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MASTER OF SUBMISSION

JAN BOWLES

Copyright © 2012

Prologue

Emma Parkes pushed open the front door of her friend’s apartment, and called out, “Chloe, are you there?” 

No answer. The only sign of life was the Boston skyline twinkling brightly in the huge glass windows.

Worried now, she dropped her suitcase inside and closed the door behind her. What had happened to her best friend? Chloe had telephoned five days ago, excitedly telling her that she was going to spend the weekend with a guy she’d just met. She told her she’d be out of circulation for a while, as hot sex was the only thing on the menu. 

“Are you mad? Going away with a chap you hardly know. Please be careful, Chloe,” she warned.

Her best friend had laughed down the line. “It’s just some harmless fun. You remember fun, don’t you, Emma? The kind we used to have when we were at Oxford University together.” 

Emma knew exactly what she meant. While studying law together at Oxford, her newfound American friend was always trying to lead her astray, encouraging her to stretch her horizons and boundaries. Chloe had always been extreme in everything she did. Even down to the type of men she dated.

Emma caught her worried frown in the mirror as she tentatively looked around the empty apartment. Her friend was nowhere to be seen. At least Chloe wasn’t lying dead on the bathroom floor, as she’d imagined on the twenty-minute cab ride over here. That was a relief, nothing unpleasant to report so far. Emma took a deep breath and reined in her emotions. Surely there was a simple explanation why Chloe hadn’t picked her up from Logan International Airport, as she’d promised. 

She’d waited for over an hour, calling her friend’s landline and cell phone, over and over again. After an exhausting seven-hour flight from London Heathrow, all she wanted to do was sleep for a week, maybe more. Her body clock was still running on British time. 

Well, first she’d have a bite to eat, and then rest for a while. Acclimatize herself to life on the Eastern Seaboard. After all, Chloe had told her, make yourself at home, honey. What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours. It was an exciting and challenging time for them both. They were in the preliminary stages of setting up a small law firm together, right here in Boston. She shrugged resignedly, guessing her best friend would turn up soon enough, with graphic details of her sexual exploits. 

One week later

With no news of Chloe, Emma stood staring up at the doors of the private fetish club, wondering whether to enter. She’d found reference to Club Submission when she’d accessed Chloe’s personal computer, looking for clues to her disappearance. Chloe was so trusting, she didn’t even have her computer password protected. Access to her private files had been child’s play. There were a number of messages from an unknown person simply calling himself Orion. The sexually explicit e-mails repeatedly asked for them to meet up at Club Submission. Knowing Chloe’s sexual preferences, she was in no doubt that the mysterious Orion was a man. Whoever Orion was, he was a persistent fellow, because he’d sent Chloe sixteen messages in a twenty-four hour period. She guessed her impulsive and naïvely trusting best friend had finally given in and met with the guy.

Emma had filed a missing person’s report with the police herself, just a few hours after arriving at her friend’s apartment. Both of Chloe’s parents were dead. They’d been killed in a horrific car crash in Maine when Chloe was just an impressionable teenager. The fatalities occurred just two days after Chloe’s fifteenth birthday. As an only child, with few real friends, it seemed that no one had even noticed that she’d disappeared off the face of the Earth. 

The American police had entered Chloe’s personal details into the FBI’s database, along with her friend’s medical and dental records. They’d also asked for a recent photograph. It wasn’t against the law to go missing, in fact thousands of Americans deliberately disappeared each year—often to escape debt or abusive relationships. Most police agencies didn’t actively search for an individual—not unless the circumstances warranted it. In Chloe’s case the intriguing e-mail messages and her insistence that they find her best friend had finally made them sit up and take notice. She’d insisted they make further inquiries. They’d told her they’d sent an officer to check out Club Submission, but she wasn’t sure if she believed them or not. Until new information came to light, there was nothing more they could do. If Chloe were a child, it would have been a different matter. But as a thirty-year-old woman, the cops seemed completely uninterested.

It wasn’t Emma’s style to just wait around and do nothing. Instead of returning on the next flight to London, she’d decided to stay, and at least try and find out what had become of her best friend. So that’s how she came to be standing outside the very imposing BDSM club on a cold, damp, November evening. Two huge bronze ravens guarded the entrance. One stood either side of the oak double doors. They looked menacing and forbidding, in the soft glow from the gothic lanterns swinging eerily above them. All she had to do was walk up the half dozen or so steps and go inside. She instinctively knew the club held the key to her friend’s disappearance. Just who was the mysterious Orion who’d arranged to meet Chloe here? Was it the same guy she’d spent time with when she’d simply vanished off the face of the Earth?

These questions needed answering. There was just one small thing stopping her. She’d never stepped foot inside a fetish club before. Even she was a little surprised her friend was into that lifestyle. She’d known Chloe for a decade and was well aware that she was sexually adventurous, even promiscuous on occasion. However, she never suspected for a moment that her friend was into the BDSM scene. 

She sucked in a deep breath, drawing the cold, damp November air into her lungs. Keep strong, Emma. You’re doing this for Chloe. Whatever lay on the other side of those doors would just have to be faced head-on. There was nothing else for it. Chloe’s life might even depend on it.

Her legs shook as she walked up the short flight of steps, and pushed open the heavy doors. She’d checked the place out on the Internet, and already had her membership approved. During the sign-up process, she’d learned that the club closely guarded the privacy of its members. Their true identities would never be divulged to anyone inside or outside the club, and everyone had the option of being known by a scene name. If Chloe had chosen an alias, it might prove more difficult finding out what had happened to her. 

Emma took a deep breath before slowly releasing it as she moved further into the club. A female receptionist sat behind a desk. She looked up and smiled when she heard Emma enter.

