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Authors: Natalie Dae

Tags: #Erotic Romance Fiction

Master M

BOOK: Master M
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Table of Contents

Legal Page

Title Page

Book Description

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

New Excerpt

About the Author

Publisher Page

A Totally Bound Publication

Master M

ISBN #
978-1-78430-325-9

©Copyright Natalie Dae 2014

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 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

 

Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

 

 

Warning:

 

This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Burning
and a
Sexometer
of
2.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Marshall Cottage

 

MASTER M

 

 

Natalie Dae

 

 

 

Book six in the Marshall Cottage series

Master M sometimes denied me permission—but not tonight. No, I was in charge this time…

Standing on stage with Master M, ready to perform in front of guests in Marshall Cottage, I remembered the past. How I’d met my Master came tumbling back into my mind—and why he’d created a place for BDSM lovers to play. I adored him, wanted what was best for him, as he did for me. But the question was, could I get him to obey me this time, instead of the other way around?

He told me to always keep a part of myself to myself—to never give everything. The thing was, I wanted to give him everything. Every little bit of me. While we played out a scene on stage, the past continuing to stream through my mind, things began to change. He changed—giving me, and himself, permission to fully let go.

His hands on me. His whispers in my ear. His complete trust. I wanted it all—forever.

 

 

Chapter One

 

 

 

Now

 

There I stood on stage, wearing only a white corset and panties, my feet bare, my long black hair coiled into a bun on top of my head. There he stood, beside me, dressed as though he were a man about to go into his office. All he needed was a briefcase, perhaps a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, to complete the impression that he was an accountant or a bank manager.

He was far from that.

The sea of faces in front of us didn’t worry me. Perhaps they should have. Many people found when playing before a crowd that their self-confidence took a battering. Not mine. Since being Mr. M’s sub, I had grown as a person, relaxing into my role like I never had before. Because I was safe, cared for, cocooned in a swaddle of emotions that equated to his love.

Tonight the stage was ours, and we would perform showing that love. I supposed we were a bit of an enigma to many of the newer guests—or a fascination they knew little about. I imagined if I were them, that the man who ran Marshall Cottage and his sub were special, different to everyone else. We’d adopted an air about us on purpose to keep our private life hidden, a secret stash of day-to-day living that belonged only to us. Mr. M wanted it that way and so did I. Business and pleasure were separate—until we performed on stage. We didn’t do that very often but even though we’d been together for a long time, I was still a work in progress.
We
were a work in progress, ever learning, ever discovering new things.

I held Mr. M’s hand tightly, giving his fingers a little squeeze to let him know I was ready to begin whenever he was. While he addressed the crowd, telling them the origins of Marshall Cottage and why he’d created a BDSM club, I turned my attention to the expectant crowd. They were already fired up. Many of them had been fondling and kissing as we’d walked to the stage, the previous show pretty hot. The couple who had performed had captured their imaginations and revved up their libido, so the air seemed to bristle and flicker with sexual tension.

And that couple stood out—always had fascinated me—except they were kneeling now. And that’s
why
they stood out. The woman was usually on her feet, holding a leash that was attached to a collar around her lover’s neck. He liked to act the total submissive from what I’d seen in the past, but tonight it seemed they were on equal terms. I privately thought they were already, just that no one had taken the time to look at their relationship in a different light. I must say, something had changed between them. She was more relaxed and stared at him differently than before, her adoration for him showing clearly in her eyes and gestures.

It reminded me of myself and Mr. M, the way one minute we’d been dancing on the fringes of being a couple then suddenly we were one—Master and sub. It hadn’t begun that way, though. Our meeting hadn’t been unexpected. No, back then I’d met men in BDSM clubs all the time. But what
had
been unexpected was to find a rare gem, one that sparkled, twinkling in such a way that it had caught my attention nestled among all the others.

He’d changed my life.

 

* * * *

 

Then

 

“Pardon me for intruding, but are you here to meet someone?” he asked.

He stood beside the sofa I was sitting on in the foyer of a BDSM club that bordered on being seedy. I wasn’t sure why I kept coming here when it wasn’t particularly pleasant on the eye, except that it was closer to home and I hadn’t experienced anything untoward. Yet. Not like in other places.

And I was here to meet a man, but not anyone specific. “I’m here because…to meet someone, yes, but I don’t know who he is yet.”

