Unraveled by Him

by Wendy Leigh

  I walk over and he hands me a school notebook.

  “Write the following ninety times: ‘I, Miranda Stone, must bow to the following: Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.’ Number each line. And don’t make a single mistake. Or else,” he says.

  I am really starting to hate him.

  He hands me a thick, black Montblanc pen and I begin writing.

  Only problem is, I’ve been using a Mac since forever and I’ve practically forgotten how to write by hand.

  Which, of course, he knows only too well, having seen my almost illegible deal memo.

  But no point in protesting at his unfairness, as being unfair is clearly his prerogative right now.

  So I start writing out his stupid lines and feel as if I’m climbing a mountain, carrying a hundred pounds on my back, it’s so tough for me. And with each line I am getting angrier and angrier at the stupidity and the futility of what he is forcing me to do.

  “You see, Miranda, a submissive’s obedience doesn’t just consist of pleasuring her Master orally and getting a pat on the head for it,” he says suddenly, then goes on: “It’s about obeying him automatically without thinking first, obeying him without hesitation, without question, however much that might frustrate and anger you. But if you give in to that anger, that frustration, for even a second, Miranda, you will have failed your third test,” he ends, giving me a look that makes me quake.

  “And another thing,” he continues, “never question or contradict your Master. Never. Not if he is wrong. Not if he is unfair. Not if you simply disagree with him. Never.”

  I wasn’t planning on it.

  My fingers are stiff from holding the pen for so long, but I’ve finished painstakingly writing my ninety lines out in full and I’m proud and relieved that I’ve completed his stupid task and that it’s finally over.

  With a smile, I hand him the notebook.

  He takes it from me, moves over to the bed, sits down, and starts to study my lines intently.

  Then he flings the notebook to the floor.

  “How dare you defy me! How dare you!” he roars, and I am terrified.

  “But . . .” I manage to stammer.

  “I explicitly told you to write ‘I, Miranda Stone, must always bow to the following: Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience,’ but you disobeyed me.”

  “But you didn’t . . .” I start to say.

  The look on his face stops me in midsentence.

  “I specifically told you exactly what to write, but you disobeyed me. You left out the word ‘always.’ ”

  Well, I may be terrible with numbers, but I’m damned sure of one thing: I’ve got a supergood memory, and I know exactly what he told me to write. And he definitely didn’t include the word always in the sentence.

  I know that. Just as I know my own name, I know that.

  I also know what he is doing.

  He’s testing my level of obedience by seeing whether I’ll insist on being right.

  Do I hold out for the truth?

  Or do I submit to his will?

  The answer is very clear. If I want to pass his third test, that is.

  I bow my head and say, “I accept that you told me to write the word always on every line, Master. And I apologize.”

  “Look at me, Miranda! And explain exactly what you are apologizing for,” he says.

  “For leaving out the word always,” I say quickly.

  “I’m very proud of you,” he says, and it means as much to me as if he had told me he loved me.

  As I wait to discover how many strokes I am to be given for my supposed failure, I bite my lower lip so hard that I taste blood.

  But then, as always, Robert surprises me.

  “Start at the beginning again, Miranda. Ninety lines, worded exactly as I’ve told you,” he demands.

  Ninety more lines, and who knows what fault he’ll find in them the next time around? And if he does, how often will he make me rewrite them?

  After all, he’s got the rest of the day and all night.

  I don’t know how I’ll endure it.

  Over the next few hours (I don’t know how many, but they seem endless), he makes me write those ninety lines over and over, each time on the pretense that I have made a grave mistake.

  And even though I know I haven’t, I say nothing and start again.

  “If a woman is truly submissive, her Master will becomes hers,” he says to me at the end of my ordeal.

  And then I start to tremble, knowing that I still have to endure countless punishment strokes. And I am terrified that I won’t be able to survive the onslaught ahead of me.

  But then, as always, Robert confounds my expectations utterly and completely.