“Hi, my name’s Andrea, welcome to Club Submission.” The woman studied her more closely. “Is this your first time, honey?”

Emma nodded, nervously. “Is it that obvious?” 

“Just a little. You’ll soon stop shaking when you get to know everyone.”

“I applied to join the club by e-mail. I was told my membership card would be at reception.”

Andrea flipped through several papers on her desk. “Ah, here it is.” She handed over the card. “I’ll get one of the regular girls to show you around. If you could just sign in.” She nudged a ledger toward her. 

“Remember to put your scene name down, if you don’t want members to know your real name. Discretion is a word we pride ourselves on here.”

With trembling fingers, Emma took the pen from the pretty blonde haired woman and signed in Emma Windsor. For simplicity she’d only chosen a different surname. It wasn’t as if she would be returning to the club after tonight. 

“You can leave your coat here, honey.” She pointed to a coatrack behind her. “You’re number fifty-three.” She tore a ticket from the stub and handed it to her.

Emma nodded. “Thanks.”

She peeled off her chunky black coat. Now she felt even more conspicuous. She’d borrowed some of Chloe’s revealing clothes—a short black miniskirt that came to the top of her thighs, and a skimpy leather bra top. She’d made up her face with more makeup than she’d usually wear, using heavy black eyeliner to create an overtly sexual look. Being a reserved Englishwoman, it wasn’t really her style, but she was trying to blend in. A shiver ran down her spine as the door opened behind her and several more women piled into the entrance hall. They all appeared very happy, giggling and laughing out loud as they too removed their coats. If Emma thought her clothes were revealing, then she had to think again. Plump ripe breasts, squeezed into tight-fitting leather and silk, jiggled wherever she looked. The scent of expensive perfume filled the air. She had no doubt these women were out to enjoy themselves.

The receptionist spoke to one of them. “Jessica, can you show Emma around? It’s her first time here.”

“Yeah, sure, Andrea.”

Jessica smiled benignly, and took hold of her hand. “You’ll be perfectly safe with me, sweetie. I just know you’re gonna fit right in here at Submission. The Masters are simply gonna love you. You’re a real pretty lady.”

Masters? Oh, hell. Emma knew all about the Masters. She’d read about their preferences on the Internet. Weren’t they the ones who wanted to chain people up and whip them for some perverse sexual pleasure? Her throat went dry, but she managed to croak out, “I hope they don’t mind someone who’s nervous?”

“Quite the opposite, sweetie. They’ll love breaking you in.”

Emma closed her eyes. That’s what she was afraid of. Jessica squeezed her hand tighter, and led her through another set of doors.

“My, my, you really are nervous, aren’t you? You’re trembling like a leaf.”

“I hoped it wouldn’t be so obvious.” She smiled, unconvincingly, trying to put on a brave face. 

Jessica patted her hand. “Remember it’s what you’re willing to do. Not what they’d like you to do. Us subs have the ultimate power.” 

Ultimate power? Subs? Masters? Just what had she got herself into? Yes, of course she wanted to find Chloe, and she’d do everything in her power to discover what had happened to her. But there’d be no kinky sex. She just wasn’t inclined that way. She’d only ever experienced sex in the good old-fashioned missionary position. So what if she didn’t orgasm every time, or hardly at all. At least there was nothing perverted about her sex life.

Jessica held open a door for her.

“Thank you.”

“Say, is that an accent you have there?”

“I’m English.”

“Oh really, that’s just swell. Fancy, a real live Englishwoman in a BDSM club.”

Emma smiled. Being English didn’t automatically stop a woman from liking kinky sex, though she guessed Jessica seemed to think that was the case. For some unknown reason, she felt the need to explain herself further. “I was born and grew up in Oxfordshire, although my father is an American. My parents divorced when I was just three. It seems like Anglo-American marriages don’t work too well. He returned to the US twenty-seven years ago.” She’d seen her father on and off over the intervening period. He’d remarried and had two more daughters. They’d never been really close, but at least they kept in touch. 

Jessica smiled. “Hey, dual nationality. Even better.”

Despite her obvious anxiety at being in the club, Emma couldn’t help but warm to Jessica. The pretty brunette was dressed extremely provocatively. Her full breasts were displayed for all to see, and her skimpy black knickers clearly showed under her tight red skirt. She could already tell she had a heart of gold.

Emma guessed Jessica was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight. She wondered what had drawn a woman like her to the BDSM lifestyle. Man trouble? Bad homelife? There had to be a catalyst. She shook her head. Perhaps she’d never know. Perhaps Jessica didn’t even know herself. The analytical and calculating part of her mind had already started assessing the situation. It would be wise to keep alert, and try and make some sense of it all once she returned home. No one should be above suspicion, however nice they appeared. She was a trained lawyer, and needed to keep her focus.

Jessica smiled incessantly as she showed her the changing rooms and restrooms. “Think of it as three zones. This is the Cool Zone. There are strict rules in place here. No sexual interaction between masters, mistresses, and their subs.” Everything appeared normal. So far so good. She could handle this. When Jessica squeezed her hand and pointed to an imposing set of double doors at the end of the corridor, she guessed the kinky side of the club lay behind them. Already she could hear heady, sultry music drifting toward them as they drew closer.

“Through there is the Warm Zone. Sexual interaction is allowed, in fact it is encouraged. There are a few rules. We have to keep our clothes on, for one, which makes for some interesting interplay. In the Hot Zone, anything goes, but you should only venture there when you feel comfortable everywhere else.” Jessica smiled, making Emma feel a little less self-conscious. “Now don’t you worry about a thing. Trust me, you’ll love it here. Club Submission is everything your heart desires.”

Emma nodded politely. This was going to be the scariest and most bizarre night of her entire adult life.