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The ringing of the phone disrupted Jonathan Udrow’s concentration. He frowned then glanced over at the sideboard, cursing his choice of a retro ring tone for the shiny new cordless device. Of course, when he really got into a scene and his partner was moaning with intense pleasure-pain, most other sounds were usually drowned out by the noise. The phone gave another shrill ring, and the slender brunette squirmed in her ties. She stood spreadeagled with a metal bar between her ankles and her arms raised above her head, her wrists fastened to the elaborate suspension apparatus on the high ceiling of Jon’s bedroom. The room was large and sparsely furnished, its whitewashed walls still reminiscent of the warehouse attic it had been converted from. Only the bed and the big, old-fashioned bathtub in the corner of the room were proof of its current use. Jon had bought the warehouse in London’s East End earlier in the year after selling his small but successful software company to a competitor. He was in the process of converting the other floors into individual flats and offices but other than having a small bathroom and a kitchen put in behind a dividing wall, he hadn’t got around to buying much furniture for himself yet. The room was almost dark except for a few strategically placed candles and some Christmas lights in the corner behind the bathtub, now blatantly out of season in April. The floor-length windows behind the woman’s naked body permitted a great view of the river as the lights from the buildings on the opposite bank were reflected on the black water. Of course, she hadn’t come here to admire the view. Jon had picked her up earlier this evening at an S&M club and taken her home to play out of sheer boredom. Lately, it seemed, he had begun to lose interest in dominating strangers and this one wasn’t really his type anyway. She was much too skinny, although he liked her perky tits, especially with the heavy nipple chain he had put on them. Jon grinned to himself wryly. The brunette was blindfolded with a wide strip of shiny black latex. Her mouth formed a perfect O around the small rubber ball between her lips. He never as rule ball-gagged strangers when playing with them for the first time for security reasons, but the woman had begged him to fill her mouth and he had decided to grant her this small privilege. The phone rang again and the brunette writhed in her ties, but she didn’t drop the ball. Her breasts jiggled, the nipple chain clinking. She had been squirming before, of course, while Jon had worked a thick, heavily veined rubber dildo into her tight arsehole, inch by inch. But this was different. Now she was clearly wriggling with unease rather than the heady combination of pleasure-pain and arousal that had been almost palpable in the air a moment ago. Jon drew the dildo out and dropped it on the wooden floor, huffing with irritation. Whoever was on the phone really had it coming to them—it was after one in the morning on a Thursday night, for fuck’s sake! He picked up the receiver and barked, "Yes!" The male voice on the other end was apologetic, but Jon could also hear fear and confusion. As an experienced dominant he had become an excellent judge of human emotions and, as far as he could tell, Greg was panicking. "Jon!" the younger man started, without a formal greeting. "I need your help. There’s a woman here, and I think I’ve made her my submissive and now I don’t know what to do." "Calm down. I thought you wanted to make Tiffany your sub. What went wrong?" "It’s not Tiffany!" Greg’s voice was high-pitched with alarm. "It’s my new boss! I accidentally made her submit to me, and now I don’t know what to do!" Jon stared at the phone in amazement. Accidentally made his boss submit to him? What the hell was Greg talking about? "Tell me exactly what happened."