  Instead of ordering me to present myself for punishment, he leaves the dungeon and comes back with a large picnic basket, lays a white damask tablecloth on the bed, and puts out a luscious banquet.

  Dressed crab, potato salad, fresh crusty bread and butter, five kinds of cheese, smoked salmon, cold cuts, chocolate macaroons, chocolate-covered strawberries, and whipped cream.

  All on solid silver plates.

  All of which he lovingly feeds me from solid silver cutlery.

  I am blissed out. Until I notice that the silver is engraved with the initials GH, that is.

  I am so confused, and my mind, my heart, and my soul are in turmoil.

  But he swiftly wipes out all my misgivings by reaching under a pillow and handing me a delicate bracelet made of dark emerald baguettes, the same color as his eyes.

  “You did well tonight, my darling, and I am starting to trust you more than ever,” he says, and kisses me so hard, so long, so bruisingly that I’m in paradise.

  Chapter Twelve

  He lights a cigarette and asks me whether I am ready to hear the third part of the story. The truth is that I am dreading learning that he found his precious Pamela. Then again, the ghostwriter in me is dying of curiosity over how the story unfolds, so I nod enthusiastically.

  “Seeing my despair that Pamela fled from Le Château, without leaving a forwarding address or any trace of her true identity, her whereabouts, Murray was elated.

  “Another big payday!

  “We struck a deal, an extremely costly one for me, but I didn’t care.

  “All I cared about was Pamela, about finding her again.

  “ ‘Vegas. The man who owns her arranged for her to fly straight to Vegas and meet him there,’ Murray said, adding, ‘She had a cab to the airport waiting all evening, on standby, while you were in session with her.’

  “JFK? LaGuardia? Newark? Scores of flights taking off for Vegas. Impossible to know which one was hers.

  “I went back to my hotel, dispirited and sad, and spent a sleepless night thinking of Pamela and how to find her again. The following evening, feeling despondent in the extreme, I arranged to see Murray at Le Château, as I was certain that if I pressed him sufficiently, his memory would miraculously be revived and he’d remember something, even the smallest detail, anything to help me find Pamela again.

  “And when I did, I knew that only an act of God would prevent me from taking her from her Master.

  “My confidence was such that I was certain that within the next twenty-four hours I would be reunited with my dream submissive girl.

  “An hour later and all that confidence was eroded.

  “The facts were few and far between. This was all Murray could muster: ‘Started out when the man first came here and asked for a session with my most submissive girl. So I gave him Patty.

  “ ‘Afterward she told me that she knew at once that he was a real SOB. But she did the session anyway. Really heavy. But she took it all. That’s what she’s here for: not to like it, but to make money.

  “ ‘He tipped her well, became a regular. He didn�
�t just stick with her, though, but took sessions with other girls as well. All of whom complained to me about him afterward because he was so sadistic. But he was a big tipper. And business is always business, so they all took everything, no matter how much it hurt.

  “ ‘And he came back for more. Now and again, once he’d had his fun and the session was over, he had a beer or two with me and we shot the breeze together.

  “ ‘One morning, out of the blue, he called and asked to come over here, but not for a session. He said he wanted to make me an offer, an offer that he promised me I was going to like, and very definitely wouldn’t refuse. Arrogant son of a bastard . . .

  “ ‘He turned up here and got straight to the point.

  “ ‘This is what he tells me without any hedging about or apologizing: “This is my last visit to Le Château, Murray, because I’ve had the luck to find a sub of my own. But not just any sub. A sub with spirit. So much spirit, Murray, that before she’ll be worthy of me she needs to be broken,” he said.

  “ ‘Then he stiffened up.

  “ ‘ “Needs bringing to heel like the little bitch she is,” he said, and I almost felt sorry for the girl.

  “ ‘ “Best way to do it is for me to give her a lesson she’ll never forget. Yank her off her pedestal. Turn her into a professional submissive—a hooker by another name—for a few hours. Debase her in such a way that she won’t want to look at herself in the mirror again, she’ll be so ashamed of herself. So that’s what I want, Murray. To teach her a hard lesson she’ll never forget and put her in her place once and for always.”

