Page 15 of The Puppetmaster

Something has changed. Something deep inside of me.

When I first walked up to the stage, I was very self-aware of everything. From every little fiber of my being, the way I carried myself as he watched me walk away, the way I moved my hands as I balanced s, the way I swayed my hips for his pleasure, to the way the texture of the floor felt against my knees when I carefully lowered myself into the position he ordered me to. It was odd, as if my senses were suddenly heightened to notice things that would be overlooked under regular circumstances.

I don’t know how else to describe it, but my body felt very...loud.

I felt very aware of everything I did, every motion, every look, every step I took. Ever since I sat down onstage with my hands on my thighs, my palms facing upward as instructed, directly beneath a warm spotlight, as if I were receiving the word from above, everything has been changing slowly. I could almost feel my mind slowing down, no longer the constantly racing engine it has been for so long now.

I calmed down. I relaxed.

There were no more questions, no more agonizing contemplating about what I had to do next. I didn’t have any decisions to make because my decision had been made for me.

I’m forbidden to do anything but sit here in silence. I can’t speak, I can’t move around at will, I can’t even raise my eyes.

I’m confined to abide by his command—and I’ve never felt more free.

Essentially, I realize this is really what this is all about. I quit my job, and while I relinquished a steady income, my sense of security, and any hope of climbing the corporate ladder in that organization, I have gained something else, a virtue that was necessary to even be able to show up here for the hunt.

Freedom.

And that is why I’m here.

I want to know what it feels like to be truly free. To have the freedom to evolve into the person I’m supposed to be. I don’t know who that person is, but I know she needs guidance.

And I know that in order for that to happen, she needshim.

Other women my age would worry about finding a husband, starting a family, building a home. And all I crave is to submit to a handsome but sadistic master—and the most mysterious and alluring man I’ve ever met. Ever since the first time I attended one of his hunts years ago, I have been unable to forget him. There has always been a part of me wanting to know what it would be like.

Whathewould be like.

And now that I’m beginning to understand that, I want him even more.

I just need to remember one thing: he is a lot of things—beautiful, sexy as sin, wealthy, a seductive mystery, and said to be a generous master, if his puppet proves herself worthy.

But he’s not marriage material. He’s not a man to love or be loved.

I know he will ask for a committed devotion that could be conceived as deeper than love, even more profound and meaningful than love.

But it’s not love. It can’t be.

That is imperative to remember, even for a rational person like me, one who has often been called “too cold” and “cunning” by others. Those terms hurt when they were callously used to describe me then, but they offer me solace now. Because that’s exactly the kind of person I need to be with him.

I want to shake my head to cast the troubling thoughts aside, but I don’t. I have not received permission to move. Instead, I close my eyes and inhale a deep breath, redirecting my focus to the task at hand. I have never meditated in my life, but I guess this must be what it’s like. With a little more practice, a little more focus, I might be able to silence the chatter in my head entirely.

But I know it’s not that easy. I can’t do it on my own. I need his helping hand to get there, and right now there’s nothing I want more than for him to choose me.

My mind drifts back to when I saw him for the first time. It was shortly after I moved to Boston but before I started working for Mr. Hammond. I was jobless, but hopeful—and maybe a little naive. Melina was one of the first friends I made in this city, and it was a spur of the moment thing when I followed her suggestion to attend the Puppetmaster’s hunt. I felt so brave, so adventurous, because I opted to wear a white wristband without the first clue of what I was getting myself into.

And then I saw him.

I saw him stride through the room just like he did tonight, owning it, but barely acknowledging anything happening around him. He was so intimidating, so inconceivably handsome, so powerful and determined. I wanted to become his from the first moment I laid eyes on him.

But he didn’t see me. He didn’t even notice my existence.

So, I did what I was taught to do in such moments. The only way to get what you want is to take it—violently, if necessary.

You see, where I grew up there was nothing wrong with a girl who used her fists not only to defend herself, but also to get what she wanted. If anything, it was necessary. You either became someone to be feared, or someone who fears. And I did not want to be the latter.

I was pretty good at it, actually. I even attended the free martial arts classes they offered at the youth center in my neighborhood. What I learned gave me a big advantage over the kids who simply let their fists be guided by anger.

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