Chapter Text
Geoffrey Mason looked at the card in his hand and then up at the tall man standing in front of his desk. He stood stiffly, head up and eyes forward. Military, Mason thought appraisingly. Vietnam era, most likely. Possibly later, depending on whether he was in the military prior to or post college. Some kind of bureaucrat - the standard drag of crisp white shirt and well-fitted suit gave that away.
He looked back at the card in his hands. It was a standard invitation card, the type that the senior members of the club had at their disposal. No indication of whom had passed it on to him.
"And how did you come by this, Mr. Skinner?"
Walter Skinner dropped his eyes and coolly studied the man behind the desk. "It appeared in my morning mail, accompanied by that note."
Mason studied the note again. It was brief and to the point:
Mr. Skinner - I believe that you will find the enclosed invitation of interest to you.
Nothing there to alarm him, and yet.... Something was not quite right. He studied the man again. Government? Perhaps, but not a politician. Law? Law enforcement? A cold feeling settled in his stomach.
"Mr. Skinner, are you aware of the purpose of this Club?"
Skinner cleared his throat. "Not entirely."
"But you have your suspicions," Mason said shrewdly. "Mr. Skinner, what is your profession?"
"I'm an assistant director with the FBI."
Mason rose, saying with quiet finality, "I am afraid that there has been a mistake. I will escort you to the entrance - "
"There's no mistake," Skinner said quietly. "And I am sure that your Club - no matter how unusual its purpose - operates within the law."
Mason came around the side of the desk and invaded Skinner's space deliberately. "Our purpose is to provide a safe and discreet location for our members to express their personal predelictions."
Skinner didn't back down. "Which includes S&M."
"We prefer to call it SM, but not all our members practice that variant. Some of them are into D/s or B&D. What we are not, Mr. Skinner, is a kinky sex club."
"Isn't sex involved?" Skinner asked, surprised.
Mason stepped back, studying the man again. "For some people. But it's a matter of personal preference. So if you're looking for a place to get over your midlife crisis with kinky, anonymous sex, I advise you to look elsewhere."
"That’s not what I’m looking for."
Mason settled one hip on the desk and studied the man before him. "What are you looking for?"
Skinner sighed. "I don’t know exactly. Something – more. Some type of control in my life."
"Looking to control or be controlled?"
"Control. I’m a top, not a bottom."
"So you know some of the terminology?" Skinner nodded and Mason crossed his arms. "I hate to tell you this, Mr. Skinner, but all tops here start on the bottom while they’re in training."
"Training? What for?"
"We don’t let just anyone declare that they are a top and start snapping a whip. You have to pass tests, go through levels to be come a top here. Our members are monitored carefully since our primary concern is the well-being of submissives. That’s what makes this the safest place to play in this city -– in fact, on the whole Eastern seaboard."
"What is involved in this training?"
"A senior member takes you under his or her wing, teaching you the basics. After you demonstrate your ability to learn and play within the rules, you become a junior top and are allowed to take your own submissives. At that point, you can continue to train with the senior until you become a senior yourself, transfer to another senior for additional training, or discontinue training. Not all our tops become seniors – only the best."
Skinner frowned. "I’m not looking to be a submissive."
"You wouldn’t be. The training for a sub is different from that for a Dominant. Submissives are learning to give over complete control to their masters. Dominants learn how to take control of subs, and they learn what it is like to give control to another. Top training is a hell of a lot tougher than sub training."
"If I joined this club, how would I be assigned to a senior top?"
"If you were accepted into the Club, I would make a recommendation. It would be based on what areas you were interested in learning, what my evaluation of you shows – and I’m a pretty good judge of character – and what senior would be the best fit. And based on whether you wanted a male or female trainer."
"A male," Skinner said without hesitation. "And I am interested in all areas."
Mason studied him again. "Have you ever had sex with a man?"
"Yes, but it’s been over fifteen years ago." As Mason raised his eyebrow, Skinner said, quietly, "I have been married for the past fifteen years. My wife and I recently separated."
"And is that why you’re here? A mid-life crisis? Then I suggest that you buy a sports car or pick up a sweet young thing instead. It won’t change your life as much as this will."
