Master Dillon is the resident porn star of the cage and at one time was the most famous Dom in the industry. Unfortunately, accusations of abuse by his former full time submissive and fellow adult performer threaten to ruin his career. More than this, Dillon is deeply affected by the idea he might have been abusing his former sub during their Dom/sub relationship and goes through a crisis of conscious.
Luckily for Master Dillon, his friends at The Cage, the most exclusive BDSM club in Vancouver, are more than willing to get Dillon back into his leather pants and spanking subs asses. The newly hired shrink of The Cage, Calla Jones guides Master Dillon through the steps he needs to get his confidence as a dominant partner back.
He is well on his way to recovery when his former submissive and accuser comes back into his life and threatens to take everything from Dillon once and for all.
“Donnie, what do you think would have happened if you’d made contact with an actual person?” Dillon stood staring at one of the men he was supposed to be training to use a three-foot whip.
“I don’t know,” Donnie said sheepishly as he looked between the mannequin he was practicing on and Dillon. Shaking his head and trying to gain control of his temper, Dillon stalked forward and put one arm around the shoulders of the training mannequin.
“Let me explain it to you because you obviously didn’t read the material I sent home with you last week.” Dillon’s throat was tight as he did his best not to yell at his student. “You would have fucking opened up her skin.” He enunciated each word for impact. Donnie flinched. “Your poor sub would have needed stitches to sew her flesh back together. Is that what you want to do to some poor sub who has placed her trust in you?”
“No, Master Dillon,” the other man replied immediately. He appeared to be remorseful, but Dillon was not in the mood to ease the other man’s fears.
“Are you sure? Because we’ve been meeting for the past four weeks, and every time it comes to a demonstration, you’re sloppy and ill-prepared.” Dillon stepped away from the mannequin and pointed a finger at Donnie. “I wouldn’t let you near my worst enemy’s sister. As it is, I think the mannequin has taken enough of your abuse. If you don’t start taking this seriously, don’t bother coming back next week.”
“You’re going to kick me out of the class?” Donnie looked shocked. “Come on, Master Dillon, you can’t kick me out. My girlfriend really wants this.”
Dillon’s jaw clenched tight for a second before he barked out, “What did we discuss here on the first day, Paul?”
“We had to discuss the reasons why we were here and whether or not they were the right reasons,” Paul, one of Dillon’s best students automatically replied. Donnie’s shoulders slumped, and Dillon sighed. It wasn’t this guy’s fault. The recent popularity of alternative lifestyles, not to mention a hugely successful book series, had made kink cool. Unfortunately, not everyone who wanted to be a Dom could actually get there. The door to the room where he was holding his evening BDSM training class opened, and a familiar woman stepped inside. He ignored the newcomer and focused on Donnie.
“Donnie, everyone has been where you are right now.” He tried to make his voice seem sympathetic and soothing. “But the fact of the matter is that if you don’t take this training seriously, there’s no way in hell I’m going to sign you off to play with a real, living, breathing person. You’re going to have to make a decision as to whether BDSM is for you regardless of your girlfriend’s feelings.”
“But she’ll dump me if you kick me out of this class.” Donnie’s shoulders slumped, and Dillon’s empathy button clicked on. “Listen, man, she has to understand that maybe being a Dom isn’t for you. Why don’t you talk to Miss Jones about other options in the BDSM world.” Dillon was not about to outright suggest that Donnie was a sub and should let his girlfriend tie him up and beat his ass. After all, they were in the middle of a group of dudes, and that was Calla’s job.
“We can discuss this with your girlfriend at the next couples meeting, Donnie,” Calla Jones spoke from where she stood by the door. Dillon glanced in her direction with a look of relief. The psychologist for The Cage, the most exclusive BDSM club in Vancouver merely nodded in return.
“All right, gentlemen.” Dillon focused on everyone else in the class. “We’re done for the evening. Keep practicing with your single tails. I want to see some marked improvement and read the chapters on flogging and blood circulation for next week. See you then.” Dillon spoke to a couple of men with questions as he packed up his black kit bag.
“It looked like you were having fun.” Calla approached once all the men left the room.
“You have to do something about Donnie. He’s not a Dom,” Dillon said to Calla. “Why in hell did you let him into this class?”
“He wanted to try.” Calla shrugged a shoulder. “I told him he was more on the submissive side, but he really wanted to give the whole Dom experience thing a go. As I said in the beginning, I will bow to your experience on the matter. If you say Donnie is out, I will talk to him about joining the male submissive class.”
“Fine. I don’t want him here. He doesn’t do the work, and he could really hurt someone,” Dillon said before bending down to start taking apart the stand for the mannequin. “For that matter, I don’t think training junior Doms is really my thing.”
“Really? From where I was standing I thought you were doing a great job,” Calla voice sounded as if she were smiling.
“What’s the point anyway, none of these guys will be playing at The Cage,” Dillon grumbled.
“We’re doing community outreach, remember. Teaching responsible and safe practices in the BDSM community so people don’t get hurt. Just think of all the subs’ asses you saved tonight.” Calla beamed down at Dillon as he looked up.
“That’s ten swats for swearing, sub,” he growled at her.
“I’m not your training sub anymore,” Calla pointed out.
“Nope, but I’m still going to spank your ass if you get lippy,” Dillon’s smile was genuine as he took in the look of horror on Calla’s face when she realised he was serious. “Besides, are you going to play with any of the big bad Doms who are slobbering to get their hands on that backside of yours?” he asked even though he knew the answer.
