Page 6 of For Love & Torture
Chapter 4
Grant
One year later
“You have a call on line one, Mr. Jamison,” my secretary tells me over the intercom.
Pushing my hand through my hair, I sigh as I pick up the phone. “Grant Jamison here.”
“Hi, Grant, it’s me, Jake.”
With a huff, I hang up the phone. My brother and sisters can all go to hell for all I care. They all have one thing in common. They all think our mother had more to do with her death than anyone knows about.
After seeing my father, I know he would’ve talked to me if he was innocent. He and I had been closer than he was to any of my siblings. I have the money to get him a barrage of lawyers and a trial. All he had to do was open his mouth and tell me he was innocent. But he’d kept his mouth shut. And the tear that he’d let fall free told me he’d done it. He’d killed the woman he’d loved.
There is nothing I want to hear from my brother and sisters. Until they stop trying to convince me that Dad is innocent, they are as dead to me as our mother and father are.
I have other things to take my mind off my family. Things I can escape to when the nagging thoughts try to fill my head. Thoughts about my younger brother and sisters and how things are going in their lives. Thoughts about my poor mother, wondering if she’d suffered when she died. Thoughts about my father and whether he’ll actually burn in hell for what he’s done to us.
Recently, my brother and sisters have gotten this idea that we should have our dead mother’s body exhumed and autopsied. Of course none of them can pay for all that, hence why they’re bothering me about it. I see no use in doing that. It’s obvious to everyone how she died, why do even more damage to her body?
My eyes go to the phone that’s sitting on top of my mahogany desk top. Jake’s call is bothering me for some reason. Maybe I shouldn’t have hung up on him.
My mother’s voice whispers in my head. “Call him back.”
I hate how my brain conjures up her voice. I hate how I think I see her sometimes. I hate it all.
There are those pesky thoughts again. Time to get rid of them. Picking up the phone once more, I make a call that will help put my mind at rest, at least for a while. “Isabel, meet me at home please.”
“Yes, Master. I will be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Good girl.” I hang up the phone and head out to do something to take my mind away from all that I can’t control.
Isabel Sanchez is our first hired employee, and I’m the man in charge of training her. The other owners of The Dungeon of Decorum will be taking on the training of the various men and women they hire to become trainers themselves.
Isabel has something about her that attracted me right from the start. I want to train her myself. She’ll be more than just a trainer though. Young, not quite finished college, and ready to try anything—she’s perfect for the job of managing new memberships.
She’ll be the first person anyone who comes to the club will interact with. Isabel will need to be highly informed about what kinds of things will happen in the club, which is only months away from opening.
We already have a bunch of men who want memberships. In order to keep our clientele above average, the yearly dues to join the club are a bit on the outrageous side. But we don’t want to worry about riff-raff. Men of great wealth live by another set of rules, anyway.
Consideration seems to be bred into most men with a knack for making money. Most are ready to help others who have money-making ideas by not only investing in the idea but helping the goal see the light of day. And when it comes to stepping on toes, they tend to tread lightly.
Most of them do, anyway.
Isabel and I will work out the kinks. She’ll set up auctions where willing women will come to the club so our members can bid on them. For a certain length of time they’ll get a contract, binding the woman to them. The woman will benefit by getting the majority of the money the man pays for her, not to mention the pleasure she’ll receive by his hand—or whip, more likely. It’s a win-win.
Since we’ll just be starting out, we need a woman who other women will feel comfortable talking to about what will be expected of them. Isabel needs to experience the acts, not just read about them.
I’ve made a room in my home to help educate her. It’s equipped with everything we’ll be supplying in the private rooms at the club. The entire room is a prototype for what we’re doing in the club.
Coming into my playroom, I find Isabel kneeling near the door. As instructed by me when we first discussed her training, she’s fashioned her hair in one long braid that hangs down her back. Her dark hair shines as she bows her head, waiting for further instruction.
I’ve given her a leather corset and matching panties to wear and nothing else. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in this outfit as this will be our first time in my playroom, and I already feel my cock reacting.
She’s been given reading material that I expect her to add to when making a manual for our new members and submissives. She has a lot on her narrow shoulders, but she’s being paid a lot to do it. I’ve told her about the way the BDSM lifestyle is practiced. Love doesn’t have to be a part of any of it—and it won’t be for us. We will exchange power, nothing more than that. And honesty is the top priority. Both parties have to be honest, or things won’t work to benefit either party.
I want Isabel to be the best sub in the whole club. I want her to be what other women strive to be. It’s going to take extensive training to make that happen. And she’s said she’s ready to learn.
