Master M (4 page)

“I will.”

“I’m not used to this…level of caring.”

“I’ll be here. And when you stumble, I’ll remind you when you’re getting too close to revealing too much. You’ll be my main concern, the one I look out for at all times, regardless of how swept away I am. I’ll be in control for you—if that’s what you want.”

“I want,” I said. “God, I so want. But what if I’d like to give myself over completely? If it was a wish of mine, would you grant it, even though it’s something you’ve advised against?”

He paused. “I imagine, with you, I’ll be breaking many of my own rules, Shareena.”

* * * *

Now

“Yes,” I whispered. “I remember the clock, Sir. But even knowing what you said… I want you to have all of me.”

“Please don’t. I understand, I really do, but this is for your own sake. What kind of man would it make me if I owned everything that was you?”

“It’s not about that, Sir.”

Throats were cleared. Feet shifted. Someone coughed. Was the crowd getting impatient? Were they straining to hear what we were saying?

“Please don’t keep them waiting, Sir.”

“Another minute won’t hurt. Tell me, what
is
it about?”

“I thought I wanted to keep some things secret, but here, now, it’s like I need them to see how far I’ll go for you. To let them know I belong to you—really belong. Please, Sir. Let me go to that place. Let me cross over in public. Just this once.” I coached myself not to open my eyes. To look at him and see things in his that I might not want to see—disappointment, reproach. Upset, pain. Indecision.

“What good will it do?” he asked. “If it’s for your well-being, then perhaps—”

“It is.”

“I worry you’ll have regrets.”

“And they will be mine to possess, Sir.”

He moved away from me. Did I
feel
his disappointment then? Yes, but not in me as a person. In himself for not managing to convince me to preserve that one little nugget of me—the private one, the secret piece.

“Please brace yourselves,” he said loudly, “for you’re about to witness something that is as startling as it is beautiful. Never in all my years as a Master have I witnessed a woman go so far into subspace that she loses herself to the point she ceases to exist as she does now. Where her body takes over, coherent thought stolen. My sub needs…this. Please indulge us as I give her what she’s requested.”

The crowd voiced their approval, a few gasps and groans smattered amidst the low rumble. They wanted this as much as I did. To see the man who had given them this place bow to his sub’s needs. I wanted them to observe that side of him, to help him break through his own, self-imposed barrier, where he held
himself
back. We’d free each other this way, and he’d see that afterwards.

I relaxed my body, eased into the state of mind where I heard the noise of the crowd but it was indistinct. Sent my mind into limbo, where I was neither here nor there. Hypnotized myself by listening to the rapid breaths—my own, the crowd’s and Master M’s.

And waited for the strikes to begin.

He administered them to the front of my body, snapping hits that eventually failed to hurt. My skin desensitized. The only reaction I felt was a dull thud, each one of them pushing me toward the euphoria I craved—and subspace. I was there quickly, hovering above the crowd. I broke my own rule and opened my eyes. My Master thwacked and thwacked, sweat beading at his temples, his cheeks flushing with exertion. He seemed to relax into the task, forgetting we were in company, that so many might be judging him and his performance. Expert that he was, he behaved impeccably, each strike landing in a different place. The thuds became harder, and I stared down at my skin.

Red, so much red.

The perfect color.

I drifted away from subspace to dip back into reality, needing to experience the level of pain he was giving. It crashed over me for a second or two—raw and primal. It was all I needed to set me off. I convulsed, heard a scream that sounded as if it had come from someone else, someone far away. I gritted my teeth, the pain so intense it promised a blackout. One agonizing smack to my nipple and I hurtled back into subspace. I was aware of the manacles abrading my wrists. Of my toes scrunching on the stage. Of my body arching then caving in on itself. My mouth opened, my eyes widened, and I knew I was letting out the kind of scream that anyone outside Marshall Cottage would take as something to inspire fear.

