Left BracketTHE CORD/BARNETT FAMILYRight Bracket


(page 3)

And so, Peter Leaman met Ellen Brubaker. Mistress Dominique, of course, got his permission; asked if he'd like to meet a novice Domme; told him that his discretion was vital and that she would guarantee the same... in fact, his name might have been known by a wider audience than that of Brubaker.

They liked each other from the start. Ellen was so straightforward yet non-threatening. She reminded him of Rita Hayworth, in those old black and white movies. She lived high up in a duplex in New York City, and she owned a grand piano, that stood in a wide space, where the afternoon sun showed up the high shine. She would have her maid serve them daiquiris on the veranda twenty-five stories above the street and she'd talk about the excitement of New York. Peter, twenty years her junior, was fascinated.

Then, one night, one month after they'd met, they talked about dominance and submission.

"You understand I come to this late in life, dear?" she said. "It's all very new to me."

"Oh yes. Of course. I understand. I don't think that's a problem."

He was infatuated with the entire scope of her life, and being taken into it, dining at "21" and attending black tie functions where he met the elegants of Manhattan. His own life had consisted of long, lonely workouts, practice sessions and showering in athlete's dressing rooms. His diet was healthy but devoid of social contact, much of it eaten in hotel dining rooms or ordering room service. And so he hadn't even thought of submission while with her, although he tried to imagine the sweet-natured elder lady turning into a demanding bitch. But it didn't seem to compute. Maybe there was a problem after all.

He told her, "Well, I don't come to this late in life. Um...I don't mean by age, actually, but I mean it's been in me since before I could remember. Even as a young kid I had crazy fantasies of being kidnapped by mean women. And so it's really in my blood. It's a very deep-seated need to submit and be an owned slave." He emphasized the word "need."

She contemplated this for a moment. Could she live up to his life long obsession? But she was Ellen Brubaker, damn it, and she'd never failed before to accomplish her goals and fill her roles. Hell, all she had to do was recall her lying and cheating husbands if she wanted to stir up some inner anger.

"And I need a devoted slave," she whispered seductively. "I need to place my spike heel on the back of your neck, Peter. Not just any slave's neck, like Mistress Dominique... but your neck."

When she saw Peter's reaction, the way his eyes suddenly dropped, the way his broad shoulders went limp, and his head dropped, she became immediately aroused. It was like a soft punch to her stomach, and an electric tingle followed. My God, she thought, he's been tweaked into another persona. It's almost like hypnotic conditioning. I must have triggered this submissive reaction... and just look at him, he can hardly move.

"Are you all right, dear?" she asked.

He lifted his handsome close-shaved face. He cleared his throat.

"Uh... yes. Fine."

"This is going to work out just perfectly, Peter. You do need to be controlled, don't you? You need some stern guidance from a confident woman. You do need to become my slave, don't you?"

"More than I need air to breath," he said, and she almost died from the response.

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