Master M (2 page)

I turned back to look at him, reading his face as best I could. He frowned, glancing about, tucking his lower lip between his teeth. He was studying the people, I assumed, then he raised his eyes to the four corners of the room.

“I see,” he said again. “I’ve seen for a while now. There are no cameras here. No staff keeping watch. It’s the same with other places. No policing, for want of a better word. No rules—and if there are any, they’re not being followed, as far as I can tell. It seems one can just walk in off the street and join in. No contracts—at least I didn’t have to sign one on my first visit. Did you?”

“No. I should have asked for one, I know, but… Putting myself at risk…”

“Indeed.”

He studied my face, seeming to come to some kind of conclusion about me.

I wanted to ask him what he’d seen.

“What do you want from a place like this?” he asked.

I sighed. What I wanted wasn’t here or anywhere else—except maybe him. The type of club I wanted to be a part of possibly didn’t exist. Or if it did, I hadn’t heard about it.

I closed my eyes for a second, then, “I wish—”

“There was a safer place to go?”

* * * *

Now

I smiled at the memory and squeezed Mr. M’s hand tighter. Soon after that, he would become Master M, the man I’d given my complete trust to.

“And so,” he said, smiling at the crowd, “we’d like to perform for you. Some of you are new to this and will perhaps have found a few shows more risqué than you’d expected—more painful, more intense. You may well reach that level at some point, but if you don’t, it doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. Everyone who has a penchant for our way of life is welcome, however deep you go into it. Maybe you’ll be content with just dipping a toe into the water, and maybe you won’t. It’s your journey, your choice, and above all, you must know that you’re safe here. At no time must you feel threatened, frightened or unsure.” He paused. “If you do, come and see me. I’m always at the front door. Unless, of course, I’m on stage—which isn’t often—or speaking to guests in another part of the cottage. Again, that isn’t often. The man who stands in for me during those times is a newcomer to my staff, an old and trusted friend you will know as Master Harry. But people here are respectful, therefore there’s no need for me to leave my post at the door except for the two things I mentioned.” He scoured the gathering with his gaze. “And I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

People looked at him with something close to adoration—and relief. I knew how some clubs could be, where deviants stalked. Some people weren’t really interested in rules and respect—weren’t really interested in the lifestyle at all.

They came to find someone to hurt.

Mr. M covered our joined hands with his other. Patted mine then brushed his thumb back and forth over my skin. He knew what I might be thinking, what memory might sneak back into my mind because of what he’d said. His goal in maintaining a safe environment was his primary one. Under no circumstances was a man or woman to endure anything other than consensual pleasure-pain here.

“I’d like to touch on rules,” he said. “But not the rules in the contract you signed that enables you to stand here right now. Those are a given. What I want to remind you of is the respect angle. Your sub may have given you permission to do whatever you want, but I fear that some—and I’m sure it doesn’t apply to any of you—forget that the sub is the one who calls the shots.” He rubbed my skin harder. “Do you hold true to the contract that binds you? Do you give them
exactly
what they ask for? Do you always make sure your sub is happy at all times? Or do you just assume they are?” He stared hard into the middle distance. “Because assuming isn’t the same as knowing. Assuming can be dangerous.”

Everyone either nodded or looked grave—maybe they had experienced what I had. I scanned the subs for inklings of emotion, finding some on the face of a petite red-headed woman who stood beside her broad and tall Master. She’d only frowned the slightest bit, but it was enough. A tell.

“My beautiful woman,” Mr. M said, “has experienced an assuming Master or two—and yes, I have her permission to talk about this. There are some things that are not acceptable here or anywhere. Do you ever wonder why our lifestyle gets such a bad name? My aim with opening Marshall Cottage was not only to provide a happy, safe place to go, but to educate. Our welcome booklet is packed with information so that no guest of mine has to endure what Shareena did.”

He took a deep breath. “So on that note, and before I get all maudlin, our show tonight is to demonstrate respect. Do you have signals? A safe word isn’t enough, in my opinion. You’ll note that I’ll touch Shareena’s shoulder at times or whisper in her ear. Always check your sub is happy. Always. For without their respect and trust, your union is worth nothing.”

