The Prize by International Bestselling Author Ashe Barker

Chapter 1: Absolute Master

I swallow hard as I regard the polished oak door before me. The steps leading up to it are a distinguished dark granite, gleaming and austere yet stately, separating the mysteries to be discovered beyond that portal from the understated grandeur of this quiet West London suburb.

I glance from my left to my right, scanning the wide, well-lit, tree-lined avenue on either side, the pleasant lawned gardens, the gated driveways. There can't be a property on this street which would sell for less than two million pounds. I wouldn't mind betting that the well-heeled inhabitants lucky enough to reside here have not the slightest idea of the kinky fun and games to be enjoyed right at the heart of their peaceful little slice of middle England.

Or perhaps they do. Perhaps it's no accident that this gracious mansion should be located here, catering to the kinkier tastes of the city élite. Certainly the fees charged by the Vivant Club suggest a seriously wealthy clientèle. It's only by pure, dumb luck that such a lowly individual as myself should be so much as flirting with the notion of climbing those steps and pressing the doorbell.

I won a competition. Not even a competition, not really. A raffle would better describe it. First prize – one month's complimentary membership of the prestigious Vivant Club, and an evening's kinky entertainment courtesy of not one but two of the establishment's most experienced Doms. So here I stand, my calf-length faux leather trench coat concealing the fetish wear beneath as I consider spinning on my five-inch spike heel and making a run for it.

I abandon that notion. Running is simply not an option in these shoes, and in any case, I want to claim my prize. Painfully shy as a rule, quiet, unassuming, every inch the staid legal secretary the world normally sees, it is only when I slip into my latex or leather gear and leave my second-floor apartment to totter down to my car in heels that scream 'fuck me', that I can let my usual inhibitions slide from my shoulders.

I love it all – the smell of leather and the heady arousal that aroma always evokes for me, the sound of a decent spanking being administered across a crowded dungeon, the hum of voices, the squeals and moans of submissive joy. Better still, the sting and burn on those occasions when it's my own bottom bared for the attention of a Dom with a gloriously firm hand. The magical sensation of release as pain builds, grows, blooms to eventually penetrate every nerve ending as I go limp on the bench, a vessel to simply absorb sensation, to receive, to accept, to submit.

Freedom, liberation, a sense of being weightless, untethered, the tight twist of climax then the gentle warmth of the drift back to reality. This is followed by the purity and sense of renewal as my Dom for the evening murmurs words of comfort, encouragement and approval before we go our separate ways.

Tonight will be no different, or so I hope, though the setting is more opulent. And two Doms – now there's a nice twist. I wonder if they'll do some sort of 'good cop bad cop' thing. Will they work on me together or take turns? Will I have a choice of who tops me? Will they both expect to fuck me?

One way to find out. I climb the steps and press the brass button marked, helpfully, 'bell'.

The door is opened by a butler of all things. This I didn't expect. Now a French maid perhaps, or even a waiter wearing a bow tie and nothing else, but this vision of pin-striped elegance who regards me from within the gleaming hallway comes as a surprise.

"Yes? May I help you, madam?" His tone is matter of fact, as though it's an everyday occurrence to answer the door to a lone woman in a long leather coat.

"I... yes. I'm expected. I think."

"Are you a member, madam?" he enquires, one imperious eyebrow lifting as he awaits my response.

"No. I mean, yes, I think I am." Has my prize been activated already? Has my month started?

"You have your card, madam?"

"No, not yet. I'm new. I just—"

"You are Miss Barnett?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. Jessie Barnett." I offer my hand and he takes it, shakes briefly. "I won a competition."

"Indeed, madam. Indeed you did. Please, come inside." He steps back and opens the door wide in order to gesture me past him into the minimalist tiled hallway. My stilettos clatter on the gleaming floor tiles as I enter and I stop myself from apologizing for making such a din.

For a few moments I just stand and stare about me at the expanse of luxurious emptiness. The floor is a very pale grey, the walls a brilliant white, and the staircase which arches off to the right sports a dark mahogany handrail and kingfisher blue deep pile carpeting. There is no furniture, nothing to soften the austere lines or to offer the slightest sense of warmth. This place is cold, almost arctic, designed to intimidate. I stiffen my shoulders and turn to face the doorman.

"Do I need to sign in or anything?"

"No, madam. We know who you are. My name is Pemberton and I shall be on hand all evening if you require my services for any reason."

"Your... services?"

"Yes, madam. Refreshments perhaps, or any desired items of equipment. And, of course, should there be any safe word incident I will attend to ensure your safety and well-being."

"Ah, you're the dungeon-master, then?"

"No, madam. I am Pemberton, as I believe I mentioned. And I am absolute Master here."