Master Red
A Totally Bound Publication
Master Red
ISBN #
978-1-78430-101-9
©Copyright Natalie Dae 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 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 Burning
and a
Sexometer
of
3.
Marshall Cottage
MASTER RED
Natalie Dae
Book two in the Marshall Cottage series
I was addicted to Master Red as much as he seemed to be addicted to me…
It had been hard to adjust to Master Red, as he was known, who lavished praise and endearments on me as easily as scattering confetti. They sailed down, covering me, filling me with awe, and at first I’d wondered whether that was just his way. But something told me I meant far more to him than I’d imagined.
I needed the pleasure-pain he could give me—and if I were honest, love too. I couldn’t live without it. Or him. So when he took me into the voyeur room and made it clear he intended for us to put on a public show, I was excited that we were going to the next level. There were so many more levels after that, and I wanted to experience them. I was ready for whatever he had to give.
And I intended to enjoy taking.
Chapter One
I couldn’t wait for what Master Red had in store for me tonight. I was at Marshall Cottage again—the place I loved visiting, where every desire was met, providing it was consensual. I couldn’t think of anything I
wouldn’t
consent to so long as Master Red was the one administering the pleasure-pain. Thoughts of him ruled my life.
I wished
he
would rule my life.
I stood in the room and stared around at the other guests. My orange PVC dress was sticking to me—the heat in here seemed to have been cranked up. The bodies, the amount of people—that’s what was creating it, everyone panting, breathing heavily. I was in one of the voyeur rooms, waiting for my Master. We played a game every week, him arriving after me, going through Marshall Cottage until he found me. He usually saw some pretty raw sights upstairs if the doors were ajar and, of course, sights in the voyeur areas, that got him more than ready to scene with me. Some nights I chose a private room—it depended on my mood—but tonight I wanted to watch.
My gold-colored shoes sparkled from the light of the chandelier, covered as they were in sequins. I loved them—they reminded me of the first time I’d come here looking for a new Master.
* * * *
“Wear them every week, Charlotte, so I can spot you right away. And always wear a brightly colored dress for the same reason.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He lifts a hand to stroke my cheek, trailing the back of one finger down my skin. “I don’t want to have to search for you among all the black outfits or naked bodies. I want you to stand out. You’re too beautiful to merge into the background.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He kisses me, the touch light, brief, and I wonder how I got so lucky. We talk all night instead of entering a scene. I’m comfortable with him, enough to agree to be his sub, to share my body with him, to go out on dates. Give him my trust. And his contract is fair, easy to interpret, no fuzzy small print.
“Next week we’ll begin,” he says, brushing his fingertip over my lips. “From the beginning, as though you’ve never scened before. I need to learn your limits, and you need to learn how I behave. We might not be compatible.”
“That’s very good of you, Sir.”
“It’s how it should be, pet.”
* * * *
And I’d returned, once a week for three months in a row so far, with the intention of coming back time and time again. I was addicted to him as much as he seemed to be addicted to me. I’d become so wrapped up in him I could barely recall what my life had been like without him in it. Odd when that happened. Odd but good.
How easily he had become a big part of my life. How easily I’d become used to him. I met him in my dreams, too, which gave me the sense I knew him better than I actually did. It had helped me to grow emotionally attached. Did he dream about me? Did he have those same feelings of knowing me in a deeper way? Perhaps I could ask him one day. Maybe, if we ended up a proper couple, we’d stare at the bedroom ceiling after a good fuck and spill the emotions we’d been experiencing so far. Would we laugh at our dreams and desires, bonding even more?
I hoped that would happen. To have him in my life permanently was something I wished for but so far hadn’t pushed the issue. Putting pressure on him might mean I’d lose him—and I couldn’t stand that.
I sighed, dragging myself from my internal thoughts and concentrating on what was going on around me. Voyeur room five contained two St. Andrew’s Crosses, one in each far corner. I stood to the right of the door, taking in the sights, the people, the toys, the moans and gasps. Several people lounged on black leather settees, fingers in cunts, hands wrapped tightly around dicks, breasts exposed, nipples hard. I was wet—how could I not be?—and turned on, anxious for my Master to appear. He must be checking upstairs first—I’d been here for five minutes already.
