Now she was at Gio's place with minutes to spare, and she still had to will her hand to open the car door.
In all the months she'd spent listening to the Mancinis' taped conversations, she'd heard many rumors and wild speculations about the things Gio did with his women, but nothing solid or confirmed. Earlier that evening, she'd visited dozens of websites about S&M dungeons and practices to try to determine what she should expect, but each one seemed completely different from the others in terms of rules and fetishes and equipment.
Some had been oddly compelling, while others were downright nightmarish. Some spoke of trust and boundaries, while others seemed focused on pushing things as far as they could go short of committing actual rape and/or murder.
And for all she knew, Gio's style of “play” would conform to none of these. It could be a macabre symphony of torture and mutilation that followed no rules but his own.
She forced herself to get out of the car. When she commanded her legs to walk toward the front door, they seemed stiff and numb beneath her, as though they belonged to someone else. Each time one of her high heels came down on the driveway, the sound seemed as loud as a cannon blast, echoing and ringing in her ears.
Halfway up the driveway, her legs suddenly stopped, and she felt like she might throw up, run away, or both. She squeezed her eyes shut and pushed these feelings out of her. Then she opened them, took a deep breath, and kept walking.
When she got to the door, she rapped on it gently, almost hoping Gio wouldn't hear her. But a moment later, he opened the door, frowning at her. He wore a black silk shirt with light gray trousers, and he was in the process of tying his tie.
“You're early,” Gio observed testily. “By almost a whole minute.”
Carla's mouth fell open. That was the last thing she'd expected him to say. She stammered, “Uh, I didn't think...”
“Don't talk back to me,” Gio snapped, finishing his tie. “Get in here.”
Carla walked in and Gio stepped around her, slamming the door hard. Carla found herself wondering whether it would be one of the last sounds she'd ever hear, and a deep shiver overtook her body.
This is stupid, her frightened mind yammered. This is so stupid. I can't believe I've put myself in this position. This isn't a game. He's murdered people. He'll probably murder me when he's done cutting and electrocuting and violating me. I'm going to spend the final moments of my life begging for death and I walked myself right into it, stupid, stupid, stupid...
“And no, you did try to think, which is the problem,” Gio continued coldly. “You thought that even though I said eleven, you could get here before then and everything would be fine. But when I say eleven, I mean eleven. Not a minute before. Not a minute after. From now on, you don't get to think for yourself. You simply do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it, period. No hesitation, no interpretation. My word is your law. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Carla said, looking into his brown eyes with what she hoped was an expression of submission and awe.
“Yes what?” he prompted, his body tensing.
Carla instinctively knew that he was getting ready to hit her, and she felt her gut clench. The websites she'd visited had no consistency when it came to what subs were supposed to call their Doms. Even though he'd just commanded her not to think for herself, she knew she had to come up with the right name to call him. “Sir?” No, that seemed too formal and businesslike for someone like Gio. “Daddy?” Somehow, given his issues with his father, she felt certain it would turn him off. Which only left...
“Yes, Master,” Carla said in a low voice.
Gio nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now lower your eyes, and keep them low. You're not allowed to look me in the eyes until I tell you to.”
“Yes, Master,” she said again, her eyes flicking downward.
“I like your suit,” Gio said. “You look like a birthday present just waiting to be unwrapped. Go to the stairs and walk up ahead of me.”
“Yes, Master,” she said a third time. The words had been almost comically strange to her at first, but she found that they were already starting to come to her more easily. They almost seemed like a mantra—their meaning was less important than their sound.
Carla walked up the stairs. She hurried at first, assuming he'd punish her if she dawdled. But after the first few steps, she suddenly felt the palm of his hand smack against her bottom hard, the sound ringing out like the crack of a whip.
She gasped, more from surprise than pain, though a warm ache was already starting to spread across her buttock.