All week I wrestle with my feelings. I should just stop this right now. Before I get any deeper into it. But Adler messages me more often than usual, telling me how much he’s looking forward to taking me to the ball. I begin to sense that it has some symbolic significance to him. When I meet him on the Thursday before, he’s rougher and more possessive than ever, fucking me more-or-less all night long. As soon as I walk through the door, he pushes me to the ground, and forces himself into me fast enough to make me yell out. And that’s the theme of the evening. His cock is hard and relentless, and he doesn’t quit until he’s come once in my pussy, once in my mouth, and once in my ass. His hands are rough on my body, but he doesn’t whip me.

“I want you to look your best on Saturday,” he says, massaging some lotion into my tender ass cheeks.

Saturday arrives. I sleep well the night before, but all day I’m restless and on edge.

“See you later!” Dominique calls gleefully as I head to Adler’s house late afternoon. As I arrive, I receive a text telling me not to get undressed. There’s a woman waiting for me—a make-up artist. I’m so relieved since my skills are limited to doing smoky eye shadow. I’m also touched by Adler’s thoughtfulness and generosity.

I sit on one of the kitchen stools and Caitlyn spends an hour doing my face and hair. And when she’s done, I don’t recognize myself. I look incredible, and kind of sinister. Like a geisha crossed with an evil doll. My face is very pale with little, red button lips, and my eyebrows are dramatic black slashes reaching almost to my hairline. Pinkish-red eye shadow covers my entire eye area from my eyebrows all the way down to the bottom of my cheeks where it fades out so it looks like blush. My hair is up in an elaborate series of knots and coils. Even Jeremy wouldn’t recognize me if he saw me tonight.

Adler gets styled too with some clever use of shadow that makes his face look lean and angular, and his hair is slicked back with a pomade. His outfit is a black military jacket with silver buttons and a mandarin collar, matched with black leather pants. He looks commanding and a little cruel. It’s delicious. His eyes fill with desire when I put the dress on and step into my heels.

“You look even more stunning than I expected,” he says. I look at the finished product in the mirror. I felt nervous all day, but now with the make-up disguise, I feel sexy. I can be anyone tonight.

Adler comes and stands behind me, putting his arms around my waist. “We look like a good couple, don’t we?” he murmurs. My stomach lurches. Because we do. And because we’re not. “There will be a lot of eyes on you tonight. Don’t forget who you belong to.” He produces my collar and buckles it around my neck. It’s heavy, too heavy to forget about, and the thought of other people seeing it and knowing that it’s an ownership collar brings a frisson of arousal.

We have dinner. Chicken and rice—so you’ll have energy, but it won’t bloat you. He thinks of everything. While I painstakingly reapply my lipstick, he mixes up a couple of vodka tonics, which takes the edge off my lingering nerves.

“Let’s go to the ball,” he says, taking my hand and leading me out of the house.

The taxi driver rolls his eyes at us, and I start giggling because I feel like I temporarily belong to a different world—a liberated, unpredictable one where anything is possible.

Adler starts laughing, too. “I love the way people get freaked out by a little bit of latex and make up,” he says. He lifts my hand and kisses it. “You look so beautiful. I can’t wait to show you off.”

My heart gives a little jump. “Will some of your friends be there?”

“A couple, maybe,” he says, as if he doesn’t care one way or the other. Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t name a single one of his friends. He never tells me about nights out, and while I’m sure he has people over to his place some nights, the house is always immaculately tidy, and there are no signs that anyone else has been there.

He’s different again tonight, excitable and chatty. I try to put my nerves aside and match his mood.

We pull up in front of a row of railway arches. There’s a small open door with a line of people in big coats and crazy hair waiting outside. My dress feels very restrictive as I climb out of the taxi. Adler takes my hand.

