Please note Jarrod Bancroft Book I is the original first novella of this group entitled “A Gift for Jarrod.”
With everything she cared about gone, Dominatrix Macie Fitzgerald has built a new life in service to those seeking pain and submission. She takes pride in her success. So when she accepts Jarrod Bancroft’s application to her next training session, she acknowledges the risk. The ten years that have passed since he was her high school history student have only made him more magnificent in every way.
Life has been too easy for Jarrod Bancroft—rich parents, football star, law degree, high powered job, women by the score. Something is missing. He wants whatever Stonybrook Academy can dish out, much as it scares the hell out of him. And he was right to be afraid. He never imagined this. The voice behind Madam’s mask sounds familiar, but after days of torture and deprivation, Jarrod’s only thought is to obey.
Macie faces her biggest challenge as she struggles to fulfill her professional obligation to give Jarrod what he wants. What he needs.
Jarrod had lost track of the changes underway inside his mind and body. He reacted to light strangely, as if it brought the comfort of food or a warm touch even when it was simply the removal of the blindfold. He became accustomed to the loss of control of his body as he was shackled to his bed at night, no longer pissed when he wanted, no longer held his own penis to do so, no longer even shat without someone in attendance. He ate like an animal off the plate they placed on the floor, food that was unrecognizable although flavorful and evidently nourishing.
There were daily parades into rooms where people waited, all of them masked. He stood with other naked submissives as the masked people chatted, drank, nibbled on hors d’oeuvres, occasionally casting their eyes in his direction, occasionally stroking his body and the cock that strained in front of him. After a first few times of shivering humiliation and terror, he took their glances, their touching, as reassurance. His worry that they might know him, recognize, spread gossip about what they had seen, slowly subsided into the greater submissive state of mind that fed his constant arousal.
No longer questioning his decision to come here, his thoughts now focused on the current situation, the moment in which he existed, whether his attention was captured by the lash or the ever larger plug in his anus, or the engorgement that plagued his genitals. The people who serviced him had become objects of his affection—he wanted to kiss Sal who nightly administered to his fracturing body, the woman who slipped her hand over his cock each morning to help him piss.
Everything excited his senses. He’d never felt so alive. Yet for all the arousal, he had not been allowed to have another ejaculation. The need to release had slipped to the background, no less urgent, no less achingly painful, but one of those things he endured like he endured the beatings. He felt like a stringed instrument, increasingly tuned to a finer and more exquisite tension, waiting for the right moment, the right hand, that would turn him into a beautiful song.
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