The Story of Owen: One Man's Submissive Journey (17 page)

I’ll tell you tomorrow at dinner. Je t’aime.

I love you too! Get some rest, sweet Mistress.

And you, my love.

~*~

Over dinner the next night at an Irish pub, Sylvie pulled out an envelope and handed it to Owen. As he opened it, she summarized Master H.’s proposal for a new BDSM club. “I’ve thought a lot about it, Owen. I’m just not sure I’m willing or able to take on such a big responsibility by myself. It seems overwhelming.”

Owen scanned the documents, his lips pursed in concentration. He had a good head for business, one reason his own company had thrived, even during recessions. “The numbers look good,” he said, glancing over at her. “Of course, any new venture has its uncertainties, but it sounds like he’s willing to bear all the financial risk. I can look into these locations for you—get the specs and the inside scoop on the properties.”

He put the papers down and took a breath. “I guess this is as good a time as any to bring up something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.”

“Go on.” Sylvie smiled at him and Owen’s heart warmed as it always did whenever she looked at him.

He hoped she wouldn’t misinterpret what he was about to say, or think he was moving too fast. What the hell—there was only one way to find out. “You know, back when I started as an architect, I worked for a huge firm. I was a tiny cog in a big machine, and for the first couple of years I was lucky if I got to design the bathrooms or parking garage of an office building. When I started my own company, I was in charge. I got to lead on the design work and make the big decisions. For years I haven’t minded the long hours because it’s been
my
business.” He shrugged and sighed. “You know as well as I do what running your own business can take. I hate to say it, but looking back, one reason my marriage cratered was I didn’t give the relationship the time and commitment it needed to grow.”

Owen reached for Sylvie’s hand. “I know it’s only been a few months, Sylvie, and I don’t want to rush you in any way. By the same token, I don’t want that to happen again. What we have is so special. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.” He frowned as he added, “But look at what I keep doing to you. Take last night as an example. My work just consumes too damn much time. I’m thinking of cutting back. Of selling out to my partner and just staying on as a part-time consultant.”

Sylvie nodded slowly, her expression difficult to read. Owen waited, biting his lower lip. Finally she said, “You know, Owen. It’s funny you mention this now, because I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“You have? About me cutting back my hours?”

“No, silly, about me cutting back
my
hours. Isabel is hungry for the business, and frankly, since you’ve entered my life, I don’t have time or energy to deal with all those eager sub boys demanding my attention.” She grinned but then sobered. “Truth to tell, I have lost my
fire
with my clients, and as such I feel I am doing them a disservice. I’ve been thinking it was time to retire. I, too, want to focus more on us.”

She reached for the papers Owen was still holding, and he passed them to her. “So, you think this is a good idea, this new club? I don’t want it to become something else that takes away from
us
.”

Owen nodded. “If his numbers are reliable, then yes, I do. If this new club earns even half of what
Chains
is apparently taking in annually, you would earn plenty. But you’re right—it’s a big commitment, not something to be entered lightly.”

“Not something to be entered alone,” Sylvie replied.

“Excuse me?” Owen cocked his head at her.

“I want a working partner with me, from start to finish. I didn’t want to say anything to Harry until I talked it over with you, but I think he’d be amenable to me bringing someone else onboard, especially someone with your depth of knowledge of the real estate market in Manhattan, and your expertise in running a successful company. I need someone I can trust, someone who understands and shares my love of BDSM, and who knows what the people coming to such a club would be looking for. I want a man to stand by my side on opening night, and to help me coordinate the demonstrations. In a word, Owen, I want you. I want you to come into this venture with me as a full partner. If I accept, I’ll tell Harry that those are my terms.” She paused, adding, “If you’re interested, of course.”

Owen sat still, absorbing what Sylvie had just proposed. It would mean they would spend almost every waking hour together for the next however many months it took to get the place up and running. It meant they would be in business together, with all the pressure and aggravation that kind of relationship entailed. It could ruin their personal relationship if they let the stress get to them. Or it could cement and deepen it, as they shared something that mattered to them both.

“I would have to get out from under my obligations first—” he began.

