Chapter One

 

My innocence ended the summer before I began my graduate studies.

The campus was virtually deserted. Most classrooms and professors' offices stood empty and quiet. The cafeteria, usually the meeting ground for those to commiserate about term papers, not to mention the food served there, now rested from the noise that normally bounced off the walls. Forks, knives and spoons were all tucked away until fall.

Life still roamed here and there. The maintenance people, gardeners and janitors, drove from one building or wide lawn to another on their electric carts for whatever errand deemed important, yet unhurried. The administration staff, now in caretaker mode, arrived at eight, broke for lunch at noon, returned to their desks at one, then joined the rush hour crowd at five. The occasional stray student, perhaps not getting word that the previous spring semester had concluded, or arriving way too early for the next one in the fall, strode from nearly vacant dormitories to sparse classes, or drove off to whatever restaurant or other mcjob to keep financially afloat.

The last category wrapped me in its constrictive arms. During a gap year between college and grad school I chose to work for an environmental organization. While doing so filled up my resume with good deeds, it did nothing for my debit card. And although both of my now divorced parents had provided well for my education, those funds only went so far. I still needed to build up my account to buy books, afford to hang out with whatever new friends I would make and maybe, just maybe, avoid taking out any more student loans. I sure wasn't asking to have things just handed me on a platter, but I also didn't want to start off in financial slavery.

On an open social media page that listed jobs and catered to the university I happened across a mysterious post. It read like someone was looking for help in the sociology department, but it was an off-campus job with unusual hours. The successful candidate would need the ability to take exacting directions and follow all orders. They also wanted personal details that you wouldn't normally give like physical dimensions and general health. I guessed they probably wanted to know if the person they were looking for was at least halfway fit. So I wrote an email with the required information.

Age twenty-four. Height five feet eleven. Weight one sixty five. Hair sandy blonde. Eyes light blue. Physical health and stamina good. I also threw in a short thing about reliability and how that connected with following directions. I didn't know why I did it, maybe just something to make me stand out from the rest of the crowd.

I got a reply within ten minutes and a time to meet precisely one hour from when the email was sent. Not at two or two-thirty, but two-forty-six. Tight, but I could still make it. Not that anywhere was miles away from my small, just off-campus apartment, but the sociology department was crammed into an older building in a fairly remote corner of the university. That morning I had gotten involved in a pickup basketball game at the gym with some other guys, so I thought it might be a good idea to clean up and look presentable for a job interview.

Funny thing though, during the game three co-eds, maybe even grad students, wandered in to the small gym and kind of became a cheering section. You couldn't help but notice them because each was super hot. Some of the guys started playing harder, playing to the ladies who lapped it all up. I just kept on with my usual game, my mind half on putting the ball through the hoop, the other half on my current unemployed situation.

But there was someone who did distract me. Another woman, halfway up the bleachers. Deep brunette, almost black hair fell and spread lightly over her shoulders. A cream turtle neck sweater blended with a light skin tone. Dark glasses covered half her face. Mouth in a straight line could either have been an indication of boredom or deep interest. I guessed it was the latter because as the game went on her head swung with the action up and down the court, and she didn't miss a single play.

Not sure what to think (Stalker? Bored housewife? Just some woman watching half-naked young men at play?) I finished the game, headed back to my bare apartment, found the ad, then rushed through a shower. I arrived at the sociology department at two-thirty-nine.

A lady with severely pulled back, dark blonde hair sitting behind a counter glanced up over half-lense granny glasses. The name plate on the counter announced her as Betty Maguire. She quickly glanced up, started to say something but stopped. She lowered her eyes, cleared her throat, then recovered and pinned me with a steady, measured stare.

"You're here. Good. And with almost seven minutes to spare." She motioned to a chair behind me. "You can wait there until Dr. Langley is ready." She returned to her work.

"You're sure I'm the one Dr. Langley wants to see?" I said. "I could just be some delivery guy or lost student."

She didn't even raise her head from the computer screen. "Don't get fresh, Patrick. Who else would be here at the start of summer? While all the frivolous, empty-headed other students are bouncing at the beach or posting photos of their latest meal, only the ones worth anything are already getting ready for the new semester."

"Uh, thanks. I think."

"There you go again. Just follow orders and sit down. Dr. Langley won't see you a second before your scheduled time. She is most precise."

Huh. Alright, so that's how it's going to go. I started for the chair but one thing still bothered me, so I stopped and turned back. "Hey, how did you know my name?"

Those eyes swung my way again, and this time they peered over the rim of the glasses like I was there to see the vice-principal for detention.

"You didn't say I couldn't talk," I said.

A pause. Probably meant to intimidate, and she did.

"Dr. Langley wasn't the only one to read your email," she said. "And one other thing: My name is not 'Hey'. You will call me Madame or Ms. Maguire."

Another pause. She didn't blink, although I was sure I did. Several times. Maybe even swallowed.

