Free The training of Ophelia (Masters of the Mansion Series) by Suzanne Steele

The man was absolutely gorgeous, like some Greek god that had walked out of a romance novel. Between that and the things that he did to me in bed; it was very hard to resist him.
    All that I kept telling myself was that he w ould tire of me. When I told myself that he was a playboy, I knew that I was doing the right thing; the right thing was to protect myself.
    What I did not understand , was how deeply that a Master’s dedication went concerning their slaves. They loved them, but not in the same manner that a vanilla man loves a woman. Things went much deeper. Dedication went to a whole different level; when it came to these men. Not only did they answer to their conscience, but they also answered to the hierarchy of the BDSM community.
    This was not some game, this was serious business and the ties that bind, (so to speak) in the BDSM community; ran very deeply and were taken with the utmost of seriousness and respect.
    A collar was not just a collar. A collar was as symbolic—if not more symbolic, than a wedding ring. And a slave was not just a slave; they were property! A slave was to be taken care of and provided for.
    There were many times that slaves were literally glued to their Masters. So much so—that they could be found curled at their feet; as their Master worked. Many times they were knelt at the feet of their Master during meals and they ate what their Master fed them by hand. You cannot be attached that physically to someone—and not be bonded.
    To not follow the protoco l of caring for your slave, or slaves; that you took into your life, spoke of one’s lack of character.
    There were too many men that called themselves Masters —that were unworthy of the title. These were the men that used BDSM as a way to abuse women.  They were men that preyed on un-educated women and used their lack of knowledge against them; they used it as an excuse and a means to abuse women.
    These men were the men who were quickly identified and ostracized from the true BDSM community. The slaves who were fortunate enough to grace the doors of the mansion were actually very lucky. They would be taken care of and not harmed psychologically.
    Their bad habits that they had formed over the years would be broken —but their spirit would not be. If they were truly called to serve—they would enter the cocoon of the mansion and emerge a different being.
    The result was always the same —where a mere girl graced the entrance—a slave of elite perfection exited. For those who were already slaves in service upon their entrance; a slave with honed and perfected skills exited. One thing was for sure: you always left The Mansion more critiqued, and perfected, than when you came.
    I made my way over to the bed and chuckled at the sight of Richard dressed so leisurely. “You look like you are going the beach instead of dinner, Richard.”
    “Maybe I am—m aybe I’m going to swoop you up into my helicopter and take you to the beach.”
    That my got my attention. I didn’t put anything past Richard. He held a bottle of Cristal in one hand and two champagne glasses by the stems in the other.
    He made his way over and stood by the bed handing me the glass and pouring champagne into it.
    I just about guzzled the whole thing down. He set the glass and bottle on the night stand , opening my robe.
    “Ther e…….. that is a much better view—you wearing my lingerie.”
    He sat in the chair kicking the sandals off and propping his feet on the bed and eyed me. “In fact, take the robe off.”
    “I like the robe” I said, hugging it to me. The truth was that closing it up and hugging to me made me feel safe. It kept me from feeling as if he could see right through me.
    He clamped his fingers behind his neck and glared at me as he snarled his lip. The look on his face told me that I should probably listen.
    “Alright already,” I moaned.
    There was a tap on the door and I rushed to grab it again.
    “Leave it off!”
    “Come in,” his