“Relax,” he breathes into my ear, and suddenly I do. As if it’s a command, spoken deep into my soul. We don’t have to line up; he has some kind of VIP tickets. As we pass through the door, a cavernous space opens up. Wow. I’ve walked past these arches on the street many times, and I never would’ve guessed that all this lay inside. As we wait at the coat check, I catch a glimpse of the interior, a riot of colorful latex and bare flesh, moving in time to heavy electro, and I’m suddenly impatient to reveal my own outfit.

Adler pauses to kiss me before we enter the main room.

“You look unbelievably beautiful,” he murmurs. “This is your night, Reagan. And I want it to be the wildest, most exciting night of your life.”

The décor is incredible. There are installations along the walls, hanging from the ceilings, everywhere. Most of them with a heart theme. I’d completely forgotten that it’s the valentine’s ball.

The place is full of beautiful people. There are some girls so impossibly tall and stunning that they must be models. My head snaps from side to side as I see evil nurses, corrupted nuns, spine-chilling gas masks, and full-body latex suits. There are lots of bare breasts and asses, and at least two naked girls. One is wearing nothing more than a leash and long boots. The other is wearing a leather bra with open cups and straps around the waist and the top of her thighs in an imitation of panties. The sight of them makes me hot and a little uncomfortable. I feel both relieved and envious not to be them.

“Do you wish I was naked?” I ask Adler.

He lays an arm around my waist. “No. I want you to feel like a princess tonight.”

Tingles run through my body. I do feel like a princess on the arm of this incredibly sexy man. Lots of admiring glances are thrown in our direction. I’m wearing his collar and everyone can see that I belong to him. I like this feeling a lot.

“How about we get drinks and I give you a tour?”

There’s a small, speakeasy-style bar, and he gets us Champagne cocktails in old-fashioned glasses.

“I love this!” I say. “It’s like a classy event and a kinky playground all rolled into one.”

He smiles, and I can tell he’s relieved that I like it here. “A little different from the Sexpo, isn’t it? You’ll get the occasional douche in here. A couple of guys always get kicked out for inappropriate touching, but most people are very cool and respectful.”

“Hey, bro!” a loud, drawling voice calls, and a guy dressed as a circus ringmaster appears in front of us.

“Hey, Callum!” Adler replies with warmth as they clap each other on the back. “Callum, meet Reagan.”

Callum flashes me a huge grin and air-kisses me on both cheeks. “Don’t worry, I won’t mess up your make-up,” he says. “So, you’re the reason why we haven’t seen this boy for a long time.”

I open my mouth and close it again, having no idea how to respond to that.

“Yes, she is,” Adler says, sliding his arm around my waist. What? I almost say.

“And who could blame you?” Callum nods, graciously. “I’ll catch you both later.” And he’s gone again.

“Callum’s a good guy,” Adler explains. “We’ve been friends for a few years.”

“He seems like fun,” I say, although I really want to ask what he meant. I’m confused and kind of stunned.

After that, somebody comes up to us every few seconds, greeting Adler with affection. Adler knows a hell of a lot of people. And I feel obscurely proud at the way that he immediately introduces me. His friends seem nice, full of compliments, and several of them remark they haven’t seen him for a long time. But they don’t hang around, and I get the sense that he holds them at a distance.

There’s one big, dark dance room playing techno. It has a stage at the front where the performances will be, he explains. There are two smaller dance rooms as well, one full of video screens showing some very freaky porn and another playing trance. Everyone in there seems to be lost in euphoria, arms waving like tentacles, eyes blanked out like untuned TVs. “They’ll be there all night,” Adler says with a grin.

He holds me more tightly as we weave through the crowds to emerge at the “playroom.” It’s a very large, semi-open area full of black wooden frames and benches, from which people are suspended or bent over, being punished in creative ways. My breath catches in my throat. This is a sight I’d never expected to see in my life.

“Who shall we watch?” he asks. I point to a tall, beautiful girl with long red hair, being whipped by an older man with a mean face, and we walk closer. It’s shocking to see someone else being punished. To see the emotions I’ve experienced so many times written on her face.