* * * *

Then

“
Yes,” I said. “A safe place to go. Somewhere I can call for help if I need to. Here?” I looked around. “Who would I call? There’s no one.”

He nodded. “And that’s a disturbing factor in many of the clubs I’ve visited. I’ve known for quite some time that I want to open my own place. To have rules, contracts, but most of all, a haven for people to run to.”

For some reason that didn’t surprise me. Intrigued, I went to ask a thousand questions but decided on just one. “And would you indulge in lifestyle activities while running such a place?”

My face heated. Why had I chosen that question? I’d only just met the man and there I was, asking something private. But there was a quest for knowledge inside me that poked, insisting I find out more.

In short, I didn’t want him to walk away after this drink and I’d never see him again. He drew me in with his easy manner. I needed him to stay for a while, to continue speaking to me—to make me…forget certain things.

“I wouldn’t, no,” he said. “If I’m to run a place, how could I do that efficiently while taking pleasure?”

“But you could employ someone to steer the ship while you took cabin rest.” Where had that stupid comment come from? I blushed harder.

He laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, that’s a lovely way of putting it. And yes, I suppose I could employ someone I trusted to take over from time to time. You’re very sweet, Shareena, although I sense you’ve had some of that sweetness soured at some point.”

I nodded. Normally I wouldn’t have—keeping my secrets hidden had proved the best way to go so far—but with Mr. M standing with me…well, I could spill a few secrets with no trouble at all.

“There have been men who haven’t been too…respectful,” I said. “Which makes me wary of playing. I visit this place, and I have entered a scene or two, but only when the men were clearly…decent. And then only light play. Nothing where I’m tied up and can’t get away.” I bit the inside of my cheek.

His eyes clouded, the irises darkening. “And there has been a time when you have been tied and couldn’t get away? When the Master hasn’t
let
you get away?”

“Yes.”

He clenched his jaw. “That should never happen.”

“I know. But it did. It does.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I found that I did.

And it all spilled out.

Chapter Two

Now

“On your knees, sub.”

His words peppered my skin with goosebumps. My breath hitched, my heartbeat stuttered. All good things. I obeyed Master M, sinking down to the stage—the floor, my favorite place to be when with him. That and in his arms after a scene, in bed, where he stroked my humming, whipped body and murmured words of love until I drifted off to sleep.

The wood was cold on my shins, hard beneath my knees, both signals to my psyche that I’d soon be getting what I wanted. I faced the crowd, although I set my sights on a patch of wall at the back of the room. I didn’t want them distracting me, taking my attention. That belonged to me and Master M now—to our emotions and what we were about to do.

I wondered what the guests were expecting. There were many here who hadn’t seen us on stage before. The occurrence was a rarity. Did the newcomers think he’d get undressed, bare his body for all to see? If they did, they didn’t know him very well. Then again, who did? Only I’d been allowed to understand him, to know his fears, his dreams, his desires. To them, him undressing would undoubtedly be like a revelation, him showing a part of himself they’d possibly only imagined. He had to intrigue them, the man who stood at the door night after night, offering nothing of himself except his welcome.

He could seem intimidating, aloof.

But not to me. He was my everything, a true gentleman.

Those who had seen our previous shows…were they wondering if he would go to the next level? He hadn’t undressed in public before, so I could understand it if they thought he might this time.

How very wrong they’d be.

“Shareena enjoys her back being whipped,” he said, voice stern yet pleasantly soft. “Her shoulders.” He paused. “Her tits and nipples. It gives her release. She doesn’t necessarily have to come. She tells me that every single bite of the whip is an orgasm in itself. Can you imagine that? Twenty strikes, twenty orgasms, one after the other?”

How well he understood me. How well he’d listened to what I’d had to say.

“It’s no wonder she’s wrung out after a whipping session. I can’t imagine coming so much, but then men don’t have the luxury of that option.”

Some of the audience chuckled.

