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eBook Category: Erotica
eBook Description: By the Author of the #1 B&D Bestseller of 2005! Isobelle is a spoiled little rich girl--and the object of one man's fantasy. He hires Patrick to kidnap and train her. But Patrick didn't count on falling for the woman she was becoming, once he had broken her of her spoiled persona. When his employer snatches Isobelle from him, he vows to find her and take her back. His efforts lead him on a journey of discovery, danger and delights

eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, Published: 2006
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2006

29 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [1.0 MB], eReader (PDB) [195 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [176 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [157 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [164 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [207 KB], hiebook (KML) [418 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [270 KB], iSilo (PDB) [144 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [181 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [241 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [230 KB]
Words: 55234
Reading time: 157-220 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

Patrick Nichols spotted her at the Le Bar Cambon in Paris' tony Champs-Elysées district. It was the club Lady Di used to frequent during her few short years after her divorce from Prince Charles. There was a lot of noise, but the band was very good and the bartenders poured the drinks strong. They'd better for a ten Euro cover charge, he thought.

She was tall and slender with shoulder-length dark hair. Her skin had a beautiful mocha color, courtesy of her French mother and African-American father. Her breasts were of average size, although she had them pushed up by her bra so that they nearly spilled out of her black dress. Some might mistake her for a model, though he could tell she had no time for such nonsense. She was a rich girl, it was obvious from her Vera Wang clothes, her Prada purse and her haircut by some overpriced homosexual, he mused. Probably a trust fund baby. A very beautiful and aloof woman.

He could see why Barton wanted her.

She moved through the crowd, air-kissing friends and acquaintances, pausing now and then to chat up some handsome or rich man. He could understand why he'd been hired--she was an arrogant little bitch just begging for a comeuppance. He decided to get a closer look.

Patrick had dressed the part for this little reconnaissance. He wore an Armani suit, a rental paid for by his client, and he had a single gold loop in one ear. He moved in, placed himself along her path and waited for her to drift by.

"Hello," he said as she approached, her eyes missing nothing. "You look lovely tonight." She frowned, ever so slightly, trying to place him. He could see her taking in the expensive suit and wide shoulders, then her eyes narrowed. Perhaps there was something in his face that put her off--a certain hardness. Close up, he noticed she had excellent cheekbones and cool brown eyes that defined haughty.

"Oui?" She said. "Do I know you?" Her accent was French, of course, but her English seemed excellent.

Patrick knew she was wracking her brain, trying to remember where she had seen him before. Since she hadn't, he let her discomfort grow for a few seconds, then said, "I'm Mssr. Jean-Paul Sartre," using the French philosopher's name on purpose. Actually, he was as American as they come.

She smiled, "Oh, really?" She didn't believe him for a second, but she might've found him amusing in some small way. She nodded, looked beyond him to another friend, and she was gone. That was fine. He had made his initial contact, just to size her up. His client had described her perfectly. Now that he had everything in place, he could afford to be patient.

Patrick was a trainer--of women. It was not a profession he expected to find himself in. He considered himself ordinary in every respect, except for one--he had a strong dominant personality. He had been married once, when he was in his twenties, and found he had hated the constant compromising that went on. He wanted to be the boss. Not in a cruel way--he simply wanted to be the master of his castle, so to speak. Instead, his wife Linda had tried to take control of everything: How the home was to be decorated, what they ate, how he dressed, what friends they hung out with--everything. He rebelled, naturally, and within three years, they were history.

His experience caused him to think about the roles of women and men today. His father had been the boss of the family and Patrick had modeled himself after him. His mother didn't work outside the home and he knew that had a lot to do with her submissiveness, but they were such a loving couple that he never thought she minded it.

She didn't kneel at his feet or anything silly like that. He suspected some of that went on behind closed doors, but they never showed him any extreme dominant-submissive behavior. Yet it was clear she deferred to his father. She'd ask his opinion, then claim it as her own. It seemed natural to the son. Only later did he learn that she was a rarity.

When he got out into the real world, he discovered modern women had a much different attitude, especially those who worked for a living. They wanted to be in control as well. Completely understandable, in an intellectual sort of way, but it still rankled. He tried to conform, he really did. That's how he ended up marrying Linda just out of college. He thought compromise was good--only later did he learn that compromise would occur only on his side of each issue. He either gave in, or they'd have a huge fight.

So three years later, he was free again, and four years after that, his father died. He went home to help his mother for a year. She was distraught. Completely lost without him. Before the year was up, she had faded away. He swore she died of a broken heart. She had just given up.

