Interview with a Master by Jason Luke Read Free Book Online Page A

if reversed.”
    For some reason I was getting annoyed. Maybe I was irritated with myself because I had failed to present the case for BDSM clearly. “But don’t start that political correctness bullshit,” I said. “I warned you last night. I’m not a fan. So if I call the Master ‘him’ and I refer to a submissive as ‘her’, you’re just going to have to deal with it. Okay?”
    Leticia flinched. I saw hurt or disappointment cloud across her face. “Okay,” she said softly. She looked down at the table.
    There was a long simmering silence.
    I was the one who was simmering.
    The shutters of Leticia’s cool reserve were back up.
    Noble, you’re a jerk!
    I checked my watch. The waitress was hovering discreetly in the background, waiting to clear away the table.
    “I’m sorry,” I sighed, and shook my head. “I didn’t mean to snap. I got annoyed because I can’t explain the BDSM lifestyle to you in twenty-five words or less. Leticia, it’s not that simple – but no relationship, emotional or sexual, is easy to explain. It takes time to assimilate the information. I can tell you the facts and the way it works, but you can’t understand them instantly. It’s a process of awareness and understanding. That’s why I knew an interview could never be completed in one session, and why you would never get a real understanding of the lifestyle if you asked questions that weren’t insightful and probing – and very personal.”
    She looked up, smiled faintly.
    I stared down at the dinner plates. “It’s like – ”
    Suddenly Leticia leaned forward across the table and reached boldly for my hand. She looked up into my eyes and her expression was almost pained. “Please,” she said softly, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “please don’t use another seafood analogy!”
    For a split-second there was only brittle silence. Then I started to laugh.
    And then we were both laughing and everything was all right again.
     
     
    * * *
     
     
    “Every night for the next three weeks I went to the guesthouse for sex,” I said.
    We were back in the apartment. Leticia flicked on a lamp and then perched herself on a small two-seater sofa. I paced the floor between where she sat and the television. I glanced at her and saw her face lit by the gentle glow, and in that subtle light her features seemed to take on a new depth and dimension of beauty. I paused, distracted for just a second, and then continued speaking.
    “Sometimes we would fuck, but most of the time she wanted me on my knees, licking her clit,” I said. “And if I didn’t do it right – if she didn’t come at least a couple of times – then she got angry.”
    “Angry? How?”
    “Threats,” I shrugged. “More threats to tell my father everything. Then one night she threatened to go to the press. That was it. That was when I knew I had to wrest the power from her. She was like a stick of dynamite. Sooner or later she was going to explode, and I knew the damage would be extensive. In short – I didn’t trust her.”
    “What did you do?”
    I smiled bleakly. “I waited,” I said. “Then one weekend Claire said she was going to New York to visit family. Her sister had fallen down subway stairs. She left Friday afternoon, straight after study, and as soon as the cab disappeared out through the gates, I went to the guesthouse.”
    “You broke in?”
    I shrugged. “I had my key…”
    “You broke in.”
    I nodded. “And I went from room to room through the unit, looking for something – looking for anything I could use as leverage. I started in the bedroom. I went through every drawer and found nothing. There was nothing in the closets – I even went through the pockets of her coats and a couple of handbags she left behind. Nothing.”
    Leticia wasn’t making notes. She followed me with her eyes as I paced.
    “It was only a small guesthouse: no larger than your apartment,” I said. “There was a bedroom, a small living room, a