Starting to sweat now. Okay, okay, I give.

"Yes, ma'am." I started to turn away.

"Wrong."

I stopped. "Huh?"

"It is not "ma'am". What did I say before?"

Oh, crap. "Uh, Madame or Ms. Maguire."

"Be precise, Patrick. Laziness is a real turn off."

I swallowed again. "Yes, Madame."

Her eyes narrowed, whether still in anger or in recognition of my acceptance of her rules, I couldn't tell. Then she chuckled and I knew was fine.

"You are precious, aren't you?" Ms. Maguire said. "You'll do."

You'll do? What did she mean by that? Before I asked the phone rang. Not a normal ring but two quick jingles, like an internal call. Ms. Maguire didn't pick up the receiver so I guess she hit a speaker button.

"Send him in," said a woman's voice, low and assured.

"As you say," Ms. Maguire replied. "And he's here with time to spare." Those eyes swung on me again, now warm and inviting.

"That's a good start," said the voice, "although he'll still have to work on that punctuality."

This time I definitely heard Ms. Maguire punch a button on the phone to sever the connection. Her head motioned to the inner office. "Well, go ahead."

"Thank you, Madame," I said, getting up and heading there.

"And Patrick?"

I halted my stride. "Madame?"

"You're going to do fine." A sudden, easy smile shone out and bathed me in a warm glow.

Strangely thinking that I had already survived the job interview I knocked twice on Dr. Langley's door. A muffled "Come in" became my latest order.

She was the one from the bleacher stands. The dark glasses were gone, but the hair and cream turtleneck were the same. She stood and a pair of sleek, dark slacks added to a sense of personal authority. A pressed smile and quick handshake completed the air of business.

"Patrick Sutton? Dr. Julia Langley. Please, sit down." Yes, that voice was calm and assured, but there was a faint mix of southern as well. Not backwoods, but aristocrat. She resumed her chair on the other side of the desk while I took one of two facing her.

Ms. Maguire wasn't kidding about Dr. Langley's precision. You could see it everywhere; in the books squarely tucked away on shelves spread around all four walls, in the way piles of paper on the cabinet behind her and on another one off to the left were arranged in perfect squares and all equidistant from each other. Even in how the visitors' chairs were angled slightly to each other so one person could talk to another yet both still favored Dr. Langley's position behind the desk.

Yeah. The large, black desk. Looking back, after Ms. Maguire's little tutorial on proper address, given how everything was positioned on top of Dr. Langley's desk, that should have been my second clue.

Nothing was out of place, or even appeared to be just casually thrown down. Three yellow pencils, their sharpened points directed to Dr. Langley's side of the desk, rested to her right. A spiral notepad, opened to the blank top page, awaited whatever writing deemed necessary. And I do mean writing. I got the definite feeling this woman did not scribble. A razor thin computer, on and running, sat well within reach on the left, yet angled to maintain privacy. On the right stood a picture frame, again slanted to prevent any casual observations.

"I'll come right to the point, Patrick," Dr. Langley said. "I need someone not yet enrolled, not a student, for what is going to take place. Can't go breaking any faculty or student policies. Are you taking any courses for summer?"

"Uh, no."

She shot me a look, much like the one from Ms. Maguire.

"I mean, no, Dr. Langley."

"Good. Of course we'll check the veracity of your answers. That's another part of what we'll be doing, verifying your answers. So total honesty is a must. No thinking about what is the right thing to say. Your first impulse is best. Think you can do that?"

"Yes. Yes, Doctor. Uh, a question?"

Dr. Langley waved a hand and nodded, then wrote a quick note.

"This seems all, well, unusual."

She stopped writing. "Yes? Your question?"

"Well, I'm planning on graduate studies come fall, most likely anthropology. Is this going to help with that? I mean, what you said, about answering questions with my first impulse seems more psychological, more having to do with the brain itself rather than behavior."

Dr. Langley lay down the pencil and interlaced her fingers on the desk. "Sometimes there's a blurred line between the two. What we're doing is more tactile in terms of learned human behavior. How certain, shall we say, stimuli, can change a person's habits or perhaps bring latent tendencies more out in the open. The emphasis is on sensation, but also whether reinforcement, either positive or negative, can achieve the desired results."

"Ah, I see." I cleared my throat. "So, what is the, ah, desired result?"

"That I cannot reveal. At least not yet. Can't go contaminating the exercise now, can we? I'm sorry, I wish I could be more plain. But you strike me as a bright, intelligent person, so when I say things can get heated, or even downright nasty, just remember you will never be in any real danger."

Danger? Just what were we talking about here?

"Also, and I must be absolutely clear on this, I cannot pay you. I can't even give a hint of any future recompense."

If silence reigned over the campus before, then it now ruled in Dr. Langley's office. At last I said, "You know, I was hoping for a job. I need spending money for the school year, but it looks like you need some sort of unpaid lab rat."

