Interview with a Master

by Luke, Jason

  “What do you mean?” There was that sudden tone of scandal in her voice I had heard before, as though some shocking secret might be revealed. “What happened the following Friday night?”

  I shook my head. “I can’t begin to tell you,” I said slyly. “It’s too late in the night to begin that story – and I know how you hate having your notes disjointed…”

  Leticia made a face.

  “Besides, now you have to answer my question. Remember?”

  She did, but clearly, she had hoped I’d forgotten. Leticia’s shoulders slumped, as though she had just been told bad news. She gave a little nod of her head.

  “You better sit down for this one,” I teased.

  Her expression became wary and concerned. She sat on the sofa. She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. I started to pace. The headache suddenly spiked, and then began to fade to a dull throb.

  “Have you ever thought about BDSM?” I asked. “Have you ever fantasized about what it would be like to submit your mind and your body to a Master?”

  “No,” Leticia shook her head, and it was an adamant gesture with no hesitation. “Not once have I ever even considered the idea,” she went on – and then paused dramatically, “…until I met you. Now… now it seems to be the only thing I can think about.” Her voice trailed off and there was a heavy wistful silence.

  I didn’t say anything for a long time.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I started pacing again. “If you were a submissive, and if you served a Master, what would your soft limits be?” I asked.

  “Soft limits?”

  I nodded. “Soft limits. What would you submit yourself to willingly, and what things would you consider, without committing yourself to?”

  Leticia looked flustered. Her hands fluttered and then settled in her lap. She glanced around the room like she was looking for a way to escape.

  “I… I don’t know,” she mused softly. “I really haven’t thought about it.”

  “Then do it now,” I insisted. I prompted her. “Would you have sex with another woman while your Master watched?”

  “Um… I don’t know,” she wrung her hands.

  I went on. “Would you allow yourself to be tied?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you allow yourself to be handcuffed or chained?”

  “Yes. I think so,” her voice was low – nothing more than a soft breathless whisper.

  “Would you have sex with another man while your Master watched?”

  She shook her head.

  “Would you allow yourself to be blindfolded?”

  “Yes,” her voice was a little firmer.

  “What about being spanked? Would you bend yourself over your Master’s knee for a spanking if you deserved punishment?”

  “If it was deserved… yes…”

  “And whipped, maybe with a riding crop?”

  Leticia winced. “If I trusted the man, and if it was deserved.”

  I was pacing around the room, firing questions to the beat of my footsteps like a sergeant major on a parade ground filled with fresh-faced army recruits. I clasped my hands behind my back and circled the room, Leticia’s head turning on the long graceful stem of her neck to follow me with her eyes.

  “Would you wear a Master’s collar in public?”

  Leticia hesitated. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I know a submissive is supposed to be proud of her collar. I know it’s like a wedding ring because it’s a sign of commitment – but I’m standing on the outside looking in, Jonah. I don’t know how I would feel if I was living the lifestyle,” she shrugged and grimaced at the same time. “So I just can’t answer that question.”

  I nodded and thought for a moment. “Have you wondered how it would feel to wear a collar?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…?”

  Leticia sighed and looked thoughtful. “I imagine it would make me feel a lot of different things,” she speculated. “I imagine being collared would be a source of pride – a sign that I was skilled and obedient and competent enough to be wanted by someone. I guess I would also feel confident,” the tone of her voice lifted so that the comment almost became a question. She shrugged. “I’m only guessing,” she said to qualify her words. “I don’t think anyone really knows, except for a submissive woman who is already collared. And maybe it’s different for every woman. Maybe submission means something different to me than it does to women who are already immersed in the lifestyle.”

  The depth of her reasoning, and the way she expressed herself surprised me. I was very much aware of her age and her inexperience, and I had expected her answers to be filled with giddy little giggles and blushing immaturity. But her replies demonstrated how much thought she had given to the subject since I had met her, and how well she knew herself – and perhaps her own limitations.

  “Do you think you could give up your right to have an orgasm whenever you wanted, and pass that responsibility over to a Master?” I asked Leticia.

  “You mean only orgasm when he permitted me to?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned. “I guess so…” she said tentatively. “If I was comfortable in the role of a submissive, and if I felt it was a necessary part of the whole kind of learning process.”

  “Learning process? You mean learning about yourself?”

  “Yes,” Leticia said, and then looked up earnestly into my face. “Isn’t that what submission is really all about, Jonah? Isn’t it a way for a woman to discover and learn something new about herself – maybe something that she never realized was a primal part of her?”

  I smiled. “It is,” I said. “That’s exactly what I believe submission is, and that’s exactly what I believe a good Master does. He gives a woman the chance to discover herself.”

  There was another long silence – but this one was different. It wasn’t the awkward quiet of embarrassment, nor was it the reflective silence that I was prone to lapse into.

  It was a significant silence – as though something had just changed – some realization or deeper connection of understanding had just been made. It lasted for several minutes. Finally I roused myself. I was tired. My headache came snarling back from the dull recesses, and clamped tight above my eyes like a steel band.