"I want to change my life," Skinner said firmly. "I’ve been looking for something like this for a long, long time."
"I advise you to consider this carefully, Mr. Skinner. As a SM top in training, you will experience everything, all aspects of the lifestyle. You will endure bondage, suffer physical pain and humiliation, and submit sexually to a man who will be your master. You will be made to cry, Mr. Skinner, and to accept comfort."
"And you don’t think I can handle that."
"No, I don’t," Mason said frankly. "I think you are the kind of man who keeps everything inside. Who would rather be dead than appear weak. Who would rather be alone than accept comfort."
Skinner’s eyes met his firmly. "You are wrong."
"Perhaps." Mason went back around his desk and sat down again, pulling out a card and writing rapidly on it. "Go home, Mr. Skinner. Think about this carefully. Return to your ordered life."
"And if I cannot?"
Mason handed him the card. "Read these books and picture yourself on both the giving and receiving end. If either makes you uncomfortable, tear up this card and forget you ever heard of this place."
Skinner looked down at the card for a long moment, then back at Mason. "And if I continue to want this?"
"My number is on the front of the card. Call me and we’ll set up another meeting."
Skinner tucked the card carefully into an inner pocket of his suit jacket. "Thank you for taking the time to see me."
Mason smiled faintly. "Have a good life, Mr. Skinner."
A security guard escorted Skinner out of the room. Mason picked up a pencil and the operating expenses report but found himself staring at nothing until a slight knock on the door shook him out of his thoughts. "Come."
A small red-haired man entered the room. "Got a moment, Mason?"
Mason stood. "Certainly, Mr. Matthews."
Sean Matthews settled into a chair with a grin and waved for Mason to sit. "You are such a formal bastard, Mason. As the Yanks say, ‘chill, dude’. Treat me like any other sub."
Mason sat down again. "Impossible. In the first place, you are my boss and the owner of this place."
"And the second?"
"If you were an ordinary sub, you will not be sitting here in my office." He allowed just a hint of menace into his voice.
"Good point, mate." Sean grinned, unaffected by a voice that would make most subs shiver. "I understand that you had a potential top visit today."
Mason nodded, not surprised that Sean knew about it. Sean seemed to know everything that went on within the place – instinct or intuition or just that submissive-grapevine. "An anonymous referral."
"Any good?" As Mason hesitated, Sean grinned again. "Why Mason – doubts? From you?"
"It has happened on occasion," Mason retorted. "I’m only human."
"That’s not what I hear. Several of the boys think that you’re a demon. In the nicest way, of course."
"I try my best."
Sean snorted. "So – what did you think of the applicant?"
"The potential is there, but he’s got so many internal walls that I don’t think he’ll be able to get past. I gave him an idea of what he’d be in for and told him to think it over carefully. I don’t think he’ll come back."
"Too bad. We could really use some more tops around here. Speaking of which, I’ve got to get going – hot date tonight."
"Anyone I know?" Mason’s face was composed, his voice even.
"No worries, Mum. In-house talent." He grinned at Mason. "I play safe, Mason."
"I hope so, Mr. Matthews," Mason said soberly.
Sean stood up and came over to the desk, leaning over it so that his face was inches away from Mason’s. "Such a formal bastard," he said teasingly. "One day that cool exterior will crack and then I’ll see what’s underneath all that control."
Mason’s face was set in stone. "It’ll never happen."
"If you’d play with me, I bet I’d see that fire you hide so well."
Mason shook his head. "That will never happen, either. I don’t think it’s a wise career move to spank and fuck the boss."
"Oh, I wouldn’t hold it against you, Master Geoffrey," Sean said seductively, then laughed and leaned back. "We’ll see, Mason. One day I’ll get past those lovely principles of yours. " He sauntered to the door and opened it, blew Mason a mock-kiss, and left.
Mason sat for a long time staring at the door until a snapping sound brought him out of his trance. He looked down at his hands blankly for a moment, at the broken bits of pencil in them, and drew a ragged breath.
"You already have, Sean. And may God have mercy on my soul."
He threw the broken pencil in the trashcan, pulled a fresh one out of his drawer, and determinedly turned back to his reports.