After he buried her and made his peace, he received a surprise from his parents' attorney.

"Patrick," he had told him during the reading of the will, which only the two of them had attended. "Your father did pretty well in the stock market, were you aware of that?"

Suddenly, he was semi-rich and at loose ends. He had been working in an unsatisfying job that he had quit to come home to Philadelphia, so he wasn't about to return to it. Instead he turned inward and began examining his other interests--including that of submissive women. He knew where it had come from, now--what to do about it? He read up on the subject and joined in various discussions online at BDSM and Dominant-submissive chat rooms.

His calm, rational discussions on a variety of issues soon made him quite popular among the groups. He didn't realize he had become an expert until people started coming to him with questions. Perhaps it was his attitude that there was a big difference between abuse and training. Some so-called "Doms" really didn't like women very much and used their position to humiliate or mistreat their wives or girlfriends. Sure, some women got off on that, but they were in the minority.

Most women, Patrick believed, really want a strong man, but not a cruel one. They want to be controlled, protected and nurtured. And especially, aroused. Too many men aren't sensitive enough to see it, to their detriment.

One day, after he'd been immersed in this strange but intoxicating world for two years, an online buddy asked if Patrick--known in the community as Master P--would be willing to help him train his wife. It was a startling request and it intrigued him. After much private discussion, he agreed, with all the usual caveats. He drove to the man's home two weeks later.

Robert lived just three hundred miles from Patrick, so they agreed to have a few weekend sessions over the course of the next six months. Patrick told Robert he was new at this and that he'd be going slowly. Both agreed either side could end the experiment at any time.

Nancy, Robert's wife, was a friendly, slightly overweight brunette of thirty-five. She loved her husband and was willing to go along with his request, although she naturally had some reservations. Patrick used the techniques he had learned online and others he had taught himself and had been amazed at the result. Nancy had proven to be a true submissive, and he had been able to tap into her deep well of emotions about the issue with surprising ease. It unlocked a new and deeper relationship between the couple.

His "training" merely steered her in the right direction through minor punishments and major rewards, mostly by orgasms that rocked her soul. He didn't make love to her himself, although Robert offered her to him and she would've readily gone along. Patrick was tempted, but feared he might ruin the dynamic if he fucked her. The results could be unpredictable.

After that successful session, Robert began raving about Patrick among the online community and Master P suddenly had other potential clients come forward. He began charging for his services, first just to cover his expenses, and later to turn his unusual hobby into a business. He was mostly successful, as he never tried to train a woman who wasn't curious to explore her submissiveness.

That began to change after he met Jarrett Brooks, a very wealthy devotee of BDSM. Jarrett had begun a correspondence online and Patrick found him to be intelligent and funny. One day, Jarrett asked if Patrick would be willing to meet with him at his estate outside Chicago and offered to fly his private jet to pick him up.

Private jet? Patrick readily agreed. He was intrigued and figured what could it hurt to talk? It would mean a pleasant day in Chicago if nothing else.

Jarrett met him at the airport with a long black limo that clearly was meant to impress. And Patrick was impressed. Jarrett looked a lot like Patrick had envisioned him--tall, with gray-black hair, a handsome face but with an oversize nose, impeccably dressed. He had that air about him that evoked wealth. They rode back to Jarrett's mansion, making small talk. Patrick learned that the tycoon had started his career with some inventions in the drilling industry, but now considered himself semi-retired. It gave him plenty of time to devote to his fetishes--BDSM, bondage, and D/s.

"You come highly recommended," Jarrett remarked as the limo pulled up in front of the huge estate and a butler rushed to open the door.

"I'm really not sure why," he responded, getting out and trying not to gape at the overwhelming façade before him. "I just kind of fell into this and found I was pretty good at it."

"Why is that, do you think?" Jarret asked he stepped out to join him.

"I think it might be because I truly like women."

"Don't all men?"

"No, you'd be surprised. Too many men are misogynistic. Perhaps they were shunned by their mothers or rejected at the high school prom. I don't know. But they pretend that dominance excuses almost any treatment of women."

"So you have limits."

"Of course. This is supposed to be arousing, not mean-spirited. What good would it do to have a woman who obeys you strictly out of fear?"

"So fear isn't a technique you use?"

"Not really. I mean, there's fear of punishment or humiliation, sure, but I think deep down, the women know they're not going to be maimed or arrested, especially if their boyfriend or husband is nearby. It's a matter of trust, you see."