The faces before me seemed to bob in the sea I had likened them to earlier, swaying, eyes and mouths just as wide as mine. Some couples kissed, touched each other up, while others still openly fondled their cocks, cunts and tits. Dicks were pushed into mouths, between breasts, and oh, I was free, high on endorphins and the knowledge that I’d given my Master every single piece of me—that he had given that last piece of himself to me too.

Darkness encroached in my peripheral. Silver lights sparkled. The sight of the crowd narrowed, until the only people left in my view were the kneeling couple. That was fitting—they’d been my first glimpse too. The woman smiled, nodding slowly, and I knew she understood. Whatever she and her sub had been through, she’d wanted something and had gotten it. She knew why I had done this, and I managed to smile back before their faces disappeared.

Complete blackness.

And it was then that I knew he finally owned me—and himself.

Outright.

Chapter Four

I had blacked out and woke naked to find myself in our private apartment on the top floor of the cottage. The sweet, floral scent of the salve Master M used after a whipping hung heavy in the air. I smiled, staring across at the window. The curtains hadn’t been closed, and I had the perfect view of a starry night, the sky as dark as my oblivion had been. The moon, the color of Devonshire clotted cream, had a glowing, fuzzy halo that bled into the surrounding sky until it dispersed into nothing. A light breeze floated through the slightly open window. It made me want to go out there.

One day we’d maybe treat ourselves to a fuck under the moon and stars.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, catching sight of Master M as he strode, undressed, past the open bedroom door then out of sight. His shadow followed behind him on the carpet, long, like an accusing finger. It paused, then the shape of it changed, the direction of it shifted, and the man himself reappeared in the doorway.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming into the room. He walked over to a wine fridge that we kept bottled water in. Taking one out, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyebrows met, his frown making me feel guilty.

“Whole,” I said, voice croaky.

He shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t given yourself over. Completely.”

“I wanted to. Needed to.”

He came to the side of the bed then handed me some water. I rolled the bottle across my forehead first, then down over my belly to cool the still-warm skin. I smiled at him, hoping to get one in return, but all he gave me was another look of worry. To stave off further guilt that I’d put that look there, I drank greedily, my throat parched and sore from so much screaming.

“It went well, didn’t it?” I asked, hoping for a positive answer. Anything negative might break off a piece of my heart. But my instincts had been to push for what I’d wanted. I’d trusted them since I’d met him and everything had turned out all right so far.

He nodded. “It couldn’t have gone better.”

I smiled, our words an echo of the past.

He cleared his throat. “I…lost myself for a moment too.”

I knew he had. Could tell by the way he’d whipped me. The sweat, the determination on his face.

“How did that feel, Sir?”

“Good. Strange. Scary. Liberating. I thought it was wrong but then it felt too right. I should learn to let you have your way more often.”

“I know what you mean—about it being scary yet liberating. Do you hate me just a little bit for pushing you?”
Please don’t say you do…

“Of course not. I could never hate you.”

Relief made itself at home inside me. “Was I selfish?”

“Perhaps a bit, but I understand why.”

“Does it make a difference? To us?”

He sat beside me, reaching out to stroke my hair off my forehead.

“Yes—but I think it will make us stronger. Sometimes I have tunnel vision, that something becomes so important to me that I fail to see it any other way. And you were right, getting me to express myself in public, letting you do what
you
did in public… There’s no doubt now that we’re a strong couple—no one will try to come between us. Not that they would have anyway. Unless they’re mad.” He smiled that gentle smile of his.

My stomach rolled over. I took his hand, tracing a fingertip over the back of it.

“How do you feel? I mean really feel?” he asked.

“Sore but content. Will you help me up?”

I shifted to get out of bed, rising with his aid, somewhat unsteady on my feet for a few seconds. I glanced at the bedside clock on my way to the bathroom, Master M by my side. The red numbers showed eleven-thirty. So I had slept for a good hour. He left me to it in the bathroom, keeping the door open in case I needed him. I brushed my teeth, the aching throb between my legs returning as I remembered my release hadn’t been fully realized.

