Caught by the Master Read online

  CAUGHT BY THE MASTER

  Club Esoteria 2

  Cooper McKenzie

  EROTIC ROMANCE

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Erotic Romance

  CAUGHT BY THE MASTER

  Copyright © 2010 by Cooper McKenzie

  E-book ISBN: 1-60601-853-1

  First E-book Publication: June 2010

  Cover design by Jinger Heaston

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter from Cooper McKenzie

  Regarding Ebook Piracy

  Dear Readers,

  I love writing my books and interacting with you, my readers. I love imagining and creating the worlds and characters and situations found in my books. Writing is also my job and I work hard at it.

  I get upset when my books are pirated. This means that someone has stolen my work.

  It is illegal to pirate ebooks. Just because it easy to share someone else’s work for free does not make it right, legally or morally. Pirating ebooks is no different than shoplifting from a store or robbing a bank.

  Please do not share this ebook with anyone. Do not send a copy of it to a forum, newsgroup, or file sharing site or auction it. Please do not give a copy of this ebook to anyone who has not bought their own copy from Siren-BookStrand or one of their legal distributor sites. Some readers think the sharing of a copyrighted ebook doesn’t amount to anything, but it does. It hurts me as a writer. It makes it difficult for me to continue writing. I have to support my family in some manner.

  Please respect my hard work and creativity and do not pirate my ebooks.

  With deep gratitude,

  Cooper McKenzie

  DEDICATION

  To loving dominants and those they love

  CAUGHT BY THE MASTER

  Club Esoteria 2

  COOPER MCKENZIE

  Copyright © 2010

  Prologue

  “Club Esoteria is selling sex slaves.”

  Whitney Elliott hit the button on the phone to repeat the message again. And then again. Then one more time just because she knew she’d heard the caller wrong. No one in New Bern, North Carolina, could possibly be selling sex slaves. New Bern sat square in the middle of the Bible belt. Sex was talked about in hushed tones while looking around to make sure no one else overheard the conversation.

  She made a note of the time, date, and her impression of the caller. It was a gravelly voice, but she couldn’t tell if the caller was young or old, male or female. In any case, it sounded like they had been smoking way too many cigarettes for way too long. Once she finished, she listened to the rest of the overnight tip line messages. As usual for a Thursday, there were more promotional tips about upcoming weekend events than real news stories.

  Part of her job at The Sun Journal, New Bern’s one and only newspaper, was to come in early and listen to the telephone tip line. She weeded out the crank calls and crackpots from the real news items. After she made notes of the ones that sounded legitimate and interesting on individual slips of paper, she made up a master list. Once she cleared the tip line, she delivered them to the editor, who then handed out the assignments at the morning meeting. It was an outdated system, but it seemed to work.

  She’d been working for the paper for nearly a year. She was tired of writing obituaries and dealing with the tip line, but as the last person hired, she was stuck here unless she proved herself invaluable as an investigative reporter. Like everyone else, she’d heard the rumors that the paper might soon be downsizing. As last hired, she would be first fired, which was not good given the jobless rate in the county was just above ten percent.

  During a recent lunch with her mentor, Kim, a long time staff writer, she asked what it would take to get her out of the office and into the field doing investigative journalism. What would it take to keep her job if the threatened terminations came?

  “You have to work for it. Write a front-page story. A story you uncover by yourself. Something sensational that will knock the socks off of every person who reads it, especially John,” Kim said, referring to the editor. “Something that will keep the paper out of litigation due to slander, libel, or misrepresentation of the facts.”

  Whitney wrote up the sex slave tip. As Kim’s advice echoed through her thoughts she hesitated before adding it to the master list. Sex slavery in New Bern certainly held front page potential. Could this be the story that moved her into real news reporting?

  Instead of adding it to the master list, she folded the small paper in quarters and slipped it into the side pocket of her purse. The more she thought of it, the more she knew in her gut this was the story.

  After placing everything in the orange tip line folder, she headed across the building to the editor’s office. After dropping the folder off, she would have plenty of time to begin her research on sex slavery and Club Esoteria.

  She paused at the entrance to Kim’s office, but her friend was busy with someone. Whoever he was, from behind he looked like a dream. Tall, broad across the shoulders, narrow through the hips and wearing an expensive suit was all that Whitney could see. She wondered if he was as good looking in the front or if he was one of those who carried all his weight lapped over his belly in a bass drum type beer gut. She returned Kim’s wave before turning away to complete her errand.