“Hey there, handsome,” comes a mellifluous female voice from behind us. We both turn. There’s a petite blond girl with huge cartoonish eyes and a wide grin. Her hair is in cornrows, and she’s wearing black latex panties, huge black boots and a leather open bra, her small pink nipples standing to attention. Then she launches herself at Adler, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist. I bristle, but try to hide it.

“Where the hell have you been? I haven’t seen you for the longest time!” she shrieks, planting kisses on both his cheeks.

“I’ve been busy,” he says, laughing, and puts her down again. “Lark, meet Reagan.”

She smiles sweetly as she shakes my hand, and I immediately hate her, sensing something mocking in her gestures. “You look beautiful,” she says.

“And you look very hot.”

“Aw, thanks. I ran out of time to plan my outfit, so I just grabbed what was lying around.” She turns to Adler. “I’ve gotta go find Candace, but let’s catch up later.” And she disappears.

I’m desperate to ask who she is, but also aware that it’s none of my business. Instead, I studiously watch the girl on the bench. She has flawless, milky skin, and I flinch at the sight of it being covered in red stripes. It looks so brutal, and I have a crazy urge to rush over and stop the guy from hitting her.

Would I let Adler whip me if I could see what he was doing? I’m taken aback when I come up with the answer—probably not.

“We’ll play later, but let’s go dance first,” he says. I agree, relieved.

On the way to the big dance room, Adler shows me the couples’ room. It’s black inside, the lights very low, with writhing, semi-naked couples and trios just discernable through the fog from a smoke machine. A woman’s face is pressed against a wall, while a man fucks her stiffly from behind. She’s naked while he is clothed. It’s erotic, and the desire that has been kindling since we arrived bursts into a flame. Suddenly, I need Adler to claim my body. With all those people eager for his time, I need to remind myself that I’m his. I turn to face him, pull the bodice of my dress down so my nipples spring into view.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” he says.

I nod, gazing at him, excited and scared.

“Then we’re going to have to take your dress off.” His voice is a low growl, and he reaches behind me for the zip. He slides it off as easily as if he’s done it a hundred times before. “And this.” He snaps at the waistband of the miniscule G-string I’m wearing. I slip it off and hand it to him. As he leads me across the room in just my shoes, I’m aware of eyes turning in our direction, lingering on my body. He finds a spot, somewhat secluded, but at least three men are watching us openly. I like it. I like that they desire me, but I’m only his.

“Show them who you belong to,” he croons. He unfastens his zipper, and I know what he wants. I squat down and open my mouth. He’s already rock hard, but he’s not as rough as usual, and I’m grateful, knowing that my make-up can’t withstand tear trails.

It feels so hot, so dirty to be watched while I’m sucking Adler’s cock. There’s a guy in my peripheral vision watching with greedy eyes, but at a fierce glance from Adler, he shrinks into the shadows again. Before long, Adler hooks his fingers around my collar and hauls me to my feet. He pushes me against the wall face-first. He spanks my ass a dozen times, then he spreads me wide and enters me. I’m soaking wet already and he glides in, all the way to the hilt. It’s easier than usual, my heels adding three inches to my height.

“How do you feel about all those men watching you, staring at your tits and cunt? Wishing they could stick their cocks in you?” he growls as he pumps into me hard.

“I’m yours,” I reply.

“That’s right. I’m the only one who gets to fuck you, to take possession of any part of your body, any time I want.” He’s pinching my nipples hard and my pussy is clenching around his cock, seconds from exploding. He pulls out and begins rubbing the tip of his cock back and forth across my asshole. “And I want all these losers to know it,” he snarls from between gritted teeth. I concentrate on relaxing the muscle, telling myself it’s going to feel good. Something cold and wet touches my hole. Lube, I realize with relief. And a second later, he’s in, the head of his cock pushing through my ring. Three fingers fill my pussy at the same time, and he screws me hard. “Look at them,” he orders. “Look at all those perverts watching you, wishing I’d share you. Because I could if I wanted to, because you’re mine.”

