Excerpt from The Master of Ironwood

Once I had lovely Amanda on her knees before me, her pretty eyes just inches from the tightened crotch of my pants, I reached around to the desk drawer to find the velvet ribbon. Perhaps two inches wide, with a small clasp at the either end, it could be easily made into a loop. From the ribbon hung a small sliver disk inscribed with her name. She would wear this choker during her days at Ironwood: a slender band of black velvet with that nametag; a ubiquitous symbol of submission an Ironwood girl would pause to contemplate, and perhaps reach up to touch, each time she passed one of the many mirrors.