  “ ‘ “Tell me about her,” I said.

  “ ‘ “Eighteen. Looks like an angel. Nice tits. Perfect ass. Takes every inch, and swallows without any trouble.”

  “ ‘ “Born submissive?” I asked.

  “ ‘ “Enough for most men. But not for me. I want her humbled, obedient, stripped of all her pride, broken,” he said.

  “ ‘ “You mean you want someone to give her a heavy session?” I asked him.

  “ ‘He shook his head.

  “ ‘ “I could easily give her that any day myself, Murray. I leave the nature of the session, and the man, to you. I just want to turn her into a professional for a few hours. Then she’ll understand what she is. And after that, she’ll be the no-limits submissive that I need her to be, and mine for as long as I want her,” he says.

  “ ‘Which is how, Mr. Blake, you met your Pamela,’ Murray finished with a flourish.

  “ ‘Ah, but she’s not my Pamela yet, Murray, not until I find her, and get her away from that man,’ I said.

  “Murray nodded.

  “ ‘In fact, you know him, Mr. Blake. Or rather, you saw him, but he didn’t see you. His name is Masters. William Masters,’ he said, slightly shamefaced.

  “I was overcome by a wave of nausea. My beautiful Pamela owned by the man I’d seen through the peephole, the man with the narrow, glacial eyes! How could such a beautiful, submissive girl become the prey of a man like that?

  “There was no need for me to push Murray for the answer, because deep down I already knew it myself. Poor, lovely Pamela was clearly a natural-born sexual submissive and could do nothing to harness her true nature or to protect herself. Fate must have dealt her an unfair hand and thrown her in the path of William Masters, a cruel and relentless dominant, who clearly understood exactly how to take a submissive’s sexuality and use it to control and degrade her.

  “I wanted to kill William Masters for taking advantage of Pamela’s sweet and submissive nature.

  “Then I calmed down, borrowed Murray’s iPad, and Googled William Masters. But after an exhaustive search I found nothing.

  “William Masters, it was clear, did not exist. The man with the narrow glacial eyes had invented him, and—like I did with ‘Mr. Blake’—the man assumed the name William Masters as an alias to protect himself, so that he could visit Le Château without fear of discovery.

  “After learning that Pamela belonged to ‘William Masters,’ a man who turned her into a professional submissive for one night in order to degrade her, I became more determined than ever to save her from him and to make her mine.

  “ ‘Anything at all you can tell me about Pamela when she arrived at Le Château for my session with her, anything at all?’ I asked Murray.

  “He brightened, knowing that he had something to offer me, something that might earn him a few extra bucks.

  “ ‘William Masters told me he instructed her to present herself at Le Château, dead on at nine, so she’d be ready for you. But she didn’t. She got here at eight. Forced to work in an S&M fantasy parlor by her Master, and she gets here early!

  “ ‘I was also surprised at how calm she was, how much she smiled. Not afraid as William Masters planned, not cowed. It was almost as if she was curious about the place and wanted to find out as much as she could about it. In fact, she was almost excited, relaxed, happy, not a bit ashamed or intimidated by what William Masters was making her do,’ he said.

  “ ‘So you were alone with her, Murray, while she was waiting for me?’ I said.

  “He shook his head.

  “ ‘I meant to be, but I didn’t know that she was getting here so early. So, she ended up meeting Tamara.’

  “ ‘Tamara?’

  “ ‘Sorry, Mr. Blake, I thought I told you her name before. Tamara, the dominatrix who got me into this business in the first place.’

  “ ‘So she and Pamela met. Go on, Murray,’ ” I said.

  “ ‘Surprisingly, Pamela and Tamara got along really well,’ he said.

  “ ‘Do you remember anything Pamela said to Tamara. Anything at all?’ I said, desperate to find out.

