Master Dan
A Totally Bound Publication
Master Dan
ISBN #
978-1-78430-266-5
©Copyright Natalie Dae 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright October 2014
Edited by Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Melting
and a
Sexometer
of
2.
Marshall Cottage
MASTER DAN
Natalie Dae
Book five in the Marshall Cottage series
People think I’m the Dominant and Dan is the sub. In reality, it’s the other way around.
My husband, Dan, enjoyed being naked on his hands and knees, a dog leash around his neck while I paraded him about. People at Marshall Cottage undoubtedly thought I was the Dominant and that he was the sub. Who wouldn’t? Outside appearances said just that. In reality, though, he was the one telling me what to do and how to act. He called the shots. Giving out the wrong impression made Dan horny as hell, while I often wondered whether fooling people meant we were being not only dishonest with them, but with ourselves too.
Marshall Cottage was putting on a show night, and while we waited for the main event, Dan and I somehow made it onto the stage, giving a show of our own. Would it become clear to all who watched who was really in charge? Would they believe it? Or would our attempt in showing who we really were go completely unnoticed?
Chapter One
“Do you like the fact that we possibly give out the wrong idea, Dan?” I stared through the floor-to-ceiling window in our penthouse living room at the shimmering lights of the city.
There was something about this time of night, a blanket of black decorated with speckles of white, yellow, orange and red. It humbled me knowing there were others out there, in their houses or cars or walking the streets, spending the minutes of their lives in the best way they knew how. Daytime didn’t give the same impression and I likened it to
our
life. Two totally different sides to the same thing.
Dan came to stand beside me. I glanced at him, as always taken aback by how wonderful he looked in a suit. Corporate living gave him an air of authority and he wore it well. He was glorious with that dark hair, dark stubble, dark eyes. He had all the hallmarks of a good Master, seeing as he knew how to be in control at work five days a week—except he didn’t want control all the time. Being a manager of a vast company took discipline, but to be like that with no respite had promised to take its toll. That was where I had come in. Where my expertise was needed—to give him the chance to relinquish all worries and let someone else do the ordering around on his behalf.
In reality he was the one still doing the ordering. As much as people who saw us in the Domme-sub role might think the rest of our lives were governed by me, they’d be wrong. He
was
a Master—he dictated how things would go even while camouflaged as a sub.
“Give out the wrong idea?” he asked. “At Marshall Cottage, you mean?”
“Yes.” I returned my attention to outside. “Do you like knowing we’re not as people think?”
A plane streaked along in the distance.
“Of course I like it, but I don’t really give a damn what they think,” he said. “Time at the mansion is for me to de-stress, for you to give me what I need—for me to give you what you need. Once a week, that’s all, and I get a sense of balance back. It’s difficult being strong all the time. What we do there…well, it’s the only way for me to stay sane.”
“Some would say we’re
in
sane.”
“They would—and that would be their opinion, one they’re entitled to. There are so many of them out there, opinions, but it doesn’t mean what they see in us is the truth. We know that. Does it bother you, then? What they think?”
“Good God, no. Not what they think of me.” Had I just lied to him? “I was just thinking of you, that’s all. A client could turn up there at any time. See you with me and think—”
“Think what, that I’m a freak?”
“Possibly.” I smiled. Yes, Dan might appear that way to many, but not those committed to the lifestyle, those who understood it. Which made me think again. “It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything. I just had a thought which nullifies my musings. Those who go to Marshall Cottage have been vetted—they have to be serious in order to attend. If a client did see you—which, let’s face it, is highly unlikely—they’d know why you were—”
“Naked, on my hands and knees with a collar and chain?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t care if they saw me that way. And as you say, if they were at Marshall Cottage then they have penchants they need seeing to as well. It would be rather hypocritical of them to bluster in my office during the day, raving about my Friday night sessions when they had gone there for a similar thing. And what we do, it gives me such a sense of freedom, of belonging, of being cared for, I wouldn’t trade it for someone’s opinion. I thought you realized that, understood it.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do.” I reached out to take his hand in mine. I stroked the backs of his fingers—so soft. “I suppose, what with me looking out of the window, it got my mind wandering, me thinking about what’s normal and what isn’t. Before I became a working Domme, I wouldn’t have thought any of it was normal. None of it at all. I just knew there was something different in me. That I wanted something more. I had no idea what it was.”
He unlinked our hands then put his arm around my waist. Curled his fingers so the tips rested on my hipbone. Kissed my cheek so gently that I barely felt it.
