The Master (15 page)

“Sorry, not sorry, Sir.”

He stopped using the flogger and tenderly unbuckled her wrists. She slumped against him, perfectly content to be held. He carried her to a nearby couch, where he cradled her against his chest.

“It’s rather humorous if you think about it,” he said, stroking her hair.

“What, Sir?”

“How I once told you I would keep you guessing and off balance and yet”—he kissed her forehead—“you do the same to
me.”

T
he warning she’d been waiting for and dreaded came by text the next Sunday morning:
Saturday at four I will collect what I am due. Further instructions to follow.

Her hands shook so badly, she almost dropped her phone. With trembling fingers she typed back her reply.

Yes, Sir.

Part of her felt proud that she was now at a place where he thought she’d progressed enough to handle his punishment. But a larger part of her was scared to death. At least, she thought, they’d finally get her punishment out of the way.

She sat down and tried to knit, but the yarn kept getting tangled and her fingers wouldn’t work properly. She picked up a novel she was in the middle of, but gave up when she reread the same page for the tenth time. Finally, with a huff, she picked up her journal. He wanted honesty? She’d give it to him.

Flipping to a clean page, she wrote stream of conscious
thoughts until she’d filled four pages. Granted, she thought looking back over them, the pages weren’t exactly legible. Of course, he’d never said anything about her daily writing having to be legible.

He had said he thought writing would help her and, no surprise, he was right. Her mind felt calmer. She could do this. She’d been punished before. Hell, she’d been whipped until she passed out. No way would anything Cole did ever come close to that.

She slipped her journal back into the drawer she kept it in and decided she wouldn’t even think about Saturday until Friday night, at the earliest.

Cole, of course, had other plans.

On Monday, he sent her an e-mail telling her to write the date, time, and location of her punishment under her list of infractions.

On Tuesday, his e-mail informed her that their only meeting for the week would be on Saturday.

On Wednesday, she gave up trying to put it out of her mind and instead thought about what his daily e-mail would say. Typically, he would send something by midmorning, but that day there was nothing before noon.

Sasha and Julie had set up a lunch date that day with Kelly and Abby to discuss Dena’s baby shower. Kelly called shortly after eleven and said there’d been a break-in she had to investigate and couldn’t make lunch, but to go on without her. Abby arrived right at noon with sandwiches from the local deli, and Sasha slipped her phone into her pocket. Of course, the chime of an incoming e-mail rang out five minutes into their meal. She debated waiting until lunch was over to read it, but her curiosity got the better of her and she pulled out her phone to check.

She nearly choked when she read the subject line.

“Are you okay?” Julie asked, putting down her sandwich and wiping her mouth.

Sasha scrolled through the e-mail. “Holy shit.”

“Sasha?” Abby’s voice held more than a note of concern.

“I’m okay,” she assured her friends. “Just, damn, he’s a bastard.”

“Must be Cole.” Julie shifted in her seat, scooting closer to Sasha and craning her neck. “But now I’m all curious. Just what did he e-mail you?”

“His discipline protocol. It’s fucking five hundred pages. Damn writers.” She reached the bottom of the e-mail and scrolled back up to the top. She tried reading it, but after the first few sentences decided to wait until there weren’t multiple eyes watching her and stuck the phone back in her pocket.

“What? You aren’t going to read it?” Julie asked.

“Not yet. I’m hungry right now.” Though to be honest, the email had zapped most of her hunger. She looked over to Abby. “What’s the smile for?”

Abby shook her head. “He might be a bastard, but he sure as hell knows what he’s doing.”

“Because he has a five-hundred-page discipline protocol?” Sasha scowled. “I think it just means he has too much time on his hands.”

“No, because a few months ago, just the mention of anything pertaining to a physical scene would have sent you into a panic attack.” Abby took a sip of her water. “But now, I’m guessing he’s going to discipline you finally—and instead of withdrawing into yourself, you’re acting a bit bratty. I call that progress.”

“I don’t know,” Julie said. “If Daniel handed me a discipline
protocol, I’d probably head for the hills. I think that’s a bit much.”

“Is it?” Abby asked. “Or does it provide a sense of security knowing exactly what’s going to happen, no more and no less? This is what is expected of you, so prepare yourself.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . .” Sasha couldn’t help but agree it made a bit of sense.

“A Dominant has reasons for everything he does,” Abby said. “I doubt Cole wrote his protocol out because he was bored. I’m guessing he wrote it out and sent it as a way to help ease your mind.”

Sasha picked her ham and cheese back up. “Nah, I think he sent it as a way to fuck with my mind. Because now I’m going to think about nothing but that e-mail until I have a chance to read it.”

“I doubt you’ll stop thinking about it after you read it,” Julie added.

Abby smiled. “That’s why I said reasons. What’s better than a mind fuck wrapped up like a security blanket?”

Sasha figured she could come up with at least three hundred twenty things that were better, but kept her thought to herself. What Abby said made a lot of sense. But for the rest of lunch, it felt like her phone was burning a hole in her pocket.

When Julie left for an afternoon appointment and Abby went back home, Sasha pulled out her phone to read the e-mail. She tried to keep what Abby said in the back of her mind while she read. Truthfully, her friend was right. Cole had detailed a lot of what would happen, how he would act, and his expectations of her. There was comfort in that knowledge.

But when he sent her a text before bed that said, “In two and a half days you’ll be bent over a chair, bare arse offered
for my discipline,” she decided he thoroughly enjoyed the mind fuck, too.

•   •   •

I
t seemed like it took forever for Saturday to arrive, yet when it did, Sasha felt like the week had flown by. She worked in the shop in the morning, breathing a sigh of relief when two o’clock came and she and Julie closed for the day. Julie hadn’t asked for details, but she’d watched Sasha with careful eyes.