  “Murray scratched his head, milking the moment for all it was worth.

  “ ‘Only bit I remember is that Tamara was really interested in the gold signet ring Pamela was wearing,’ he said finally. ‘She really loved it. Pamela even let her try it on.’

  “ ‘I remember it,’ I said, ‘before the session started, she took it off and put it on the dungeon mantelpiece.’

  “ ‘And left it there,’ Murray said. ‘Found it this morning.’

  “ ‘Show it to me, Murray, show it to me right now!’ I said, beside myself with excitement, aware that the crest embossed on Pamela’s ring could be the clue to her identity, her whereabouts.

  “ ‘I . . .’ Murray said, then stopped himself.

  “ ‘You what, Murray?’ I said.

  “He looked down, and I could have sworn that for a moment, Murray, the man who ran an S&M fantasy parlor, ‘a brothel by another name,’ was actually ashamed of himself.

  “ ‘Tamara came by this morning,’ he said finally. ‘Moving to California to work, she said. She and I go back such a long way. Business, and more. And I owe Le Château to her. Figured that there was no chance of Pamela ever coming back here again. Not William Masters, either. So—and please don’t be mad at me, Mr. Blake—I let Tamara have the ring. I’m really sorry, Mr. Blake.’

  “I decided on the spot that there was no benefit to blowing my stack.

  “ ‘So Tamara went to LA?’

  “Murray shrugged.

  “ ‘No idea. Always been a free spirit. Maybe LA. Maybe Frisco, Maybe Vegas,’ he said.

  “Then and there I resolved that whatever the cost, whatever the frustration, I’d search for Tamara in all those cities. And if I didn’t find her in any of them, I’d scour the earth until I found her, found the ring, and found Pamela.”

  “But why didn’t you immediately hire a private investigator to find her?” I asked him.

  “Good question, Miranda. And most people would have done just that. But I learned from countless journalists who worked on my papers that if the price is right, private investigators talk. And the very last thing I needed was for my business rivals to discover
that Robert Hartwell had hired a private investigator to search for a particular mistress in S&M fantasy parlors all over California. So I had to go it alone.

  “Instead of hiring a private investigator, I took the first flight out to LA, armed with the picture of Tamara that Murray sold me for an inordinately high price.

  “ ‘Probably won’t be working under the name of Mistress Tamara out there,’ Murray told me before I left. ‘Too many enemies in the business.’

  “For a moment I wondered why, but then I decided that Tamara’s capacity to make enemies wasn’t my problem. Instead, I resolved to search for her in Los Angeles’s countless S&M fantasy parlors. And if I couldn’t find her there, I would search for her in the fantasy parlors of San Francisco. And if that failed, I would move on to Nevada and search for her in S&M fantasy parlors in and around Las Vegas. All of them. Big, small, luxurious, seedy, legal, illegal.

  “But ask too many questions in an S&M fantasy parlor and the owner will automatically assume you are a cop. And the only way to mollify him is to take a session naked.

  “So, despite the fact that, as you know, Miranda, I always prefer to remain clothed during most of a session, while my submissive remains naked, I did what it took to convince the S&M parlor owners that I wasn’t a cop.

  “Tamara was my only chance of finding Pamela.

  “I vowed to stop at nothing to find her.

  “Including taking sessions naked.

  “That first trip to LA, and my visit to the first S&M fantasy parlor I selected, taught me how minuscule my chances of finding Tamara really were.

  “I won’t bore you, Miranda, by detailing all the false trails I followed, the S&M fantasy parlors I visited (always wearing dark glasses in an attempt to hide my identity) in order to establish my credentials, then befriending the girls who worked there, the madam, anything to find Tamara and the signet ring, the ring that I knew was the clue to Pamela’s last name, and my passport to the joy of finding her.

  “For over a year all I could think of was Pamela, how to find her, how to make her mine. But in order to do so, I first had to track down Tamara and the signet ring.