  * * * *

  “Who is that lovely lady?” Taurus Green glanced over his shoulder and found he couldn’t look away from the vision who’d stopped to talk to someone as she headed to the back of the building. She’d turned so he could see her profile.

  “Whitney Elliott, my protégé. She’ll be a great investigative journalist, if she can stand the initiation.”

  “Single?”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t know about a current boyfriend. Last one broke up with her about the time she came to work here. Been about a year I think.”

  “She’s a beauty. Don’t suppose she’d be interested in expanding her horizons a bit?”

  “She’s too mousy, too inno
cent for you. Probably wouldn’t understand your lifestyle even if you explained it to her. Let me find you someone more experienced, more worldly.”

  “I don’t know. Teaching the innocent is one of my favorite things.” He continued watching the pretty young woman until she walked out of sight. Sitting and crossing his leg, he discretely adjusted the hard-on he’d gotten from just watching Miss Whitney Elliott walk away before turning his attention to the reason for his visit, a fundraising campaign for the battered women’s shelter

  Chapter 1

  “I’m sorry, Miss, but Esoteria is a private club for members and their guests only.” The guard was so big and muscular he could probably pick her small car up and turn it around all by himself if he wanted.

  “So how do I become a member?” Whitney pulled her wallet out of her purse.

  He waved her off when she opened her wallet. “Membership is by invitation only. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave now.”

  Whitney nodded but couldn’t help asking one last question. “Do they really sell sex slaves in there?”

  The guard’s expression went completely blank. “You need to leave. Now.”

  With a sigh, Whitney backed up and turned her car around. Saturday night and she was working. Her boss would be happy, especially if she got the story, but her body wished she could find a man to take her mind off her job. A man to scratch all her itches, sexual and otherwise.

  She drove away, pulling into the movie theater parking lot just down the street. She parked so she could see the club and its grounds. Then she did what she did best. She planned.

  She’d spent every spare moment of the last three days researching Club Esoteria and sexual slavery, which led to an eye-opening study of BDSM. She read up on various aspects of the “lifestyle,” as it was called. The discipline of it as well as domination and submission intrigued her. Bondage and sadomasochism gave her fear chills.

  Reading articles about various aspects of kinky sex made her panties wet and her cunt twitch in hunger. It was an appetite she could not satisfy on her own, even with the few toys she kept hidden from the world.

  She’d also spent hours each night locked in her bedroom, reading BDSM erotic romance e-books she found during her wanderings through the uninhibited world of the Internet, which led to masturbating herself to sleep afterwards. A sleep where in her dreams a faceless man did some of the things she’d read about. She usually woke with a wet pussy and fingers rubbing her clit, well on her way to an orgasm that took the edge off but wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it should be.

  Little had been written about Club Esoteria. On a visit to the office of county records, she learned that Taurus Green and Jenna Carter owned the club. She also discovered that these two were serious about privacy—theirs, the club’s, and their clientele’s. Somehow they’d been able to obtain all the necessary permits and paperwork to renovate the old warehouse and open a sex club within city limits without anyone going nuts.

  Probably because nowhere in her research had it been called a sex club. Club Esoteria was known as a private club for those interested in the pursuit of private pleasures. They did not advertise. They did not seek publicity. In the five years since their opening the police had never been summoned for drinking, fighting, or other disorderly conduct, which made Whitney all the more curious about what went on inside the brick walls of the Esoteria.

  Being stopped at the parking lot’s front gate would not stop her from finding out. That just made her even more determined to get inside. Something kinky was going on, and she would be the one to uncover it and tell the world, or at least New Bern, about it.

  “If you can’t get through the front with the guests, a good investigative journalist will slip in the back door with the catering staff. The best will do whatever it takes to get the story.” The words of her Journalism 101 professor rang through her memory.

  Pulling her driver’s license and some money from her wallet, she tucked them into the left back pocket of her jeans. In the other pocket she slid a small notebook and a ballpoint pen. She shoved her purse under the driver’s seat and out of sight. She pocketed the car keys once she’d locked the car and headed to the far end of the parking lot, away from the club’s entrance.

  There were no street lamps here, and it was dark enough that the guards would have trouble seeing her cross the road. She ran across the three lanes and kept running until she was well away from the road, hidden from view by azalea bushes and dogwood trees that camouflaged the tall chain link fence. She was surprised to see the club’s parking lot was nearly full. Most of the cars were luxury class sedans, sports cars, and SUVs. She’d driven by several times the past few days and the lot had always been empty during the daylight hours with the first cars arriving about eight each evening. She didn’t know how late people stayed, but figured that, like the bars in North Carolina, Esoteria would close about one in the morning.

