Charlotte smiled, a little sadly, as if in sorrow for all the pain she could hear in Jenny's voice. "You wouldn't be here if they thought you were frigid. They're the experts--and I'm not sure what frigid really means, but I do know that the girls I know in the main house who can't talk about sex are definitely not frigid. They just need--really, really need--deep down--for a man to make them do the things that give them pleasure. They need to be dominated."
"Oh my God," Jenny whispered. "That's just like me. Oh my God."
"That's why you're here," Charlotte said. "You're really lucky that your husband wants it, too, and that he can afford to send you here."
"Oh my God," Jenny said, unable to stop repeating it. "I mean, I was doing it because. . . because. . . well I guess it was because I knew that, really. . . but I told myself I made those promises--did you make the promises?"
"Yes," Charlotte said. "I'm here because my owner wants to marry me."
"What?! Your what?"
"Well, that's an exaggeration, I guess. He wants me to have the training, because he thinks he might want to marry me."
"You didn't answer my question! Did you actually just say your owner?"
Charlotte laughed. "Yes, I did. It's not like slavery, except that when I'm being honest I have to say that I would be happy to be called his slave."
Jenny shook her head in confusion. Charlotte took Jenny's hands gently in hers. "Think about it this way," she said. "Take all that stuff that you can't talk about and won't even let yourself think about. Just for a second, completely hypothetically, follow all that stuff to its natural conclusion. That's where I am. That's who I am."
"What is it?" Jenny whispered.
"I’m a submissive. And no one can seem to agree on a single name for what it all is, but most people seem to think that BDSM is the best way to refer to all of it."
"Oh, no. . . no. . . that's. . . I mean. . . I. . . I read books about. . . schoolgirls getting, you know. . . caned and stuff. That's not like whips and chains and leather. I'm not like those people--and neither are you, right? I mean, we're wearing nightgowns and. . . I'm married, and I love my husband."
Charlotte giggled. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really don't mean to laugh at you, but I can't help it--you should have seen what my owner made me wear when he came to visit last week."The book should be out very soon!