Dedication to the role was key, Zelda Zane knew well. The ace reporter had scoffed when her editor said that going undercover in the city’s BDSM scene was too dangerous. There were nearly a hundred girls missing from those clubs, and the police were just trying to sweep it under the rug. Zelda knew she could get to the bottom of it.

It hadn’t taken her long to learn the language of the lifestyle, and move unnoticed in its currents and eddies. Presenting herself as a neophyte domme, like the missing girls, Zelda hoped that the kidnappers would approach her.

She wasn’t expecting to get pulled into a conversation on natural slavery. The idea was ridiculous that the human body had certain positions and pressure points that would naturally induce submission in anyone, no matter how strong-willed.

Words grew heated. Wagers were made, and doubled. Before she quite knew it, Zelda found herself naked, poised to defy this ludicrous concept.

As the bonds pulled her shoulders back and her arms apart, Zelda felt her anger cool. Perhaps she could listen to reason. As the cool air teased her nipples, Zelda felt the stir of arousal deep within. Perhaps she would enjoy this after all. As the chains pulled her knees up and her thighs apart, Zelda felt open and vulnerable and helpless. Perhaps trusting these people was her only choice.

Upon command to turn her head to the right, Zelda felt the thick collar push gently into her throat. Her mind opened like a puzzle box. All she had ever needed was the key.

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