Why would I need another one?”

  “That one will fade soon. You’ll see. One day the water and soap you use will wash it away and there will be nothing to keep other member’s hands off you when that happens,” he told me.

  With a shrug, I said, “Who cares? I’m never going to anything like that again, anyway.”

  “I bet you find yourself wrong, Natasha. You are not being truthful with yourself. You are very into that kind of thing. You let me have you right away. You let me do what I wanted to you, immediately. You have a sinful side you are only hiding from yourself. I see it. I see it as plain as I see the nose on your gorgeous face.” His lips touched the tip of my nose and it felt sweet.

  Sweetness had no place in what he was talking about. He was telling me I was a wanton slut and had just been hiding it. He was telling me that, if his brand was not on me, then he feared I’d go back to that place and find another to do the things he did to me.

  And all I could think about when he kissed my nose like that was there was more to him where I was concerned. He liked me. He didn’t want to see me with another man.

  “It only lasts about six months and can be covered easily,” he said, reminding me how not permanent it all would be. And my heart ached a bit about that.

  “Where does it usually
go?” I asked, out of curiosity.

  He stood up, loosening his tie. “On the back of your neck. When we are amongst other members, at functions or any events, you will wear your hair above the neckline so it’s visible at all times.” I looked at him without a blink as my mind was a fogged up mess. “You don’t have to decide right now. Besides, we’ll be late.” He looked at his watch to emphasize his point.

  I didn’t have a clue about what I was going to do. The information was still registering. This had to be the most absurd situation to be considering. I mean an agreement to be someone’s sex slave was a little extreme and frightening.

  Then he was changing gears on me and putting that to the side and taking me somewhere else, it sounded like. I placed the papers in a neat stack and left them on the table. “And where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to a museum tonight,” he said as he pulled the chair out for me and took my hand, just like a perfect gentleman.

  “I see.” I had no want to visit a museum but I was so busy thinking about all the rules and what I should do that I went along with him without saying one word.

  But one word was upfront in my mind. Slave!

  The Broken: Part Three

  NICHOLAI

  I knew that conversation would be the hardest part of making Natasha into what I craved. And I had another trick up my sleeve to help entice her into my slave quarters.

  Leading her out of the apartment, I could smell her sweet perfume. The scent was musky and made me stir as I thought about how the rest of her body smelled. She brought out more animal in me than most women did.

  It was obvious that I needed to get her consent to get things going with her so I could stop being obsessed over her all the time. She filled my waking thoughts and my nightly dreams.

  I was certain once I had used her body in the ways I wanted that I would stop thinking about her constantly. I just had to get her to agree and sign the damn bond. It was a rule with the BBC.