His speech returned then, filling my head. The waiting. The coming later. How it could be more intense.

I returned to bed, resting beside him there. The ache grew, making itself known in such a way that I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to. I skated my hands down my hot stomach to the patch of hair between my legs. Contemplated touching myself—my clit, a finger inside my cunt—then thought better of it. He would want to bring me to completion.

I looked across at him, to say with my eyes that I needed him.

“Not yet. You need more time,” he said.

* * * *

Then

The opening night had been a complete success. Staff had mingled while keeping an eye on the visitors, a small gold brooch in the shape of a whip the only thing that gave any indication as to who they were. As relaxed as the guests, the staff gave off an air of comfort, safety and that they were there for anyone should they be needed. Their presence wasn’t uncomfortable—far from it, they blended well with the guests—there, but not seen as much as they might be if they were in uniform. Unobtrusive, that’s what they were.

Mr. M had picked the ideal set of employees.

He’d stood at the front door the whole night, greeting people in a way that showed he wasn’t about to suffer fools gladly. Yet at the same time he’d been welcoming—but that would change if anyone caused trouble. Any wrong move and people would be asked to leave. The contracts that were signed prior to the opening had clear rules. Marshall Cottage wasn’t a place you wanted to be if you were intent on riding the train of disrespect.

It was the perfect balance, this vast mansion that housed many people who enjoyed BDSM and who just wanted a secure place to act out their fantasies and desires.

“It went well, didn’t it?” he asked me after the last staff member had gone home.

We stood in the foyer side by side, staring over at the grandfather clock.

“It couldn’t have gone better.” I smiled. Sighed, content.

“It wouldn’t have gone so well had you not been with me,” he said.

I blushed. Watched the pendulum swaying. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You’ve had a place like this in mind for a long time. I just happened to be around at the point where you’d gathered all the information you needed to create such heaven.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He paused. Scrubbed his chin. “Yes, it would have gone well whether you were here or not, but for me personally… Had you not been here, I wouldn’t have been so calm. It wouldn’t have felt so…right.”

I lowered my head, unsure what to do next. What was he saying? Yes, he’d admitted he wanted me as his forever sub, but we’d been so embroiled in getting Marshall Cottage up and running that we hadn’t touched on the subject since.

“I’ve discovered,” he said, “that my life would be quite…wrong without you in it.”

“I see,” I said, stealing his usual response.

“No, I don’t think you do. Not really.”

I turned my head a bit so I could look up at him from beneath my lashes. He was staring back at me, which gave me quite a surprise as I’d assumed he’d been watching the clock. I blushed harder, suddenly lost in unsteady emotions, ones that filled my head with cotton wool.

“I’m in love with you.” He reached out, took my hand. Laced his fingers with mine.

My insides churned in that way they did when he touched me or looked at me with a certain expression. “I…”

“You don’t have to say the same back to me.” He smiled gently. “I understand if you need more time.”

The grandfather clock seemed to tick louder.

“I don’t need more time,” I said, pressing into his side. “Sir?” I couldn’t see his face through the mist of tears. “All I need is you.”

* * * *

Now

“I think you have a bit of that tunnel vision you mentioned,” I said. “Where you said something becomes so important that you fail to see it any other way. I don’t need more time to recover. Sir, all I need is you.”

He smiled, hopefully transported back into the past as I had been. We had so many precious memories that I wondered if there would ever come a time when we’d forget some, new ones being crammed in and ejecting the old. And if they did disappear, maybe they would only be gone for a little while. A scent, a visual, some kind of trigger would bring them back. At least I hoped so.

He rose, sitting up and giving me a look that promised me I’d get what I needed. The scent of him washed over me—he must have showered while I slept—the sharp tang of lemons and bergamot. The smell of a summer evening when the sun was on its way down and the bees had all gone home.

He positioned himself between my legs then lowered his body carefully, his belly flush with mine. He winced.