“So,” he said. “Your problem is? What are we really talking about here?”
“People frowning on
you
. People getting the wrong impression. People…talking about you—and not in a good way. I don’t like the idea of that. It hurts. I couldn’t care what they think about me—at least I don’t think I do. And if I do, I shouldn’t.”
“It’s just the idea of them thinking this way, though,” he said. “They may not think anything at all. And if I don’t care then you shouldn’t either. If it gives me what I need so I can function better, what’s the harm? You know all this. Is there something bothering you? Something else you need to talk about?”
He drew me closer, turned me so I was pressed to his chest. He smoothed his hands up and down my back, washing away the tension there, making absolutely everything all right.
I sighed. “No, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Someone the other night.”
“At the cottage?”
“Yes.” I slid my fingers into the back of his waistband.
“Go on.”
“There was a woman there. She watched us for a while. From the look on her face she thought I was a hard-nosed cow who dragged you along behind me. That you were odd for allowing it. As if I kicked you, treated you like an unwanted dog.” I laughed lightly. “I mean, look at you. Hardly the willowy type, are you. And she discussed us with her Master—the nice chap—I saw her. You know the one. We’ve spoken to him about our life a few times.”
“Ah, yes, him. Like you said, nice chap. I imagine he set her straight, then.”
“Perhaps.”
“You must never worry about what people think of me. Us. We like it—or have you discovered you don’t?”
I drew back from him to stare into his brown eyes. “No! Not at all. My worry is for you. As you know, me being a supposed Domme… You found me in that sleazy little place that masquerades as an upmarket BDSM parlor and fails miserably.” I laughed. “Bondage City. Dear me, I was so desperate for a job there—anywhere so I could be myself. And you came along. Remember that?”
“How could I forget?” He stroked my cheek. “My initial taste of being dominated was by you. People might assume I grew attached to you because of it. My teacher, someone I found I couldn’t be without, even after just the first strike. Unhealthy, I imagine some would say, for a student to fall in love with his Domme without trying other Dommes afterwards.”
“Or for a Domme to fall in love with a client.”
“Yet we did—and here we are, you worrying about what others think of me when I don’t give a shit. It’s lovely of you, but please, stop. It could be taken as insulting or degrading.”
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“Note I said
could
. That you fretting could be seen as demeaning our relationship—that you agree with what they, whoever they are, might feel about us.”
I blushed. “That wasn’t what I meant
at all
.”
“I know. So will you stop this nonsense? Where has my strong faux Domme gone, mmm?”
He kissed my cheek. Trailed his fingertips up and down my back again. Turned me the hell on by skimming over the rise of my arse.
“Clearly, your faux Domme has been sidetracked by emotions. It won’t happen again.”
At least I’ll try not to let it happen again.
“Good. Besides, they don’t know what we know. That to outsiders I may look like a meek sub, but in reality I’m all Master.”
I snuggled my face to his, kissed his neck above his shirt collar, the material grazing my chin. “And that you’re the one telling me what to do.”
“And so as long as
we
know, what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t. Really, it doesn’t.”
“Then hush.”
I hushed. Let him caress me, take me to that place where all worries and troubles vanished. Where I could think about things and they weren’t a burden.
Bondage City and my time there filled my mind. I’d been full of trepidation when I’d found the place advertised online, that the higher realms of society would think someone of my ‘standing’ shouldn’t set foot inside there. I hadn’t even known I’d
wanted
that kind of thing until I’d stumbled across it. But just because I’d been born into a privileged lifestyle didn’t mean I had feelings any different to anyone else. I had an urge to dominate, and finding out there was a place where I could do that had seemed like being set free.
Oh, I knew there were kinky parties I could go to, those in someone or other’s house—secrets well-kept by those who attended because they didn’t want anyone knowing just what
they
got up to. Those types of parties were miles away from what I needed, though. I had been expected to be a sub whenever I attended, but my tendencies didn’t fully lean that way. I needed to control somehow—and wasn’t that funny? I’d met Dan, and although it seemed I was the one who called the shots, I wasn’t. Perhaps the illusion of it was enough for me. I was happy—happier than I’d ever been—and I supposed, because it was ingrained in me, that my little bout of worry this evening had been brought on by something I couldn’t help. To be told all my life that I had to live by unwritten yet important rules was still buried inside me. No matter how much I wanted to be liberated from them, they were still there.