Jarrett nodded as they entered the massive oak double doors. A butler stood silently by, awaiting instructions. Jarrett directed Patrick to the library and asked the butler to bring them drinks.

"Just iced tea for me," Patrick responded. "It's a little early for anything else."

Jarrett smiled and looked at his watch. "Well, since it's after two, I think I'll have a short scotch." The butler bowed and backed out, leaving them alone for the moment.

"So that's how you manage to do so well--you only take on the easiest cases."

"I don't know if they've all been easy. Some women whom I've trained I didn't think were submissive, but then they'd surprise me."

"How so?"

"They'd ... I don't know ... get into a zone or something. They'd find that place that made them become more of a sexual being, I guess. They let themselves go, so to speak. Not in a bad way, of course."

"Don't you think that all women have that capacity?"

"I don't know. Maybe. But some are just so damned independent that it's not worth trying to break through."

"But you could break through, if you wanted to?"

"Me?" He shrugged. "I think I'd have to be a crueler man and I'm not interested in becoming one. But in theory, yes, I suppose it's possible. I believe it goes back to our cave man days--women really liked the strong, hard men who could give them strong, healthy babies. It was all about survival. Some of that instinct still exists today. They want to let their man take charge, but not be abusive. Then they can just be sexual creatures, which is what most of them really desire, despite what they say." He laughed. "But that goes against what most of them have been taught about equality of the sexes."

"That's very interesting," Jarrett said as the butler returned with their drinks. He paused until the servant withdrew again, then continued. "I really beg to differ with you on one point." He raised a hand. "I don't mean about your views on woman--those I generally agree with. I'm talking about your being unable or unwilling to press a woman beyond a certain point. I really believe you are the perfect man for the job."

"How so?"

"Because, as you say, you aren't a cruel man, deep down. That allows you to be more careful about training. You know what buttons to push. You may stop at a certain point or you may go on, but you aren't going to damage a woman under your care."

Patrick took a sip of the iced tea and nodded. "Well, no, but I've run into occasions where I've had to tell my client that it's not working. I refund his money and send her home."

"And what do you think happens, after that?"

"I don't know. Perhaps they agree that it wasn't meant to be?"

"Or perhaps both parties are disappointed. The man, for obvious reasons, and the woman because you didn't push her harder to experience this ability to let herself go."

"Well, maybe. But I have to know when to quit."

"Of course. I'm only suggesting that you could go a little further and still not damage anyone. What I'm really suggesting is that ALL women would find they'd enjoy the experience, at some level."

Patrick looked up, his eyebrows raised. "I've thought of that, sometimes. But frankly, some of the women I've tried to train have really resisted me fiercely. It would surprise me if you were right."

Jarrett nodded. "Perhaps."

A silence fell over the room. Patrick began to wonder why exactly Jarrett had been so eager to see him.

"Mr. Brooks?"

"Please, call me Jarrett."

"Jarrett, why exactly am I here? Surely you just didn't want to chat about Dominant men and submissive women."

"No, of course not." He put down his drink. He paused, as if trying to come up with the right words. "Perhaps it would be better to show you than tell you."

He flicked a switch on the intercom and said: "Quinn, send them in."

Patrick turned when he heard the door open and his eyes widened. Two very pretty, young and semi-clad women entered the room. A blonde with shoulder-length hair and a redhead with her hair cut into a pixie-like shag. He guessed their ages to be mid-twenties. Both were wearing sun dresses of different patterns, but the same cut--low on the top and high on the bottom. Both sets of breasts nearly spilled out and their hemlines left little to the imagination. Patrick suspected they weren't wearing any underwear at all.

They immediately came over to Jarrett and dropped to their knees. "How may we serve you, master?" they said almost in unison.

"Don't be rude to our guests, dears."

They stood and turned as one, then dropped down in front of Patrick. "How may we serve you, master?" They said again.

Patrick looked up at Jarrett, who smiled and nodded. Patrick returned his gaze to the women. "Show me your breasts." Without any hesitation, both young women pulled down the front of their dresses. "Now your pussies." They stood as one and held up the hems of their dresses. Both of their mounds had been shaved or waxed smooth, he noticed. He raised an eyebrow at Jarrett. "They appear to be well trained."

"Yes. Patrick, I'd like you to meet Suzie and Cindy, my two, um, companions."

"Uh, glad to meetcha," he said, holding out a hand. Both girls dropped their hems, grabbed it and kissed it, their breasts still bare. Something about their behavior bothered him. "What the hell have you done to them?"

