JENNA
Old memories surfaced. The club in the city—the D-Zone. As part of my twenty-first birthday celebration, my friends and I had visited, wandering down halls and watching people play their games. The rest of the girls wanted to feel like they were being brazen and naughty.
But I had found the answer to my own inexplicable cravings. The first time I'd seen a submissive get a spanking from her master, I'd creamed my panties. I wanted someone to dominate me. I returned to the club, and started sub classes, and then…Richard.
He dominated me, all right. He had been correct. Richard required my absolute devotion, but he didn't deserve it. He'd been so proud of my bruises and welts. The way he made me dress. The chain he put around my neck or waist and led me around the club like a prized dog. I never felt cherished. Or safe.
Then he nearly beat me to death.
I'd screamed my safe word over and over, like a mantra, but he'd lost control. I realized later that he never had control.