It’s his words, as much as all those hungry eyes, that tip me right over the edge, and I climax, a violent orgasm ripping right through my pussy and ass at the same time. Adler comes too, holding me tight enough to hurt, calling me baby.

I go to the bathroom, fix myself up, and we take a moment in a chill-out room.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” Adler demands. “All those people watching you.” He seems stronger, more dominant than ever, and I’m conscious of looking at him like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head.

“It was even better than in my fantasies,” I reply.

There’s a show starting in the big dance room, and we go watch it. It’s crazy, intense, electrifying, involving strobe lights and sexy, naked zombies. I watch it in a daze, still blissed out from the sex. It’s better than any drug.

When it’s finished, we join the writhing mass of bodies on the dancefloor, and I’m not surprised to see that he has a great natural rhythm. Friends keep stopping by to chat to him, but he keeps me close. Strangers compliment my outfit all the time. It’s a lot of fun, checking people out and having snatched conversations, and the time goes fast. The blond girl with the cornrows appears again and says something to Adler that I can’t hear. He laughs and nods and catches me around the waist.

“It’s just about time for me to give you a little discipline, but Lark says that there’s a free spot in the Shibari room, and I want to practice a little first. Come on.” He takes my hand and I stumble after him, wondering what Shibari is.

It’s that complicated rope bondage, of course.

“I want you to be my partner, but I’m not experienced, and I’m afraid I’ll do something horrible to you,” Adler says.

“I’m game,” I say, but I glance at my dress at the same time. I’ll have to take it off, and with ten or so people standing around, the room suddenly feels small and very quiet.

“I’ll be your partner,” Lark cuts in. “It’s not like Justin hasn’t dropped me on my head a few times.”

“Go ahead,” I say. I watch as she casts off her open bra and Adler begins to truss up her petite, muscular physique. And then my stomach drops. She’s the girl from the Sexpo, the one Adler was going to the club with when he saw me with Hugo. I didn’t recognize her at first because her hair used to be dark and curly. A shard of jealousy pierces me all the way through. They’re close. And she wants him. I feel like a freaking idiot. How could you let him tie her up, you moron? I curse myself. They’re both having fun with lots of murmuring and giggling as he hitches her legs wide apart. I can’t stand watching them, and I slip out of the room, determined not to make a scene.

I decide to get myself a drink, but the bars are further away than I remembered, and I have to wait a few minutes to order. On the way back, I get disoriented and can’t figure out the way back to the Shibari room. I wander around aimlessly until a group of people ask me if I’m lost. They’re full of questions about my outfit and, since I’m not in any particular hurry to return to Adler and Lark, I stay and chat to them. They tell me that they’ve travelled halfway across the country to come to the ball, and they all work for the same accountancy firm. I’m so fascinated by how crazy they are, and not at all like the cliché of their profession, that I lose track of time until Adler finds me at last, his hand shooting out of nowhere and squeezing my arm hard enough to make me cry out.

“Where have you been?” he demands. He’s real mad, his eyes like hot coals. I’ve never seen him like this before, and it scares me.

“I was thirsty, so I went to get a drink,” I say lamely.

“You didn’t think of telling me where you were going?”

“I-I thought I’d only be gone for a minute.”

He hooks his finger into the ring on my collar and tugs it hard. “You know what this collar means? It means you don’t do anything without my permission. Come on.” Keeping his finger there, he begins to drag me through the crowd. And he doesn’t stop until we’re at the playroom. It’s busy, and there’s only one free piece of apparatus, a kind of open frame in the middle of the room. He hauls me over and strips off my dress. Then, keeping me on my feet, he shackles me hand and foot, so I’m basically spread-eagled between two vertical bars, facing the room and anyone who might care to watch.

The expression on his face makes me tremble. He’s never hit me in genuine anger before, and I suddenly feel I don’t know this man at all. He goes to my purse and pulls out a ball gag. I tremble even more. He’s never gagged me while whipping me either; he says he needs to listen to my responses. As he pushes it into my mouth and buckles it behind my head, a wave of humiliation washes over me.

