The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey by Claire Thompson Page A

scheduled to do a demonstration with a fabulous new flogger I had custom made. John just called to let me know he’s under the weather and won’t be coming tonight. People still talk about your last scene with that gorgeous French boy you used to have in tow. Any chance of a repeat performance tonight?”
    Owen looked at Mistress Sylvie, wondering about her “gorgeous French boy”, not sure how he felt about watching her whip some other guy, gay or not. But he knew it wasn’t up to him. They were there as friends, nothing more, but that in itself was a major step up from client and pro Domme. He was proud to be there with her, and impressed that Master H. clearly thought so highly of her.
    Mistress Sylvie said nothing for a moment and Owen felt sure she was going to refuse. Then she turned to Owen, though her answer was to Master H. “I will do it, but only if Owen agrees to be my subject.”
    “Wait, what?” Owen blurted, his stomach dropping like an elevator moving too fast.
    “Perfect!” Master H. clamped a firm hand on Owen’s shoulder, squeezing hard. “I’ll have someone show you to the stage and give you a few moments alone to prepare.” He glanced at the solid gold Rolex on his wrist and then back at Mistress Sylvie. “Say in ten minutes?”
    “Owen? Will you do me the honor?” Mistress Sylvie regarded him with thoughtful eyes.
    Though he had never engaged in any kind of public scene, and until this moment never thought he would, Owen found himself mesmerized by her sudden radiant smile, which warmed every muscle and bone in his body. “The honor,” he found himself saying, “is mine.”

Chapter 8
    A man named William with metal studs in his eyebrows, nose and beneath his lower lip, led them to the stage. It was a small stage, really more of a platform, extending only about four feet from the wall.
    William gave Sylvie the flogger, which had lots of thick, soft leather strands hanging from a braided handle. At the end of the handle there was a round red ball made of glass. Sylvie balanced the whip on her palms a moment and then gripped the handle in her right hand. It was perfectly weighted and beautifully made.
    “Very nice,” she pronounced.
    William nodded. “That’s made by Adam Elderkin, one of the most respected whip makers in the world.”
    “Yes.” Sylvie nodded. “I recognize the crystal ball that is his trademark.”
    William gestured with his chin in Owen’s direction. “You can secure your boy to the whipping post, or we have chains hanging from that beam there.” He pointed toward the ceiling. “We have extra cuffs if you didn’t bring your own.”
    “That’s all right,” Sylvie replied. “My boy won’t need any restraints. He’s very well trained.” She smiled toward Owen, wondering how he felt to be called her boy in public. His expression was difficult to read, but she couldn’t help but notice the bulge in his jeans.
    William shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
    When he had descended the stairs on the side of the stage, Mistress Sylvie turned to Owen. “You should know I would never have agreed to do this if I didn’t have complete confidence in you. I have seen your grace and courage in my dungeon. I am certain you can find that same grace tonight. You will remove your shirt and stand with your face to the wall.” She pointed toward the back wall against which the stage was built.
    “You will place your palms flat against the wall to provide support while I whip your back.” She ran her fingers through the flogger’s thick strands as she spoke, inhaling the rich scent of fine leather. “Or, if you feel comfortable, you can strip completely and get a more thorough flogging.” She laughed, adding, “From the look on your face when I said that, your choice is pretty clear.”
    “It’s just I’ve never—” Owen began.
    “Not at all—” Mistress Sylvie said, placing a hand on his forearm. “I completely understand. What we share in the privacy of my