“I’m not ready.” Calla’s voice had grown tight, and Dillon turned his attention back to dismantling the stand. “Besides, I’m here to talk with you.”
“Our session isn’t until Thursday,” Dillon replied absently. He had been seeing Calla as a shrink for a month or so now. She was helping him get past his issues with an ex-sub who accused him of abuse in the Dom/sub relationship.
“I realise that,” Calla responded and moved out of the way as Dillon stood up and held the mannequin under one arm and the stand in the other hand. “But you’ve made such good progress over the last few weeks, I think it’s time you took your first steps towards being an actual Dom again.”
“Like having sex?” Dillon said with a hopeful voice. “When I agreed to not to have sex until you thought I was ready, I had no idea it would take so long to be ready. I mean, I haven’t had such a long dry spell since I was….” He thought about it for a minute. “Well, never actually. I’m a porn star, and before I was a porn star, I liked to have lots of sex.”
Calla smiled broadly at him, and her response made Dillon feel good. He was slowly learning to joke around again. “Yes, I think you’re ready to get back out there and have sex.”
A mixture of trepidation and excitement went through Dillon at the prospect of having a submissive under his care. Working her body for his pleasure and hers. He placed a false smile on his face. “Great, I can’t wait to tie up some poor sub and spank her ass.”
“That’s going to have to wait.” Calla’s expression grew serious.
“What do you mean? You said I could get back into the saddle again?” Dillon’s eyes narrowed on her face. “Don’t tease me, woman.”
“Yeah, I said you could have sex again, Dillon. Vanilla sex.” Calla went over to where he had left his kit bag and winter jacket and picked them up. “I’ll help you to your car.” She walked to the door. Dillon was still dumbstruck as he followed her movements, his mind spinning over all the possibilities of this calamity. Calla opened the door and held it.
“I can’t.” Dillon finally said before shaking himself out of his stupor.
“You were rather excited by the prospect a moment ago,” Calla pointed out.
Dillon readjusted the mannequin under his arm and walked towards the door. “I was excited about the prospect of having normal sex with a woman or two. Not to, you know, go missionary on some chick.” He stepped into the corridor of the community centre, and he watched as Calla flicked the lights off. She turned and handed him his jacket. He carefully balanced the mannequin against the wall and laid the stand on the ground before he shrugged into the warm garment quickly before picking up the mannequin and stand again.
“No bondage, no spankings.” Calla let the door fall shut behind her. “Anything else is up for negotiation with whoever takes your fancy. There’s more to vanilla than just the missionary position.”
“But that’s the point.” Dillon felt his panic rising at the thought of just having sex with some woman. “There’s no contract, there’s no negotiation. How the hell am I supposed to know what she likes and doesn’t like?”
Calla laughed as they walked past the reception desk of the community centre and a woman waved them off. “You’re going to have to do what all the rest of the men in the world do.”
“But they’re idiots,” Dillon announced as the fresh night air hit him. It was full winter in Vancouver, and he could see frost already blanketed the ground. He stopped at the trunk of his Benz and fumbled around in the pocket of his jeans for his key fob. “Where the hell am I going to find someone to have vanilla sex with me? I haven’t even had vanilla sex since way before I started doing scenes on film.”
“I’m sure there are innumerable women who would be willing to have vanilla sex with you, Dillon.” Calla’s tone was less reassuring and more exasperated. “Just use that famous charm on some poor girl, and I’m sure you’ll be into her pants in no time.”
Dillon finally pulled the fob out and pressed the button for the trunk to open. “Women have certain expectations when they fuck me, Calla.” Dillon wrestled the mannequin into the trunk of his car and was thankful it was only a torso. “They want the whole Master Dillon experience, not some vanilla rip-off.” He reached over and plucked his kit bag out of Calla’s hands and set it in the trunk before shutting it.
“That’s exactly why you need to have some vanilla sex. Just once. You need to go back to the beginning and remember what you loved about fucking in the first place.” Calla stood with her shoulders up around her ears to keep warm, and puffs of white cloud came out of her mouth as she spoke.
“Twenty smacks,” Dillon said automatically. He thought over everything she said. Maybe she had a point. Besides, the thought of doing a scene at the moment still gave him cold sweats. “I’ll walk you to your car.” They were silent as they crossed the parking lot, and Calla unlocked the door to her car.
Dillon wanted to tell her she was crazy, and he still had loads of misgivings about trying to find a girl who would have vanilla sex with him, but Calla had really helped him during the past few weeks. She helped him even though he knew she was still hurting over his friend’s rejection of her submission. She was a great lady, and he owed it to her to see her therapy through.
“Yeah, ok, I’ll do it vanilla.” Dillon said as he heard her door lock disengage, and he opened her car door for her. “Assuming I can find someone to go missionary with me.”
Calla smiled and hugged him tightly. “You don’t have to go into details. I just want to know you did it.” She got into her seat. “I’ll see you at the club tomorrow night?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there with my vanilla on.” Dillon joked before shutting the door. He waited until Calla had started her car and driven out of the lot before he went over to his own vehicle. He got behind the wheel, locked the doors, and took his phone out of his jacket pocket. He held his breath as he looked at the screen. Eight text messages, one from his agent who was beyond eager to have him back working again and seven from Tiffany Moretz, aka. Holly Go Lightly, the architect of his current nightmare. Dillon threw the phone onto the passenger seat and started the car’s engine. He needed to get back to his loft in Yaletown, have a drink, and think about who the hell he was going to have some vanilla sex with.
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is Book #1 of The Cowboys of the Four Aces series by Sherry James.
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