In the end, I'm sure they knew, and if not, they would soon. Keeping our personal lives a secret while kissing behind closed doors was bad enough, and it was getting increasingly difficult to choose between sex and music. By the third week of practice, Thayre invited me to pack a few things to keep at his place so we could get me caught up with everyone else. But when we weren't practicing or writing something new, we were like this—me submitting to Thayre, on my knees, in what would've been his guest room if not for the unusual furniture. The first time Thayre had let me in his guest room, I was completely in awe with what he'd managed to get away with. Similar to the sound studio, his guest room was meant for one thing and one thing only—being a Dom, and doing it well. I always thought kneeling with my hands cuffed behind my back while Bret flogged me was pretty hardcore, but Thayre proved me wrong. At the far end of the room, he'd set up a massage table, and beside it, a dresser which held a series of towels along with a robe he'd usually have me wear after one of our sessions.
