“Then you’ll have a really good story to tell me when you come back. And after I spank my submissive for running her mouth too much, I’ll make sure that you’ll have your favorite snacks readily available for your return.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “But also… what if it’s not?”
I didn’t have much to say in response and Shelly left me to think. After we hung up, I sat in the growing darkness of my living room, phone still warm in my hand. Two professional Dominants. Rawhide Ranch. Two to three weeks of my life. No strings attached.
I opened my text messages and stared at Sampson’s name. My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
What if it’s not?
I switched to my notes app and began typing.
The next morning, I woke to three missed calls and a text that simply read:
I’m sorry. Can we talk?
I deleted it. There was nothing to discuss. Shelly and Harrison’s submissive had overstepped and I didn’t want to hear how sorry she was. My coffee was still too hot to drink when my phone rang again. It was Sampson this time. I answered on the second ring, my heart doing something uncomfortable in my chest.
“Morning,” I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near anxious.
“Morning, Cami. Did you have a chance to think about the Ranch?”
I wrapped both hands around my mug, staring out the kitchen window at my neighbor’s overgrown hedge. The safe and smart answer was no.
“I’m in,” I heard myself say.
The pause on the other end lasted long enough that I wondered if the call had dropped.
“Good,” Sampson finally said excitedly. “That’s really good. I’ll send you the details—flight information, what to pack, contact info for the Ranch. Masters Majesty and Lex will be expecting you two weeks from Friday.”
Masters Majesty and Lex. Two names that would define the next few weeks of my life.
Sampson added. “They co-own a custom BDSM furniture business—high-end carpentry work. More importantly, they also teach classes all the time in the BDSM community. They’re good men, Cami. They’ll take care of you and as another submissive, I’d never lead you astray.”
“I know.” I took a sip of coffee and burned my tongue. Still too hot.” I trust your judgment.”
“You can still change your mind any time before you get on that plane. No judgment. Or if you need someone to talk to, I’m available as well.”
“I’m not going to drop out, and thank you for the support, Sampson.”
We hung up shortly after. I sat at my kitchen table and tried to imagine what I’d just agreed to. Two professional Dominants who were well respected by the BDSM community. A ranch in Montana—Rawhide Ranch, he’d said. Two weeks from now.
My phone buzzed with an incoming email. The subject line read:Rawhide Ranch—Assistant Position—CONFIDENTIAL
I opened it.
The email was thorough. Almost intimidatingly so. Flight details, packing list: casual clothes, formal attire for evening sessions, any personal items I’d need for scene participation if I chose to engage. A detailed schedule of classes. Liability waivers. And at the bottom, a brief description of the Ranch and the two instructors.
Rawhide Ranch - Est. 1890. A 1,500-acre private ranch in the Sapphire Mountain Range of Southwestern Montana. For the past decade, it has served as a premiere destination for BDSM education and lifestyle retreats.
Master Majesty Dian- African American. Age thirty-six. Co-owner of Apex Custom Furnishings. Instructor. Specializes in bondage, impact play, and control-based dynamics. Fifteen years’ experience in the lifestyle.
Master Alexander “Lex” Morrison- Caucasian. Age thirty-eight. Co-owner of Apex Custom Furnishings. Instructor. Specializes in Shibari, wax play, fire play, cupping, breath control, and psychological dynamics. Eighteen years’ experience in the lifestyle.
There were no photos. Just those professional descriptions that told me almost nothing about who these men actually were. One who liked pain and control. One who liked rope and mind games. I scrolled back up to the packing list, trying not to think too hard about what “scene participation” might entail with either of them.
My phone buzzed again. A text this time, from a number I didn’t recognize. Except it wasn’t just one number—it was a group message.
Unknown #1:
Hello Cami, this is Majesty. Sampson gave us your number. Hope that’s alright.
