Page 21 of Interview With a Master (Interview With a Master 1)

“What do you mean?” There was that sudden tone of scandal in her voice I had heard before, as though some shocking secret might be revealed. “What happened the following Friday night?”

I shook my head. “I can’t begin to tell you,” I said slyly. “It’s too late in the night to begin that story – and I know how you hate having your notes disjointed…”

Leticia made a face.

“Besides, now you have to answer my question. Remember?”

She did, but clearly, she had hoped I’d forgotten. Leticia’s shoulders slumped, as though she had just been told bad news. She gave a little nod of her head.

“You better sit down for this one,” I teased.

Her expression became wary and concerned. She sat on the sofa. She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. I started to pace. The headache suddenly spiked, and then began to fade to a dull throb.

“Have you ever thought about BDSM?” I asked. “Have you ever fantasized about what it would be like to submit your mind and your body to a Master?”

“No,” Leticia shook her head, and it was an adamant gesture with no hesitation. “Not once have I ever even considered the idea,” she went on – and then paused dramatically, “…until I met you. Now… now it seems to be the only thing I can think about.” Her voice trailed off and there was a heavy wistful silence.

I didn’t say anything for a long time.

I didn’t know what to say.

I started pacing again. “If you were a submissive, and if you served a Master, what would your soft limits be?” I asked.

“Soft limits?”

I nodded. “Soft limits. What would you submit yourself to willingly, and what things would you consider, without committing yourself to?”

Leticia looked flustered. Her hands fluttered and then settled in her lap. She glanced around the room like she was looking for a way to escape.

“I… I don’t know,” she mused softly. “I really haven’t thought about it.”

“Then do it now,” I insisted. I prompted her. “Would you have sex with another woman while your Master watched?”

“Um… I don’t know,” she wrung her hands.

I went on. “Would you allow yourself to be tied?”

“Yes.”

“Would you allow yourself to be handcuffed or chained?”

“Yes. I think so,” her voice was low – nothing more than a soft breathless whisper.

“Would you have sex with another man while your Master watched?”

She shook her head.

“Would you allow yourself to be blindfolded?”

“Yes,” her voice was a little firmer.

“What about being spanked? Would you bend yourself over your Master’s knee for a spanking if you deserved punishment?”

“If it was deserved… yes…”

“And whipped, maybe with a riding crop?”

Leticia winced. “If I trusted the man, and if it was deserved.”

I was pacing around the room, firing questions to the beat of my footsteps like a sergeant major on a parade ground filled with fresh-faced army recruits. I clasped my hands behind my back and circled the room, Leticia’s head turning on the long graceful stem of her neck to follow me with her eyes.

“Would you wear a Master’s collar in public?”

Leticia hesitated. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “I know a submissive is supposed to be proud of her collar. I know it’s like a wedding ring because it’s a sign of commitment – but I’m standing on the outside looking in, Jonah. I don’t know how I would feel if I was living the lifestyle,” she shrugged and grimaced at the same time. “So I just can’t answer that question.”

I nodded and thought for a moment. “Have you wondered how it would feel to wear a collar?”

“Yes.”

“And…?”

Leticia sighed and looked thoughtful. “I imagine it would make me feel a lot of different things,” she speculated. “I imagine being collared would be a source of pride – a sign that I was skilled and obedient and competent enough to be wanted by someone. I guess I would also feel confident,” the tone of her voice lifted so that the comment almost became a question. She shrugged. “I’m only guessing,” she said to qualify her words. “I don’t think anyone really knows, except for a submissive woman who is already collared. And maybe it’s different for every woman. Maybe submission means something different to me than it does to women who are already immersed in the lifestyle.”

The depth of her reasoning, and the way she expressed herself surprised me. I was very much aware of her age and her inexperience, and I had expected her answers to be filled with giddy little giggles and blushing immaturity. But her replies demonstrated how much thought she had given to the subject since I had met her, and how well she knew herself – and perhaps her own limitations.

“Do you think you could give up your right to have an orgasm whenever you wanted, and pass that responsibility over to a Master?” I asked Leticia.

“You mean only orgasm when he permitted me to?”

“Yes.”

She frowned. “I guess so…” she said tentatively. “If I was comfortable in the role of a submissive, and if I felt it was a necessary part of the whole kind of learning process.”

“Learning process? You mean learning about yourself?”

“Yes,” Leticia said, and then looked up earnestly into my face. “Isn’t that what submission is really all about, Jonah? Isn’t it a way for a woman to discover and learn something new about herself – maybe something that she never realized was a primal part of her?”

I smiled. “It is,” I said. “That’s exactly what I believe submission is, and that’s exactly what I believe a good Master does. He gives a woman the chance to discover herself.”

There was another long silence – but this one was different. It wasn’t the awkward quiet of embarrassment, nor was it the reflective silence that I was prone to lapse into.

It was a significant silence – as though something had just changed – some realization or deeper connection of understanding had just been made. It lasted for several minutes. Finally I roused myself. I was tired. My headache came snarling back from the dull recesses, and clamped tight above my eyes like a steel band.

At her front door, Leticia put a sudden hand on my arm. Her skin was warm. “Tomorrow is the weekend,” she said. “I don’t have to work.”

I nodded. “I understand. How about you call me on Monday and we can make a time to continue with the interview then.”

“No,” she said quickly. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… I meant I had the weekend free and I was wondering if you liked parks?”

I was puzzled. “Parks? The ones with green grass and trees?”

“Uhuh.”

“I remember them,” I made my voice sound vague.

Leticia gave a little smile. “Well there is a park near here I would like to take you to. It’s a place I like to go to when I have things to think through – stuff to sort out. I’d like to show it to you – if you’re not too busy.” She smiled for a moment like she was being silly and then looked steadily into my eyes, compelled suddenly to explain.

“When I first moved here, I had no friends – I barely even knew the people at the newspaper,” Leticia said softly. “So I went to the park. The city was so busy, so loud. I wasn’t used to the hustle and bustle. I’m from a small town and I had a hard time adjusting to the frenetic pace of everyone around me. The park reminded me of home. It was my little sanctuary away from all the chaos…”

I smiled. “Okay, I’m sold,” I said and held up my hands in mock surrender. “And I’m sure a few hours in the fresh air and sunshine won’t kill me.”

* * *

It rained in the morning and then the clouds burned away and the sun came blazing down.

Leticia met me in the foyer of her apartment building at midday, and we walked the few blocks

to the park. A muggy, steamy smell rose from the sidewalk as the heat baked the rain off the concrete.

It was the first time Leticia had seen me in just a t-shirt and denim jeans. She said nothing, but I noticed the glances from the corner of her eye.

The park was a square block of vibrant green lawns in the heart of the city, bordered on every side by busy roads, yet protected from the snarl of traffic by tall lush trees that stood like a dense fringe of sentinels.

---