surgery magnificently; all was looking well. But he died in recovery.
No reason. No medical explanation. It was as if he had given up the will to
live. And that made me angry. I did everything right to save his life, yet in
the end, I really didn’t have any control over the final outcome. When I got
home that night, I took my frustration out on my then boyfriend. I wanted to
forget. I wanted it rough. I wanted to take back control, and I used his
pleasure, his responses to regain that control. It was the best orgasm of my
life.”
“And Mistress Jasmina was born,” he said, enraptured by the
way her eyes lost focus as she remembered the journey.
“Not quite.” A bittersweet wistfulness flicked across her
face. “I knew I had stumbled upon something, but I didn’t know what it was. So
I did some research. Secretly went to clubs to observe. And I found a Master
who was willing to take me on as a protégé. Then Mistress Jasmina was born.”
“And what of the boyfriend?”
“He went away. He wanted to be the one to wield the whip and
didn’t understand why that wasn’t going to happen. I don’t blame him since I
was trying to make sense of everything as well. After that, I have come to
realize full-time boyfriends and being a Mistress don’t mix.”
“What happened with your last sub. Army?”
Again she reached for the wine. “There were several things,
but the most important was the realization that he was looking for more in a
Mistress than I was willing to grant him.”
A spark of curiosity jolted his senses. “Like what?”
She gazed off into the distance. Her eyes flashed and her
brow furrowed, and he wondered if she was crafting an answer or figuring out a
way to dodge the question.
A short, indrawn breath preceded her answer. “The Dom/sub
relationship can take many forms. Some subs require twenty-four-hour guidance,
some couples marry, while others are looking for a shorter-term commitment.
Personally, I don’t have the time or patience to care for a live-in submissive.
It wouldn’t be fair to him when I know a lot of time I will be called away.
Army was much like you. A new sub who knew he had a submissive nature but
didn’t know how to feed it. I agreed to train him, and we worked well together.
But he wants more. He needs more than the attention I can provide, and he
deserves to find the Mistress who can feed that need. So I’m helping him with
his quest.”
Part of him was relieved to know the split was amicable,
while a stab of disappointment poked him in the chest. Several times she
mentioned the word training, as if her role was to break in new recruits and
then send them out into the world. He didn’t like the thought of her sending
him on to another Mistress or having another sub take his place, although what
was he expecting?
He liked what he saw in Jasmine. A lot. And he wasn’t
opposed to getting to know her on a more personal level. Well, more personal
than just sex, anyway. But she was right. Neither of them had time for a serious
relationship, and once he had a taste of this entire BDSM lifestyle, he might
discover that it was not for him after all. Hell, even the contract stipulated
a trial period for just such a situation.
He cleared his throat and reached for his own glass. “I said
it once and I’ll say it again. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Thank you, Captain.” She sat back, straightened her
shoulders and lifted her chin. Bam. Mistress Jasmina had returned. “Did you
bring the contract with you?”
“I did.” He withdrew the tri-folded pages from his inside
jacket pocket and set them before her.
On the surface, Jasmine was like a serene lake. Quiet,
tranquil, nary a ripple disturbing the placid scene. But as he sipped his beer
and watched as she read over the pages, he saw a range of emotions cross her
features that were so slight, only his knowledge of micro-expressions caught
the movements.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in
No reason. No medical explanation. It was as if he had given up the will to
live. And that made me angry. I did everything right to save his life, yet in
the end, I really didn’t have any control over the final outcome. When I got
home that night, I took my frustration out on my then boyfriend. I wanted to
forget. I wanted it rough. I wanted to take back control, and I used his
pleasure, his responses to regain that control. It was the best orgasm of my
life.”
“And Mistress Jasmina was born,” he said, enraptured by the
way her eyes lost focus as she remembered the journey.
“Not quite.” A bittersweet wistfulness flicked across her
face. “I knew I had stumbled upon something, but I didn’t know what it was. So
I did some research. Secretly went to clubs to observe. And I found a Master
who was willing to take me on as a protégé. Then Mistress Jasmina was born.”
“And what of the boyfriend?”
“He went away. He wanted to be the one to wield the whip and
didn’t understand why that wasn’t going to happen. I don’t blame him since I
was trying to make sense of everything as well. After that, I have come to
realize full-time boyfriends and being a Mistress don’t mix.”
“What happened with your last sub. Army?”
Again she reached for the wine. “There were several things,
but the most important was the realization that he was looking for more in a
Mistress than I was willing to grant him.”
A spark of curiosity jolted his senses. “Like what?”
She gazed off into the distance. Her eyes flashed and her
brow furrowed, and he wondered if she was crafting an answer or figuring out a
way to dodge the question.
A short, indrawn breath preceded her answer. “The Dom/sub
relationship can take many forms. Some subs require twenty-four-hour guidance,
some couples marry, while others are looking for a shorter-term commitment.
Personally, I don’t have the time or patience to care for a live-in submissive.
It wouldn’t be fair to him when I know a lot of time I will be called away.
Army was much like you. A new sub who knew he had a submissive nature but
didn’t know how to feed it. I agreed to train him, and we worked well together.
But he wants more. He needs more than the attention I can provide, and he
deserves to find the Mistress who can feed that need. So I’m helping him with
his quest.”
Part of him was relieved to know the split was amicable,
while a stab of disappointment poked him in the chest. Several times she
mentioned the word training, as if her role was to break in new recruits and
then send them out into the world. He didn’t like the thought of her sending
him on to another Mistress or having another sub take his place, although what
was he expecting?
He liked what he saw in Jasmine. A lot. And he wasn’t
opposed to getting to know her on a more personal level. Well, more personal
than just sex, anyway. But she was right. Neither of them had time for a serious
relationship, and once he had a taste of this entire BDSM lifestyle, he might
discover that it was not for him after all. Hell, even the contract stipulated
a trial period for just such a situation.
He cleared his throat and reached for his own glass. “I said
it once and I’ll say it again. He’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
“Thank you, Captain.” She sat back, straightened her
shoulders and lifted her chin. Bam. Mistress Jasmina had returned. “Did you
bring the contract with you?”
“I did.” He withdrew the tri-folded pages from his inside
jacket pocket and set them before her.
On the surface, Jasmine was like a serene lake. Quiet,
tranquil, nary a ripple disturbing the placid scene. But as he sipped his beer
and watched as she read over the pages, he saw a range of emotions cross her
features that were so slight, only his knowledge of micro-expressions caught
the movements.
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in
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