“Shake your head hard if you need this to stop at any point,” he growls in my ear. And then he begins to whip me. I can’t see the whip, but it feels like a flogger, and he only takes a short time to warm up my skin before he uses it in earnest, making me yelp with every stroke. He doesn’t speak to me at all, and I sense that he wants to hurt me. People are watching, quite a few of them, and I close my eyes, ashamed to meet their gaze. It’s one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. But before long he’s done, and he’s releasing me. He takes hold of my collar again, tugging until I’m bent double, and he drags me over to a bench, his preferred apparatus. I know I won’t be leaving for a long time as the first stroke of the crop stings my ass.

He gets to work, seemingly intent not to leave any part of my ass and thighs unmarked. Each stroke is way too hard, and it hurts like hell. I try not to cry, aware that I need to keep my nostrils clear for breathing, and I scream and groan instead. When it finally lets up, I know he’s not done. But he leaves me for a minute, or five, it’s hard to tell. Luckily I can’t see my audience, but I can hear them murmuring, discussing how red and abused my poor ass is.

Adler’s return is accompanied by a tremendous whack, and I can tell he’s got a paddle. My ass is burning, and I can’t take it, but it goes on and on anyway until I’ve lost all sense of where I am. All I’m aware of is this endless pain, that blurs to the point where I can’t tell when he’s hitting me and when he isn’t. Somewhere in this fog is the knowledge that I can put an end to this. But it seems far away and I can’t quite reach it.

When the beating stops and he lifts me up and takes me in his arms, I’m as weak and floppy as a doll. He removes the gag and leads me over to some seats in the corner.

“Good girl,” he says. “You did very well. I’m proud of you.”

“That was way too much, Adler.”

“I know it was a lot. But you didn’t give me the signal to stop, so I knew you could take it.”

I stare at him. “Would you have even noticed me shake my head? You seemed pretty caught up in what you were doing.”

“Of course.” His voice is softer now. “I checked on you before every single stroke. Of course I did, Reagan. If it was too much, why didn’t you stop me?”

I fall silent for a moment. There are several reasons: because I was kind of incredulous at what you were doing to me. Because I have this stupid pride. Because I wanted to show you that I was the best sub you could have. But I’m ashamed to admit to any of them. “Because all these people were watching us,” I mutter at last.

His face kind of crumples, but so fleetingly that I think I imagine it. “It doesn’t matter who’s watching. It doesn’t matter if a hundred people are watching. If anything’s too much, you just tell me to stop.” He squeezes my knee. “But you’re okay now?”

I want to say a whole lot more. In fact, I want to scream at him. But I’m too drained. Instead, I nod.

“Stay right here. I’m going to get you a sugary drink.”

I rest my chin on my hands, stare at the floor, attempt to get my feelings under control. And then someone’s beside me. I raise my head to discover Lark’s big mocking eyes watching me unblinkingly.

“You sure took a beating,” she says.

“I’m okay.”

“He’s gotten you well trained, much faster than he usually trains his subs.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. He must be about done with you now.”

I don’t restrain the scowl threatening to spread across my face. “What are you talking about?”

“You know Adler. He’s a sweetheart, and he really cares about his subs. But he gets bored very easily. He always says that as soon as he can get them to do everything he wants, it’s time to find another wild pony to break in.”

My stomach knots. I’ve been fretting about this for the past few days. Ever since Dominique told me she knew him, I’ve had a sinking feeling that we’re coming to the end of our arrangement, that he’s guessed how I feel about him and he wants to escape before things get messy. Or that he’s just getting tired of me. He keeps saying how well-trained I am. Once you’ve trained a submissive, what else is there to do with her?

My emotions well up, and I yearn to hit Lark in her irritating, cartoonish face. And then I think, why not? We’re at an S&M event. So I let loose, slapping her with my open hand, right across the face. It makes a satisfying crack and leaves an even more satisfying red spot on her cheek.