  At her front door, Leticia put a sudden hand on my arm. Her skin was warm. “Tomorrow is the weekend,” she said. “I don’t have to work.”

  I nodded. “I understand. How about you call me on Monday and we can make a time to continue with the interview then.”

  “No,” she said quickly. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… I meant I had the weekend free and I was wondering if you liked parks?”

  I was puzzled. “Parks? The ones with green grass and trees?”

  “Uhuh.”

  “I remember them,” I made my voice sound vague.

  Leticia gave a little smile. “Well there is a park near here I would like to take you to. It’s a place I like to go to when I have things to think through – stuff to sort out. I’d like to show it to you – if you’re not too busy.” She smiled for a moment like she was being silly and then looked steadily into my eyes, compelled suddenly to explain.

  “When I first moved here, I had no friends – I barely even knew the people at the newspaper,” Leticia said softly. “So I went to the park. The city was so busy, so loud. I wasn’t used to the hustle and bustle. I’m from a small town and I had a hard time adjusting to the frenetic pace of everyone around me. The park reminded me of home. It was my little sanctuary away from all the chaos…”

  I smiled. “Okay, I’m sold,” I said and held up my hands in mock surrender. “And I’m sure a few hours in the fresh air and sunshine won’t kill me.”

  * * *

  It rained in the morning and then the clouds burned away and the sun came blazing down.

  Leticia met me in the foyer of her apartment building at midday, and we walked the few blocks
to the park. A muggy, steamy smell rose from the sidewalk as the heat baked the rain off the concrete.

  It was the first time Leticia had seen me in just a t-shirt and denim jeans. She said nothing, but I noticed the glances from the corner of her eye.

  The park was a square block of vibrant green lawns in the heart of the city, bordered on every side by busy roads, yet protected from the snarl of traffic by tall lush trees that stood like a dense fringe of sentinels.

  An overhead bridge stretched across an inner-city street and we climbed to the top and stood for a moment, leaning on the safety rail. Directly below us, the traffic streamed in both directions beneath a haze of fumes and smog. Behind us, the city office blocks were towers of reflective glass – and ahead was an Eden of green tranquility, with kids and families enjoying the blue afternoon sky.

  We went down the footbridge steps and onto a meandering path that wound its way through a stone archway and into the park.

  There were benches and tables scattered around the edges of the open space beneath tall shady trees, and the grass was a green carpet of gentle undulations.

  Leticia led me to a park bench, and I could hear the sound of ducks and splashing water somewhere nearby. I sat down under the dappled shade of a tree and Leticia sat beside me. She was wearing a pale yellow dress that reached to her knees. She tucked the hem neatly beneath her and then swung her legs playfully, like a child on a swing set. I took a deep breath – the air was somehow fresher here, and the sun had a crystal kind of clarity away from the haze of city smog.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it.”

  I nodded. “It really is,” I said.

  A dozen yards away a man was walking his dog, and a young woman in tight lycra pants and a 49ers sweat shirt went jogging past. Leticia reached into her bag for a pair of sunglasses and perched them on the end of her nose. I noticed her notebook tucked into a corner of the bag.

  “Tell me about your family,” I said. “Did you get along with your mother and father?”

  Leticia made a thoughtful face. “I guess so,” she said. “I was always daddy’s girl. I spent a lot of time with him when I was younger – not so much when I reached my teens and started high school. But we were always close. I could always talk to him.”

  “But not your mother?”

  Leticia shook her head. “Not so much,” she admitted frankly. “Mom got kind of distant after she lost her job in one of the local stores. Dad had to pick up extra shifts at the processing plant, and mom started drinking in the afternoons… and into the evenings. She kind of faded away out of my life for a while. Do you know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “I think so,” I said. “But what about now? Are you in regular contact with your folks?”

  Leticia nodded. “I call once a week, but there isn’t a lot to say. We don’t have anything to share, unless it’s gossip from around the town. That takes a minute or two, and then we just hang on the phone for ten awkward minutes until I feel like I’ve done my duty as a daughter and can hang up.”

  I didn’t probe further. I sensed there was more to the story, but it was clear that Leticia’s family were not a big part of her life, and she seemed okay with that.

  A couple of kids were throwing a baseball, tossing the ball in a high lazy arc to each other. The sound of the ball thudding into catcher’s mitts reminded me of my own childhood.

  I got up from the bench and wandered around on the grass. I sensed Leticia’s eyes on me behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses. She watched me for a while, saying nothing – both of us aware of each other and comfortable in the silence.

  “Do you read much?” Leticia asked me suddenly. “I saw your library, but some people just like books – they don’t like reading.”

  I nodded. “I used to read a lot,” I said. “Mainly historical fiction.”

  “You mean those breathless romantic bodice rippers?”

  “No,” I started to smile. “I mean good historical fiction.”

  She asked me if I had favorite authors and I mentioned the names of several. “How about you?”

  Leticia took off her sunglasses. “Well lately all the reading I’ve done has been about the BDSM lifestyle.”

  “Oh? Fact or fiction?”