“Coming isn’t the be all and end all, either, I find. A Master or sub doesn’t have to come during play. And satisfaction can be gained by being fully dressed—no orgasm achieved. Holding off and coming much later, denying yourself, teasing yourself until you can stand it no more, can lead to a richer experience.”

Not only a richer experience but more intense. He had done this so many times. I had held off too, let the euphoria of the whip take me to a place no orgasm could. Then, after he’d soothed my skin with balm, he’d licked my cunt or filled it with his hard cock until I’d come.

He reached out and a member of staff stepped from the shadows at the side of the room. The man handed Master M a whip. My stomach muscles contracted—
here we go, here’s what I want, it won’t be long now
—and I breathed deeply to semi-quell the rush of excitement that bubbled up. Too much too soon brought on lightheadedness.

“Now,” he said, “you’ll notice I haven’t asked my good lady to undress. I prefer to warm her up, striking outside her corset at first. And so I shall begin.”

I held my breath, closed my eyes—I wouldn’t open them again until we were done, if I could help it. This part was always the best. Anticipation. Skin prickling with it. Nerves buzzing.

I heard him move away, knowing he’d gone to stand behind me. I imagined him getting into position, telling himself that performing, showing a side of himself he rarely did, wasn’t a negative. I’d explained that if the guests saw him in a different light, it wasn’t a bad thing. They’d know he felt the same way as them, that he wasn’t some superior being, one who acted like an eagle on a tree branch, staring down at his prey, waiting, ready to swoop to the ground and clutch them with sharp claws if they so much as looked at another guest funny.

It’s okay to be your true self from time to time, Master. It really is okay.

The sound of the whip sailing through the air didn’t faze me. He wouldn’t strike me without a signal. But that sound… God, it set my soul on fire. I shivered, pretending the whip had met its target. Pretending that pain lanced through me, streaking from my back then blazing out through the skin of my stomach, a fiery flame of goodness. Pretending that he wasn’t just making sure his position was right. That he wasn’t just preparing me.

As the whip stopped short of contact, a whisper of displaced air cooled my bare shoulders, the nape of my neck. I swallowed, lacing my fingers in my lap. He touched my shoulder with his fingertips, and I nodded—some of the watchers might have caught it, some might not. I waited for him to arc that whip again. The sound of it being wielded repeated, and I straightened my back, bracing for impact. There it was, a strip of biting pain just below my shoulder blades. I jerked my torso forward, curving my spine, hanging my head back. Heat spread from the stripe, stunning and all consuming. I waited again. Another hit came quickly, increasing the warmth.

I straightened my spine once more, eager now for the proper whipping to begin. Those first two strikes had been tame, a precursor, something to whet my appetite.

It wasn’t only my appetite that was wet.

He laid into me then, hit after hot, hot hit. They found their mark and, I knew, had marked me. I imagined the redness beneath my corset—how, because he was striking randomly, I’d have a criss-cross pattern. At no time did he let the whip meet with my skin, yet I wanted him to—
needed
him to. Waves of pleasure rolled over me, my cunt spasming, my tits aching, nipples throbbing. A spectacular lift took over—a lift of spirits that guided me away from the stage, away from the audience and their groans of wonder. I shook from the intensity. Each line on my back belted out heat, their close proximity to one another resulting in the warmth merging, becoming one big accumulation.

This. This was where I wanted to be.

He touched my shoulder.

I shuddered with delight.

“Take off your corset,” he whispered in my ear.

His voice, his breath—he was so close, yet so far away. I wasn’t there with him as such but above him, us, my
self
almost divorced from my body but not to the degree that I had fully entered subspace. I lingered on the edge, in control, not allowing myself to take the final step. I reserved that pleasure for when we were alone, but God, I so wanted to let go now.

I undid the hooks and eyes that held the garment together, my hands shaking. The energy to complete my task was fast disappearing. I wished he’d secured me to chains from the ceiling so I could hang there and take whatever he chose to give—what I had granted him permission to give. To have to keep lucid when my self was intent on floating away was a difficult task. I fought harder for control and felt like I was winning.