“So you’d consider it?” she interrupted, gripping his arm. She was gazing at him with such sweet pleading. Owen had always felt, until this moment, that he had been the “needier” one of the relationship, if such labels could be applied. Now she needed him, and it made Owen swell with pride. At that moment, he made a solemn, silent vow to himself never to let her down, no matter what.

“I would definitely consider it, my sweet Mistress.” He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. “For you I would do anything. Anything in the world.”

~*~

Opening night jitters. If Sylvie had had a chance to breathe, she might have felt them. As it was, until this moment she had been too focused on last minute details to waste time worrying. Despite the inevitable complications and setbacks they’d faced in finding the right property, working with contractors and vendors, and getting the space designed in a way that reflected their shared vision, things had gone surprisingly smoothly, and in only three months they were ready for opening night.

The location Owen had selected wasn’t that far from
Chains
in the increasingly trendy meatpacking district. It consisted of a freestanding two-story building that had once been a warehouse. Built of brick, it had no windows on the first story, which was ideal to maintain the discretion necessary for this sort of club. The bottom floor was one spacious room, to which they’d added bathrooms and a kitchen, while the upstairs contained a number of smaller rooms designed for private scenes.

Excited with the drawings and plans Owen and Sylvie had come up with, Master H. had given them carte blanche to create the kind of upscale, sophisticated venue he had envisioned. There were still a dozen little things that could be done to make it better, but they’d picked a date to open the club, and had somehow managed to stick to it.

Sylvie took a last look around the space, hugging herself. This was it—opening night.

Owen, wearing an open-necked white silk pirate’s shirt tucked into buttery soft black leather pants that cupped the sexy bulge between his legs, came out of the kitchen behind the bar, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. The thick braided chain of silver and rose gold she’d given him as a slave collar gleamed at his throat in the ambient lighting. When he put his arm around her, Sylvie leaned into him with a sigh.

“Do you think anyone will come?” she asked, butterflies dancing in her stomach.

“Take a look out the peephole, why don’t you?” Owen suggested.

Sylvie moved toward the front doors, smiling at Jordan, the imposing six-foot-six man who packed maybe two-hundred-forty pounds of solid muscle beneath his black T-shirt and black jeans. A one-time client of Sylvie’s, they’d hired Jordan to serve as doorman and, if necessary, bouncer, though hopefully that function wouldn’t be called into play.

He stepped aside as Sylvie peeked through the peephole. She gasped in astonishment. A crowd of easily a hundred people was milling outside, clustered in groups, eyes fixed on the door.

“They’ve been lining up since eight,” Owen grinned. “Word is definitely out.” He turned to the three men and three women waiting near the entrance, each of whom was holding a silver tray of iced juices in champagne flutes. There was a liquor bar available, but only for those who opted out of any BDSM play.

“You guys ready?” Owen asked the waitstaff. They nodded or murmured their assent. Each one had been hand-selected by Sylvie. They were all in their mid- to late-twenties, each one model-gorgeous. Their uniform consisted of a crisscross of thin strips of white and black rope, artfully knotted by Riku, a Japanese shibari master who was a friend of Master H., the rope designed to expose as much as it hid.

Soft jazz was playing through the surround-sound speakers. The walls were painted a creamy, pale gold, a shimmering contrast to the white and black tiled floors. Just inside the front door was an alcove with a large closet where patrons could leave their coats and even their clothing, if they were of a mind. There were small tables with two and three chairs near the bar, as well as thick, plump sofas and loveseats scattered throughout the room.

Various play stations had been set up, with spanking benches, black leather slings hanging from chains, whipping posts and thick mats perfect for kneeling. There were several St. Andrew crosses set along one wall, the sturdy leather cuffs waiting to be closed around wrists, ankles and waists. In one corner stood a large framed spider’s web made of black rope and chains. A raised stage had been built along one wall, with two rows of padded folding chairs set in a double semi-circle around it.

Riku stood at the shibari station, ready to demonstrate erotic Japanese bondage techniques on willing subjects. Isabel, wearing a black leather mini-dress and matching stiletto heels, sat on a high stool beside a long stand filled with whips, crops, paddles and floggers available for patrons who didn’t bring their own gear.