She blinks. And then her face splits in a lazy grin. “I’m just trying to help you. No need to be so emotional.”

“You’re a fucking bitch!” I yell.

She lays an arm along my shoulder. Adler’s back. I shrug her off discreetly and take the drink he’s offering.

“Catch you later,” she says and skips off.

He makes me drink the whole cup of repulsively sweet liquid. “Better?” he asks. His eyes are soft and full of concern, but I’m feeling too wretched to be affected by him.

“A little. Can you please get my dress?”

He helps me into it.

“I look a mess, don’t I?”

“You look beautiful. You just need to tidy up your make-up a little.”

I go to the bathroom and wipe off the black spider trails down my cheeks. And suddenly I hate the girl staring back at me. I don’t feel like myself any more.

I did it for him. I didn’t put up with the beating because it was a challenge—like all the times we played at his house. It used to make me so hot to know that I could take all he had to give me. But tonight wasn’t hot at all. I endured it to prove something. And that’s not me. Suddenly, I feel like he’s been wearing me down, to the point that I’ve genuinely humiliated myself in order to gain his approval. I don’t even trust my own judgment anymore. My reflection looks back at me in disgust. “No more,” I tell it. “I’m done with this.”

I leave the bathroom and stride over to Adler where he’s sitting and chatting to a couple of guys.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, reaching for my hand.

“I’m going to go home now. I’ll call an Uber.”

He jumps to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to spoil your evening.”

“My evening is all about you. Come on, I’ll help you get your coat.”

I want to go home by myself, but I allow Adler to bundle me into a car and take me back to his place. He’s very gentle with me, asking me several times to tell him how I’m feeling, but I’m in a daze and all I want is to go to bed. He makes me some toast while I shower. I eat it then fall asleep fast.

* * *

The following morning, I pretend I’m still asleep and watch him through my eyelashes as he packs a bag. He moves fast, full of purpose. I wish he’d just leave and I could get up by myself, but I’m sure there’s no way he’d leave me in his house alone.

At last, he sits on the edge of the bed, and I’m forced to acknowledge him.

“Hey,” he says, stroking my face. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I wanted to make sure I have time to make you some breakfast.”

“I’m okay,” I reply.

“You need to eat, replenish your energy. How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” He pulls the sheet down, turns me on my front, and inspects my bruises. He’s silent, and when I see his face again, I know it’s because he’s feeling guilty. “I’ll never hit you that hard again, I promise. Even if you beg me,” he says.

I’m supposed to laugh now, show him it’s all okay. But I don’t. He goes to the bathroom and returns with some ointment, which he massages into my sore skin. “This will soothe it.”

I say very little, feeling like something knocked me on the head last night. I get up, get dressed mechanically, and follow him down to the kitchen where he’s cooking eggs.

He passes me a cup of coffee, and it revives me a little. I try to pull myself together and make conversation. But my thoughts are whirling, and I’m desperate to be alone to process things. Apart from everything else, I’m very aware he hasn’t told me where he’ll be for the next two weeks, and I don’t feel like I can ask him.

Is this the last time I’ll see him? I wonder as he remembers something he was supposed to do and hurtles upstairs. The last time I’ll be in his house? The thought stabs at my soul. There’s a buzz as his phone vibrates with a message. I glance toward the stairs. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I lean over and look at the home screen. There’s a small photo of a very beautiful girl with chestnut-colored hair with the name Callie underneath, and the message says: I can’t wait to see you today xxx. My heart jumps into my throat.

He comes back downstairs again, humming. “I have to leave in a moment, but I can drop you off,” he says.

“No. I want to walk.”

“It’s far, Reagan.”

I shrug. “It’s a nice day, and I need the exercise.” He tries a couple more times, but I insist. At the door, he hugs me tight, then kisses me softly on the lips. For that final instant, I allow myself to yield, lose myself in him.

“I’ll see you in two weeks. Be good.”

“Yes, two weeks.”

I don’t look back as I walk down his path.