The wallpaper from the foyer was replicated here, except it was cream with the gold. It gave the room a much brighter feel, and I supposed that had been done on purpose. If people wanted to watch, they needed to see clearly. A murky ambience might lead to the thrill that comes from shadows and not quite being able to make things out, but I preferred to see everything in all its stark glory. The cream floor tiles gave it a somewhat sterile air, but the sounds coming off them always added to the excitement. High-heeled shoes tapping, whip tails scraping, groans bouncing off them to ricochet against the walls. There was always so much going on, so much to observe, that at times there was sensory overload and it got too much to handle. It led to breathlessness, to me closing my eyes to ward off the sights, but that never did any good. I still saw everything playing out beneath my eyelids, still heard the noises that went with every action. All the senses were bombarded in here, and the echoic effect was sometimes staggering. A fuck symphony.
Only one cross was occupied. A blond man, possibly in his late-thirties, was strapped by his ankles and wrists, naked, his impressive cock jutting out at the watchers as though demanding it be looked at. His Master, the complete opposite of him with dark hair, sharp suit, and around the mid-twenties, wielded a whip that he teased his partner with. He dragged its handle down the blond man’s chest. I marveled at how age didn’t figure here like it did ‘out there’, where a Master could be younger than the sub and it didn’t make a blind bit of difference. No one judged, just watched. A Master was a Master, a sub a sub. Rules were followed, contracts signed and adhered to. “It’s how it should be, pet.”
I studied the blond. His balls hung low. How long would it be before they drew up tight and spunk jetted out of his cock? Would it be after he’d been whipped? Did he need the pain in order to get off? That was the beauty of being a voyeur. You learnt so much—and you understood, knew how certain things felt, which added to the experience. In the past I’d come just from observing, no touching myself at all. The power of sex was a mighty thing.
Blond stared at his Master, waiting for a signal, I supposed, or to give one. There were no lowered gazes for him, and it was clear they communicated silently while sceneing openly. I admired the Master for allowing that—his sub’s safety was clearly paramount. But there was something else going on in their communication, laid bare for all who took the time to see it. Love. Utter trust. Adoration. I smiled, hoping that those who watched me and my Master saw the same thing, that it was more than just getting off at the crack of a whip. For some it was just that, a need for release, no ties with their Master or sub other than consensual pain and sex. But with these two, well…
The whip handle had reached Blond’s pubic hairs, was being swirled around in them. His cock bobbed, butting against the handle, and his balls rose slightly but not to the telltale degree that orgasm was close. The men continued to stare at one another as the Master laid the handle on top of that glorious, hard cock and clasped them both in his fist. An almost imperceptible nod from Blond, and the Master wanked, slow and sensual, drawing his foreskin back as far as it would go. I wondered how that felt to have a whip mashed tight against his cock as it was massaged so expertly. Was Blond in need of a connection to whatever toy was being used—did it have to touch his skin? Perhaps this was nothing more than play, no psychological reasons involved at all. Maybe my mind was conjuring something that wasn’t even there.
“Good evening, pet.”
My stomach fluttered at the sound of his voice, at the breeze of his breath after he’d spoken, lightly scented with mint. I turned to my left and looked into blue eyes that seemed to bore into me, to slither inside my mind and pick out whatever information they chose. He smiled, dimples appearing in his cheeks.
“Good evening, Sir.” I smiled back, relieved and giddy that he was here.
“So you wish to watch tonight, then,” he said, coming to stand in front of me.
He put his hands on the wall either side of my head.
It reminded me of last night.
He was close. Hemmed in as I was, I wouldn’t want it any other way. He dominated the space now, and it seemed everyone else in the room had disappeared, leaving only him and me, enclosed in our bubble.
“I do, Sir,” I said, breathless and loving it. How was it he could affect me this way, where I changed from what I thought was a relatively mature woman to one who, for a moment after meeting up with him, couldn’t function on all cylinders? “Although that might change the longer we’re here.”
“I rather thought it might. It always does.”
He dipped his head and kissed me, lips warm and soft, his tongue delving inside to erase every thought I’d ever had and any that had a mind to come in the next few seconds. That was what he did to me with his kisses—rendered me totally senseless, with my focus only on what he was doing and how he made me feel.