Her lips pressed together, tighter than before. "Well, I wouldn't have put it quite that way."

"I didn't mean to insult you or what you doing," I said. "But you did say honesty was important."

She seemed to relax. "Then, you'll do it?"

"I didn't say that. But you are kind of stuck between a rock and a hard place. You need someone, but can't pay them for their time. Frankly, I can't see anyone volunteering."

"Oh, we've got plenty of those, both men and women. But they're too eager, and too jaded. We need someone fresh, without too many preconceptions."

Another pause. I rubbed my chin in thought while Dr. Langley sat back in her chair. A clock on her desk ticked-tocked away. I tried to figure out just what we were getting at here and kept tripping mentally over my thoughts. A deep part of me knew just what Dr. Langley was asking, but the part of my mind nearer the surface kept pushing it back down. Dimly I was aware of her opening a desk drawer, but didn't give it any attention as I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts.

Something clattered on the desk.

A pair of handcuffs. And a leather collar.

"I asked for honesty from you," she said. "You have every right to demand the same from me."

I couldn't stop staring at them. The thought of those things on my wrists, my neck...

"Too much for you?" Dr. Langley said. "I understand. Although most of the applicants we get can't wait to put them on, I'm a bit worried that you'll go screaming out into the night." She looked out a large window to her right and shrugged. "Or the bright, sunshiny afternoon."

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

She gestured to the leather and steel and sighed. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Oh, no, no," I said. "It's just... Well, it's just a lot to process. Look, can I think on this? Give you a call?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. This is my personal cell number." She carefully wrote it on the back of a business card. Dr. Langley's tone was gracious, but her body language reflected disappointment in the way the interview had gone. She probably expected to never hear from me again.

We gave each other awkward goodbyes. I jammed past Ms. Maguire, catching only a glimpse of a faintly surprised expression. Before she had seemed so sure of...what? That I would just go along with their little SM experiment? But the small surprise on her part haunted me as I walked back across campus to my apartment. It was like she knew this would be a tough decision for me, but that she also thought I had the confidence, the guts, and the honesty to see it through. Well, she was right on most things, but not the honesty.

So I got back to my apartment, turned on my mini laptop and just stared at the screen. For how long? An hour? Three? The room grew dark and I made no move to switch on the light. Only the computer lit up the space. The photo that I had selected as my desktop background couldn't have been more appropriate. I knew I would have to change it once the fall semester started and I was forced to take on a roommate. For now, at least through the summer, I reveled in the thought that here, alone in my room, in the dark, I could be what I was.

The lady on the laptop stared back with a neutral expression. Hair not quite as dark as Dr. Langley's and a definite mature look, I had found the photo and saved it in a deep, deep folder on my computer. The lady wore a leather dress and full length gloves. Shoulders bare, she bent forward, her generous breasts giving more than a hint of cleavage. Her hair was done up while some locks hung over the forehead. Like Dr. Langley the skin tone was light while authority dwelt within clear, gray eyes. An expression of gathering amusement entranced. Her hands gripped a coiled whip.

Not for the first time had I thought to brave the dark dens of SM, and now it was practically being handed to me on a platter. Only Dr. Langley needed a newbie, someone not already a scene player, for such was one term that SM people were known. But I never had gone to those dungeons, although leather had wrapped my wrists and a whip had singed my flesh. But that didn't mean I hadn't thought about exploring it further, and thought about it a lot. And so, when Dr. Langley had just about lay everything out I was jolted that someone had discovered my deepest secret.

But that wasn't the case. It's alright to be paranoid, as long as you have a good reason. I didn't. Sure, I had seen Dr. Langley at the gym, but that was before my even seeing the ad. No way could she have arranged things like that. No, it was me who found the ad, who responded to it, who dutifully rushed over to her office and submissively arrived on time. It was all me.

Just like it was all me who decided to take out those student loans after all; I wasn't going to be paid in money, but the experience...

I punched the buttons on my phone, then clutched it in a sweaty palm as the one at the other end rang and rang.

"Hello?" a voice croaked.

Did I wake her up? It wasn't that late, but she sounded...I don't know, different. What had I done? "Dr. Langley?"

"Yes?" she said.

I couldn't talk anymore. My throat had gone dry.

"Patrick... Patrick, is that you?" She sounded normal now, and perhaps concerned.

"Yes," I rasped, then cleared my own throat. "Yes, it is, doc. Look, I'm just calling..." My voice faded away. I couldn't go on.

She waited, then at last said gently, "Go on, Patrick."

Now or never. "Alright, doc. Alright. Sign me up."

Silence at the other end. Had I surprised her? With all the previous disappointments, perhaps she needed a moment to realize that I really had meant what I said.

"Doc?" I said.

"I heard you, Patrick. I heard you. And from now on it's Madame."

I said, "Yes, Madame."