Chapter 2

He was due at work in two hours at Drummond Real Estate, where he worked as a mailroom clerk, was hired as an Information Technology Specialist in the IT and Accounting Department but yeah what a disaster that was.

He decided to take the extra time his nightmare had occasioned by walking to work instead of taking the bus. It was only a few miles, however, by not taking the bus, he saved the bit of money he had for a cup of coffee and a day-old donut at the diner. This morning, he would not go hungry. Maybe it would be a good day. 1

Donald K. Drummond, founder and CEO of Drummond Real Estate, strode into his Trenton office shouting, “No calls” to Sally Tierney, his long-time administrative assistant. Sally had been with Donald since he opened his own firm fifteen years before. When he decided to leave his old firm to open his own office, she packed her desk with composure and told Donald he would need her in the coming weeks while he prepared to open.

Donald told her he could not afford to pay her right away, Sally Tierney cast him one of her looks and said, “You’ll be able to pay me soon enough, Mr. Drummond, and then you’ll pay me more than I could ever get anywhere else.” With that, she handed her resignation to the receptionist on their way out the door.

Donald laughed at her. Moved by her loyalty, he repaid it many times in the intervening years. He tried to promote her, but his attempts failed and Sally’s rear remained firmly planted on the seat just outside his office. Sally proved right, as always.

She earned one of the highest salaries in the firm, and he listened to her scolding and advice when no one else dared to challenge him in his den.

Confident he would remain undisturbed; he set down his briefcase on the king-sized executive chair and walked the few steps from behind the desk to the floor-to-ceiling double hung windows, covered in cherry wood plantation shutters. His large strong hands, with their blunt manicured fingers, absently stroked the burgundy watered silk papering the upper non-brick, portion of the wall. The brick wall bisected from the rich paneling at the bottom by a highly polished, chair rail, carved from the same wood.

Donald caressed the smooth texture of the silk as it slid beneath the pads of his fingers. He loved the look, feel, and texture. It reminded him of watching silk as it glided over the hard planes of a lean torso and the bubbled cheeks of his former sub, Antonio’s, perfect ass while its owner un-wrapped his package for Donald’s exclusive attention. The unwrapping was a form of dance enticed with its undeniable decadence. The thought of silken shirts and satin sheets abruptly ended his reverie. He refused to think of that bastard, Antonio, now.

Donald took several calming breaths and put the morning into perspective. He peered out the shutter slats to a busy street below. Trenton was becoming fashionable again and Donald Drummond and Drummond Realty played a huge role in helping to make it happen. He drew some satisfaction from that. What he failed to comprehend was how a man so successful in his business endeavors remained so inept on choosing a life companion.

Another unsatisfactory interview, I should be used to the disappointment by now. More than a dozen interviews and not one produced a candidate who could even aspire to become my boy. I know Reed believes that I am too picky, but in this, I will not settle, ever again.

To Donald, his boywas real. He lived in Donald’s head and starred in his most private and flagrant fantasies. Donald Drummond belonged to Indiscreet, a private gay BDSM club converted from a 200-year-old farmhouse in a rural corner of Monmouth County, New Jersey. Until the nasty business with Antonio, which made him both the ultimate fool and cynic, Donald “The Bear” Drummond, was the Master Dominant at Indiscreet. Bear was Reed’s silent partner at Indiscreet, and the only aspect of the business Bear insisted he handle was the position of Dungeon Master/Master Dominant-Trainer for every Dom who aspired to membership at the exclusive club.

After Antonio, he had no patience for training cocky tops that, in their abject ignorance, would irreparably harm a submissive with real potential by making the boy into either a pain slut or a brat.

Following that, the top would ask himto retrain the recalcitrant submissive, when in truth it was the god-awful Dom who needed some sense beat into him.

Donald remembered Antonio as a perfect example of the problem. He took the ebony-haired Latino with his fine bones, smooth olive skin, and fiery dark eyes as a live-in submissive. His goal was to retrain the boy his master claimed to be incorrigible, and prove a point. Even if Antonio was not that Sir’s boy, it was possible to train him to become someone else’s boy. He kicked his Lobb Oxford shoe on the molding, despising his own pride, weakness, and stupidity.