"Nothing they didn't want, deep down."

"I don't know ... They're a bit like robots."

"Not really. They're just trying to make a good impression. I told them you were coming."

"You told them about me?" Patrick's mind raced with what fantasies Jarrett might've put into their heads. "What did you tell them, exactly?"

"That you're a trainer. A very special trainer."

"I don't know about that. I dabble, that's all."

"You're too modest. I've known trainers. Some, like you say, are cruel and mean and enjoy hurting women. But you don't. For that reason, your training methods are probably going to be more successful."

Patrick waved his hand at the girls. "I'm not sure I'd ever want them to be this successful." He was beginning to regret coming out here. He didn't see himself as the type of trainer who turned out mindless women. His goal, in all cases, was to have the woman see herself as a sexual creature and use that to her full advantage. He wasn't interested in robots.

"Girls," Jarrett said. "I think our guest would like you to take a step back and relax. Okay? You may cover up again."

The girls pulled up their bodices and went to either side of Jarrett's chair, where they knelt down, facing Patrick. Jarrett allowed a hand to stroke the neck and shoulders of the redhead.

The questions surfaced before Patrick was even aware he had spoken. "How long have you, um, had them--and why do you want them this way?"

"Two years. The 'why' is easy. You see, I was divorced about eight years ago--it was pretty ugly. I swore I'd never get married again. At the same time, I needed companionship. I didn't want to go through life alone. That's when I started looking for the 'Perfect Woman.' That's how I got interested in BDSM and the nature of man and woman."

"Well, I'm not sure having mindless fucktoys is the solution."

A cloud passed across Jarrett's face. "Oh, rest assured, both Suzie and Cindy have their own individual personalities. I'm not a cruel Dom. In fact, I'm probably more like you than you think." His hand dropped down to stroke the redhead's right breast, which soon came out of the top of her dress again. The girl smiled at Patrick.

Patrick tried not to scoff. "How so?"

"I also believe women are better trained without cruelty. But I also believe you can go a lot further than you do."

Patrick shrugged. "I'm sure many would agree with you. As I said, I'm not so sure myself."

"All I'm asking you to do is think about it. If you could develop methods that pressed women without abusing them--other than a few welts, let's say--wouldn't you be able to achieve greater levels of success?"

Patrick shrugged. "It also might corrupt me. Make me into something I'm not."

"That's not what I'd expect at all. No one would ask you to compromise your core beliefs."

Patrick was growing tired of the conversation. He wanted to cut to the chase. "So, just what are you asking of me here?"

Jarrett put down his drink. "I have a proposition for you." His left hand stroked the blonde's cheek as he paused, lips pursed. "What I'm telling you can go no further than this room. Do you agree to that?"

Patrick nodded slowly. Jarrett continued. "I belong to a, um, gathering of like-minded men. We're rich, spoiled and bored. Many are single, either by choice or divorce." He tipped his head. "We also have a few couples who enjoy the same things as we do."

His eyes focused on Patrick. "Like you, we believe in the natural superiority of men. Or at least we believe that most women enjoy being 'kept,' even though some may protest."

Patrick's eyes fell on the redhead's right nipple, which was hard under her master's stroking. She had a glazed look on her face. With an effort, he brought his focus back onto Jarrett.

"However, we're too busy, in most cases, to train women ourselves. We need to hire good trainers, but..." He paused, as if trying to find the right words. "...sometimes the trainers leave a lot to be desired."

"You mean they tend to be sadistic and cause permanent damage."

Jarrett nodded. "Exactly! We love our slaves and we want to keep them from harm. At the same time, we want them to reach their full potential."

Patrick nodded. "And you think I can help you."

"Of course. Or at least, I think you're curious enough to listen to my proposal."

Against his better judgment, he did. And any reservations Patrick might've had went out the window when he learned just how much this group of rich men was offering him for his services. The few hundred dollars he'd been charging were but a small fraction of what he could make by playing along. He'd never have to work again. Instead, he could fly about the country, plying his trade. It was irresistible. He made a point of telling Jarrett that he would not cross certain boundaries, to which the man had wholeheartedly agreed.

"We want to hire you because of who you are and what you can do, so don't compromise on our behalf," Jarrett had said.

That's how it had all started, eighteen months ago. Patrick found himself on a slippery slope that ended with him stalking this young French woman on behalf of one of his wealthy clients. Just like the women he trained, he found himself pushing his own boundaries further. He still balked at damaging a woman, but somehow to be in on an abduction now seemed okay.