There. He now knew I wasn’t contracted. Could look at me as a slut if he chose to. Could offer his services for an hour or so then walk away the same as so many had before him. I studied his appearance. Gray suit, white shirt open at the neck, the promise of thick chest hair peeking out, the dark hair on his head professionally cut—the insinuation that stubble wouldn’t be long in shadowing his jaw.

He looked different to other men. Or perhaps it was the vibe he gave off. Whatever it was, I relaxed, the tension that always came with a male approach oozing away.

It was odd to feel this way so quickly.

“I understand,” he said, backing away a little. “A pre-arranged blind date?”

“No, no. Nothing like that.”

He stopped reversing then stepped closer again.

How did I tell him I was here to be picked up without sounding as seedy as my surroundings? That I didn’t belong to anyone and at times needed the release that being a sub gave me? That it had ceased to matter who I played with, so long as they were kind. I’d accepted long ago that meeting Mr. Right wasn’t going to happen for me anytime soon.

“Would you like to talk?” he asked.

I blinked. That was a first. Someone who actually wanted to talk.

I nodded, unsure what to say.

He sat beside me, keeping a respectful distance between us, although his body heat reached me.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you,” he said.

I stared at him, convinced he was joking. Finally? Lovely to meet me? I was no one special, no one at all compared to every other woman around us.

“It’s lovely to meet you too.” What else could I have said?

“Please, may I buy you a drink while we talk?”

He smiled, and I went with my instincts. This wasn’t a man who would do me harm. His brown eyes held sincerity, his features soft, telling me he was relaxed. A man on edge tended to have narrowed eyes and hard brackets around his mouth.

“You may.”

“Your name?” He tilted his head.

“Shareena.”

“Lovely. And I’m Mr. M—or Master M, depending on whether I’m playing. And again, it’s lovely to meet you.”

I liked the way he’d let me know he was a Dom—confirmed it, but he needn’t have. He had an aura about him that spoke of masculinity, of command and authority. His Dom status had already screamed its presence long before he’d walked up to me. I hadn’t seen him here before, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been among the many men who prowled for subs. Our paths may just never have crossed, that was all. I could have been busy in one of the private rooms—he could have been busy.

The thought of him with another woman gave me a slap of curiosity. What would it be like to be dominated by him? He seemed the caring sort, a man who would be attentive to a sub’s needs. None of that harsh treatment. Treatment I’d experienced a time or two.

We stood, and he took my hand, placing my arm in the crook of his.

“Are you comfortable with that?” he asked.

“Yes.” The contact had me flustered, unaccustomed as I was to being handled so delicately. To having a man actually checking to see if his actions were welcome.

He led me toward the bar. “What would you like?”

“Water. Just fizzy water, please.”

He ordered then let my arm go. He turned to me, propping his elbow on the bar. “You intend to play tonight, then?” He raised his eyebrows, his mouth lifting into another gentle smile.

A gentle smile from a gentleman?

“I’m not sure.” And I wasn’t. I’d come here to mingle with people I felt comfortable with. Perhaps playing had been in the back of my mind when I’d set off earlier—I needed some form of release so badly—but once I’d arrived and had seen how everyone here seemed different than usual—again—I’d changed my mind.

Until I’d been approached by him.

“I see.” He handed me a tall, slim glass of water, the bubbles popping on the surface, giving off a little spray. “Any reason why you wouldn’t?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say it was none of his business, but his calm expression erased my words. I found myself wanting to talk to him, to open up.

“This place.” I shrugged. “It isn’t what it used to be.”

“How so?” He sipped his drink—water too—the gold cufflink in the shape of a whip on his shirt sleeve glinting in the overhead light.

“I don’t feel as safe as I should.” I smiled tightly.

“Is that anything to do with me?” He put his glass down. “I could leave you be. Really, it isn’t a problem.”

I wish it was a problem. I wish you didn’t want to leave me.

“No.” I stopped him walking away by covering his wrist with my hand. “No. It isn’t you.” I patted his arm then took my hand off, embarrassed I’d touched him so readily. I glanced around. “Can’t you see? There’s no one keeping an eye on things these days. People are just…doing whatever they want. It isn’t comfortable anymore. I no longer like playing here. I set off earlier thinking I would—you know, play—but…”

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