  The building was a turn-of-the-century four-story brick warehouse that looked much like any of the other older warehouses in town. This one had been renovated with new windows and the bricks painted a medium tan instead of brick red. The one big difference that made this one stand out from the others was its fenced parking lot. Only the city’s outdoor storage facility had a more elaborate fence. There was not even a fancy billboard posted anywhere to announce to the world what kind of business this building housed. In fact, there were no signs of any kind, except on the side of the mailbox where the words “Club Esoteria” and the street address had been painted in a rather bland script.

  Whitney continued down the fence line until she reached the building. Here a well-kept lawn began. She slowed as she left the protective covering of the bushes and eased her way toward to the back of the building. She did not see any motion sensitive lights but could not tell if there were cameras watching her every move or not.

  At the back corner of the building, she came upon a driveway. Keeping close to the building, she followed it to a small parking lot with a huge pickup truck parked between a luxury SUV and a small sports car. The owners? Or special sneak-in-the-back-door kind of guests? She paused when she came upon a pair of oversized doors. The one on the left was marked “Private” in big white letters. The other one read, “Deliveries Accepted 12-5 p.m. ONLY.”

  Whitney paused for a moment, debating her choices. Which might be open? Which would get her into the club without anyone seeing her? Which did she feel brave enough to try?

  Taking a deep breath to bolster her courage, she reached for the door on the left. She gasped in silent surprise when it swung open without an alarm sounding.

  Stepping inside, she pulled the door completely closed before turning her attention to her surroundings. She found herself in a surprisingly well appointed foyer. It was as if she’d stepped into a hotel and not a sex club. She faced a large elevator door that was part of the mural of impressionist artwork that covered the entire wall. The wall to her right was covered with mirrored tiles. The other two walls were painted, but the colors picked up colors from the mural. To her left there was a door.

  Meeting her own eyes for a few seconds, she brushed at her black hair to smooth down a few flyaway strands. She didn’t look for long. She never did. She was too skinny with barely-there boobs and too-long legs. But her face was passably pretty now that she’d finally grown into the Cupid’s bow mouth and lilac-colored eyes that always seemed too big for her face.

  Too timid to try the elevator, Whitney turned to the door. Easing it open, she peeked around the edge, expecting to see another solemn-faced guard. But the short hallway was empty. The sound of music and the murmur of voices mixed with cries and moans, but there was no one to stop her.

  “So far, so good,” she assured herself as she walked cautiously to the end of the hall.

  Where it opened into the main room she paused to absorb the sights and sounds. She froze when a woman dressed in red latex passed by, followed closely by a pair of nearly naked men. The men wore black c
ollars and wrist cuffs. Matching red thongs strained to cover impressive erections. Leashes leading out of the top of the thongs to the woman’s hand assured they didn’t stray too far.

  With burning cheeks, she looked away from that trio to see the bare, red ass of a very hairy man. He lay over the lap of another, even hairier, man who enthusiastically spanked him with what looked like a Ping-Pong paddle. Though tempted to stop him, she saw that while others watched the action, no one interfered. If she did so, she would call attention to herself, and that was the last thing she needed.

  Her eyes darted around the room, and it took only a moment to deduce she was overdressed. Way overdressed. In any normal situation her dark gray jeans and matching silk shirt worked fine. Here the rule of thumb with clothes seemed to be less was more. And she had on more than anyone else in the room.

  Forcing herself not to run back the way she’d come, Whitney took a steadying breath. Her gaze swept the room, taking in nearly naked bodies involved in numerous sexual and painful looking activities. Though she had done her homework, some of what she saw going on still shocked her.

  She looked toward the bar, and the best looking man she’d seen since college caught her eye. The bartender was tall and broad and built like a real man should be. His slightly furred chest was bare except for an open brown leather vest. His arms were corded with muscles, and she didn’t see a spare ounce of fat on him. His skin was the golden brown of genetics and not a spray on tan.

  His short, curly hair was two shades more red than brown. As he moved, gold and red fire danced across the strands, giving him the look of a dark angel. Her fingers twitched, wanting to see if those curls were as soft as they appeared.

  Whitney took a step forward before she caught herself and froze. She couldn’t just walk up to him and run her fingers through his hair. He would toss her out on her ear and she would never get her story. Instead, she stayed where she was and admired the view as he talked to a woman sitting at the bar.