“Fabulous!” Master H.’s loud voice reverberated through the room, startling both Owen and Sylvie, who turned to see him entering from the kitchen. His long dark hair hung loose and he was dressed in a black silk shirt, open to reveal the matted curls on his massive chest. He must have let himself in the back door, which was located in the alley behind the building. Behind him was slave Mark, shirtless, his nipples pierced with thick, heavy barbells that gleamed in the soft light of the crystal chandeliers overhead.

Master H. turned slowly, his arms upraised as he took in the surroundings. Though he’d been involved in the club’s development over the months, during the last weeks of final preparations he had purposefully stayed away, wanting, he said, to see it with fresh eyes.

He beamed at Sylvie and Owen. “You have outdone yourselves, as I knew you would.” Moving toward them, he kissed both Sylvie’s cheeks and clapped Owen on the back. He looked them both over with a wolfish smile, offering a low whistle of appreciation. “I love the black and white theme.
Très
chic
.”

Sylvie smiled. She’d had her outfit especially made for opening night. Her corset was fashioned from the softest black leather, sculpted with bone stays to fit her curves, over a flowing white silk skirt.

At the stroke of nine, Sylvie nodded toward Jordan, who turned the lock and slid the thick bolt aside. He opened the doors, controlling the flow of patrons by his mere presence. Sylvie recognized a number of her clients among the throng of people pushing their way inside, as well as other pro Doms and Dommes she had invited to the opening night.

Alana and her slave, Jerry, came in, both dressed in red, Alana in silk, Jerry in leather. Spying Sylvie and Owen, they moved toward them, and Alana and Sylvie embraced. “Wow, this is some place, Owen,” Jerry said, his eyes moving hungrily over the BDSM equipment.

Alana laughed. “He’ll be like a kid in a candy store. I’ll never get him out of here.”

“Wait’ll you see the shibari master at work, Jerry. He’s fantastic,” Owen enthused. With their Mistresses’ permission, Owen led Jerry on a tour of the facilities.

Alana turned to Sylvie. “You look so happy, Sylvie. It’s good to see you smile.”

“I am happy.” Sylvie beamed. “I feel as if I am in love for the first time. I never knew it could be like this. I thought love was such hard work, but with Owen, it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

“I’ve known Owen a long time,” Alana said. “He’s a great guy who just took a while to find his way. I can’t think of a better person to introduce him to the power and the passion of BDSM than you, Sylvie. I’m so happy for you both.”

One of the waitstaff approached Sylvie with a question, and then several guests surrounded her, offering their compliments on the new space, and asking when she would be doing a demonstration. When she turned at last to resume her conversation with Alana, she had disappeared.

The next hour passed in a whirlwind as Sylvie mingled with guests, touched base with Owen and Master H., consulted with Riku and Isabel as they performed mini-demos at their respective stations, and made sure everything was flowing smoothly.

It was nearly eleven when Sylvie, following Master H.’s method of chiming bells to get people’s attention, gave the signal to Owen, who interrupted the jazz with a push of the button on the stereo system. She moved toward the stage, climbing the steps and tapping an empty champagne flute with a spoon.

While some people continued with scenes already in progress, most of the crowd made its way toward the stage. As they’d previously arranged, Master H. joined her. He thanked people for coming, and gave a warm introduction to “Sylvie Dubois, Mistress of
Le Chateau.
”

Amidst the enthusiastic applause, someone called out, “Demonstration! We want a demonstration!” The call was taken up, with people calling her name, or simply shouting, “Whip!” or “Flogger” or “Suspension bondage!”

As Master H. left the stage, Sylvie smiled toward the audience. “Thank you all for coming. After such an enthusiastic reception, I could hardly say no. But I will need a volunteer.” Both men and women called out enthusiastically, “Me! Pick me!”

Moving toward the rack at the back of the stage that contained various whips and crops, Sylvie selected a single tail of deceptively soft leather and returned to center stage. She cracked the tail in the air, making several people in the audience gasp.