He shrugged. “One of the perks of being a Head Master.”
“Headmaster?” Dahlia echoed, confused.
“Not like a principal,” Hayden replied with a laugh. “Though the uninitiated understandably might think that. It’s two separate words, and all it means is that I’m one of the primary members of the Masters Club. I help with policy decisions and membership admission, and I assist in the selection process when we’re auditioning potential pleasure subs and service slaves.”
“Oooh,” Dahlia exclaimed, scandalized and titillated in equal measure. “Audition process! Like what you did with me?”
He glanced at her, his expression amused. “Sweetheart, what I did with you was like dipping your toe in a baby pool. To keep the metaphor going, potential service slaves and even the pleasure subs members are expected to dive from an Olympic-height board into the deep end, arms bound behind their backs. They undergo a rigorous and purposely stressful series of tests to get their full measure.”
“Huh,” Dahlia said, some of the wind taken out of her sails. “Sounds like all the onus is on them. Do the Doms have to go through a similar process?”
“Not precisely,” Hayden replied. “Dominant members pay a steep fee to join, and ongoing maintenance fees to cover costs. Before they can join, they, too, undergo a kind of audition, though with a different focus. Each potential member is subjected to an extensive background check. Then they are fully assessed for their skill, dedication to the lifestyle and responsible behavior in the community. As I mentioned before, the Masters Club isn’t just some swingers’ club with S&M trappings. We’re passionate about what we do, in every sense of the word.”
“It’s a wonder you have time for your day job,” Dahlia quipped.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Hayden said with a laugh. “Good thing I don’t need much sleep.”
He turned to her with a smile. “Forget all that stuff for now. Our main agenda tonight is to have fun.” He touched something on the visor and one of the garage doors slowly lifted. They drove into one of two remaining vacant spots and he cut off the engine.
“Ready?”
Dahlia’s stomach twisted with nervous anticipation and excitement. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Reaching into his jacket, Hayden produced an eye mask like the one she’d received with the invitation. Instead of red, it was shiny black with a trace of gold glitter at the edges. “Time for our masks,” he said, placing it over his eyes and nose.
Dahlia reached into her purse, glad now of the disguise, such as it was. Hopefully, it would hide her nerves along with her face.
Hayden was around the side of the car before she’d finished tying the satin ribbons behind her head. He opened the door and held out his hand to her. Charmed, she took it.
As before, the feel of his skin on hers sent a delicious electric tingle through her body. Whatever happened tonight, she’d have Hayden—Master Hayden—by her side.
Walking past the other cars, they entered the building, stepping into a narrow hallway. She could see a large kitchen to their left and hear the sounds of clanging pots, clinking glasses and muffled conversation from within.
“This way,” Hayden said, lightly taking her elbow. “Let’s have a quick drink before we go up to the dungeon.”
They moved down a hallway that opened onto an imposing, marble-floored foyer. This led into a large, elegantly appointed room filled with fine, leather-upholstered furniture, the hardwood floor scattered with Persian rugs. There was a beautiful old stone fireplace, a welcoming fire crackling within. A long table stood against one wall, heaped with plates and trays of various hors d’oeuvres and pastries. The air was scented with fresh pine needles, spiced cider and cinnamon.
Dahlia caught her breath as she took in the scene. There were maybe twenty people scattered about the space, many holding champagne flutes or brandy snifters, some with small plates of food balanced in their hands. All of them wore masquerade masks in black, red or royal blue. Many were clad from head to toe in black leather. Others, mostly women, were naked or nearly so, some of them kneeling on large floor cushions. It looked like the set of some elaborate X-rated film.
She gasped in shock when she saw a young woman with a shaved head, naked save for a collar with a leash dangling between her bare breasts. There wasn’t a trace of hair anywhere on her body. Her skin was crisscrossed with long welts, some fresh, some fading. She was locked into a tall cage, her fingers curled around the bars, her large eyes moving restlessly around the room.
Dahlia suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Was the girl hurt? Who had done this to her? Why did no one else seem to care?
Hayden’s warm voice, along with his steadying hand still on her elbow, broke into her thoughts. “Would you like a drink? Hot cider, champagne, brandy? Perhaps something to eat?”
Ignoring his question, she said urgently, “Look over there. That woman in the cage, she’s hurt! She needs medical attention. What the hell is going on here? Why does no one seem to notice or care?”
Hayden followed her gaze. To her surprise, instead of sharing her outrage, he said calmly, “It’s okay, Dahlia. Calm down. That’s Belinda. She belongs to Master Robert, that guy over there.” He gestured toward a tall man standing near the cage in conversation with a statuesque woman with swept-up silver hair. Both wore black masks.
“I know Robert and Belinda well,” Hayden continued. “They’ve been happily married for at least five years now. And don’t worry. Those welts are badges of courage, marks of honor, given with love and accepted with grace. Her head is shaved because she requested it of her Master. She says it’s a testament of her refusal to hide anything of herself from him. As to being in the cage, she adores being confined, and always asks, when they spend any time in the auction room before dungeon play, to be placed there to help her get in a better submissive headspace. In other words,” he added, his eyes kind, “she’s exactly where she wants to be.”
Dahlia nodded slowly as she absorbed this. She was glad to be reminded the arrangement was fully consensual, but it still didn’t sit right with her. She’d read about this sort of thing in books, and even in testimonials on the internet, but somehow seeing it in real life was quite another thing. Who in their right mind would choose to subjugate themselves to such a degree? When did so-called submission edge into the murky waters of outright abuse?
As if reading her mind, Hayden said, “Don’t forget our core tenet, Dahlia. We practice RACK here at the club—risk-awareconsensualkink. While it can be edgy, even extreme, limits are always strictly observed. Sometimes the sub involved wants, or thinks they want, more than the Dom deems is safe. It’s up to him to set those limits, while still giving his sub the intensity of experience she craves.”
He placed a comforting hand on Dahlia’s lower back. “What might be extreme to you—dangerous even—is exactly what gives someone else’s life meaning. BDSM is a spectrum. It can take many forms. Erotic pain can encompass everything from a light spanking to an intense caning to blood play to skin scarification.”
“Jesus,” Dahlia murmured. Who the hell was this guy? How did she reconcile the wisecracking, easygoing physician she’d come to know at the hospital with this dark, edgy Master who enjoyed inflicting pain, erotic or otherwise?