  Leticia gestured with a tilt of her head and a shrug of her shoulders. “Both,” she said. “Online articles and some mainstream erotica.”

  There was another pause of amiable silence. I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and kicked at a tuft of grass. “Don’t romanticize the lifestyle, Leticia,” I said. “Don’t build it up in your mind to be something that it isn’t. BDSM isn’t the solution to every relationship in trouble, it’s not the answer for every lonely girl looking for love, and it’s not all about charming doms and beautiful breathless subs. And please,” I said with sudden intensity, “please don’t romanticize my story when you write it. I’m being honest with you, and you should be honest with your readers. For every erotic encounter I have detailed, there have been just as many failures – times when things didn’t work the way I planned, or wanted. Just tell it like it is. Be honest. Make sure you know the difference between being a reporter of the facts and a writer who is trying to titillate and entertain.”

  Leticia stared at me and nodded slowly. “I know the difference,” she said, sounding defensive. “But you’re Jonah Noble. You’re larger than life. You can’t expect people to believe your story is ordinary. It’s not – and neither are you.”

  The irony. I was warning Leticia about the realities of BDSM, and she was defending me against my own criticism.

  “When you strip all the props, the imagery, the erotica and the mystery away, BDSM is about two people, trying to discover what makes them happy in life – what gives them a sense of belonging and completion. The rest is just tinsel on the tree. It’s all decoration.”

  Leticia looked shocked. “You sound very cynical.”

  “I’m not trying to be,” I said sincerely. “I just know from experience that expectations are hard to live up to.”

  “What happened that following Friday night with Sherry?” Leticia asked, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

  I shrugged. I had tried.

  “She brought her roommate along for the evening,” I said.

  “Huh?” Leticia wasn’t paying attention. She was digging into her handbag for her notebook and a pen.

  “I said she brought her roommate along. They were both standing at the door waiting for me when I went back to the office after dinner.”

  Leticia’s head snapped round. “The roommate was there? Holy shit! Did you know that was going to happen?”

  “I did. Sherry spoke to me during the week. She said she had told her roommate all about us. She said her friend wanted to know if she could come along and watch.”

  “And you said yes.”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” I shrugged.

  “What happened?”

  I started to pace around the bench, but it wasn’t working for me. Strangely, not being hemmed in by walls made my pacing redundant. So I stood with my hands in my pockets and stared up at the treetops as my mind was drawn back to that night all those years earlier.

  “The roommate’s name was Denella. She was the physical opposite of Sherry. She was a tall girl with long brown hair. But where Sherry’s body was slim and almost child-like, Denella had a much different figure. She was eight inches taller than Sherry, with large heavy breasts and wide womanly hips.

  “I had never met her. She was nervous. I walked straight up to her and kissed her fiercely, and at the same time I cupped one of her breasts possessively in my hand. Denella went rigid with shock for about five seconds, and then suddenly the tension went from her body. Her lips parted for me, and I slid my tongue into her mouth. I reached inside her blouse and lifted one breast from within the cup of her bra. Her nipple was hard, and her breasts had weight and substance to them. The skin w
as incredibly soft, and I massaged and kneaded the warm flesh until I heard her give a little gasp of pleasure.”

  “What was Sherry doing?”

  “Watching,” I said. “The day before Denella arrived I had asked Sherry if they were lovers. She said they weren’t. She said they had talked about the idea of having sex together, but had decided not to take the chance on risking their friendship.”

  “Did you believe Sherry?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And I think if they had been lovers Sherry would have joined in when I was standing kissing her roommate. It was the perfect opportunity for the whole session to become some crazy threesome – but Sherry simply stood back and watched me take Denella like it was my right.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I took the girls to my office. I unbuttoned Denella’s blouse and unfastened her bra. Then I lifted her skirt. She had wide hips, so I hoisted it as high as I could and told her to spread her legs. She didn’t say a word. She simply did as I told her. She was wearing white lace panties. I stared her in the eye, fixing her with my gaze, and then I rubbed her pussy through her panties.”

  “Just like that?”

  I nodded.

  “And you had never met this woman before in your life?”

  I shook my head.

  “And she let you undress her and… and arouse her – without saying a word?”

  “That’s right,” I said. “But she was Sherry’s roommate. No doubt Sherry had told her what to expect, and what she might need to do if she wanted to join in for the night. It’s not like she was a complete stranger off the street, and it’s not like she didn’t know what was going to happen that night.”

  Leticia looked at me like maybe I had super powers, and then shook her head in bewilderment. She wrote something down into the margin of her notebook and then underlined it several times with big heavy lines. She looked up at me expectantly. “Well you can’t stop now! What happened with Denella?”

  “I told her to take off her skirt and blouse, and then I turned and ordered Sherry to undress. Denella wriggled out of her clothes but left her panties on. She was trembling – not scared, just excited. I stood close to her and rubbed her mound again through her panties. ‘Tell me why you’re here tonight,’ I asked her. She said she wanted to watch. I told her to call me sir. She said Sherry had told her some of the ways I had used her, and she wanted to watch. Then she added, ‘sir’.