According to Cole’s protocol, she was to wear a dress. She looked through her closet. She didn’t want to wear the one she’d worn to tea, so instead she settled on a light green cotton dress someone once said brought out the color of her eyes.

She showered, making certain she shaved everywhere. Another thing she knew was that he would not require her to be naked this time. It wasn’t so much that she was nervous about him seeing her naked. She didn’t want him to see her back.

As she finished getting ready, the truth of Abby’s words hit her again. Sure she was nervous, but he had ensured she knew what to expect. It wasn’t until she grabbed her keys, purse, and journal that she realized how much she appreciated that knowledge.

However, even knowing what to expect, the sight of Cole in a three-piece suit took her breath away.

“Good afternoon, Sasha,” he said, sounding like a perfect gentleman and not at all like he would soon have her bent over a chair with her naked ass in the air.

“Good afternoon, Sir.”

He moved to the side to let her in and with a tilt of his head indicated she was to lead their way to his office. Once inside, she placed her journal on his desk and knelt on the floor.

He followed silently, sat down, and opened her journal to the page in the back. “List out the offenses you’re here for.”

One by one, she recited them, noting as she did that her voice didn’t shake. Surprising, she thought, since every other part of her couldn’t stop trembling.

“Thank you.” He wrote something in her journal. “To correct your behavior and to reinforce my rules, I am requiring you to take six strokes from my cane. You will not be bound. Firstly, because it will signify your submission to me and secondly, because I don’t think it would be in your best interest mentally.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Additionally, I am not requiring you to be naked. I would like to point out that this is not typical for my discipline sessions.”

“Thank you for that consideration, Sir.”

“You will count each stroke.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And lastly, I need to make it clear that as of today any disobedience or defiance will be dealt with fully and swiftly at the time of the offense.”

“I understand, Sir.”

Nothing he’d said came as a surprise. It had all been listed in the protocol. She’d known to expect a formal setting, but knowing was nothing compared to experiencing. It was so different from anything she’d ever done.

Cole, of course, showed nothing other than his usual control. Was it only because her punishment was so far removed time wise from the offense? Probably not—she couldn’t imagine Cole ever acting while angry.

“Everything is set up in the sitting room,” he said. “You may go prepare yourself.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

She stood up, her legs a little more wobbly and her heart beating a little faster than when she’d entered the room. Formal protocol aside, she’d been caned before—she knew it would hurt.

I’ve experienced worse.

She supposed that was something positive that resulted from the incident with Peter: not much could ever come close to being as painful.

However, stepping into the sitting room and seeing it prepared struck her with another reality: when faced with an imminent punishment, knowing she’d done something more painful really didn’t matter. She took deep breaths, told herself she was strong enough for this, and walked toward the waiting chair.

Cole would be in the room in about five minutes. When she first read that, she thought it would be much too long of a wait. Now she thought it wasn’t long enough. The absolute worst thing she could do was not be in position when he entered.

She wiped her palms on the dress. “Screw my nerves. I can do this.”

Shutting out any thought to the contrary, she bent over the chair, flipped her skirt up, and placed her forearms on the bottom seat cushion.
Fuck, this is embarrassing.

Then her eyes fell on the cane, displayed so she couldn’t miss
seeing it, and suddenly she wasn’t embarrassed anymore, but acutely aware of what was going to happen. Her fingers gripped the chair’s edge, fingernails scratching the wood

He came into the room quietly. Loud enough so she would know he was there, but not loud enough to startle her. Odd, but his presence somehow calmed her down. His footsteps echoed as he walked to stand in her line of sight and then he stripped his jacket off and rolled up his sleeves.

There was nothing said as he took the cane and moved behind her. But she jerked when he placed an unexpected hand on the small of her back.

“You’re doing great,” he said in a low voice. “You can take the rest.”

She felt more like she could when he said it.

His hand slipped to lightly stroke her backside once and then he commanded, “Count.”

The first stroke hurt just as bad as she imagined it would, and she had to take several deep breaths before she choked out, “One.”

The second landed right above the first and felt just as painful. His protocol required her silence outside of counting as well as her stillness. She bit the inside of her cheek to hold back the yelp desperate to get out, instead saying only, “Two.”

His statement that not being bound would reinforce her submissiveness was the absolute truth. It was only the strength of his will and her desire to obey him that kept her from reaching back to block the third stroke.

Her cheeks were wet after the fourth, though she wasn’t aware of crying. Her backside felt like it was on fire and she gave serious thought to safewording. The two remaining strokes
might as well have been two hundred, as she couldn’t imagine them landing on her sensitive flesh.

There was a ragged intake of breath from behind her and she realized Cole was fighting his own battle. She wanted to prove him right about being ready, so she forced herself to relax as much as possible and willed him to continue.

The only thing that kept her from shouting “red” after the fifth stroke was knowing there would only be one more. She panted, sobs clawing frantically to escape from her throat, and hot tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

The last stroke was the hardest, landing diagonally across the first five. She managed to get out, “Six,” in what sounded to her like a mixture of a hiccup and a sob, and then she held her breath, squeezing her eyes tight as the pain seeped into her body. But unlike the previous five, this time she was swept up by two strong arms and carried to the couch.

He pressed her against his chest and lightly stroked her hair. “Let it out, Sasha. It’s okay. Let it out.”

It was as if a dam burst inside her and, at his words, she cried harder than she’d ever cried before. She buried her face against the scratchy wool of his vest and soaked the white shirt underneath. The entire time, he simply held her, stroked her hair, and murmured tenderly.

She cried longer than she thought possible and when she finally calmed down to quiet sniffles, she realized her hands were clutching him in a death grip.

She let go of his shirt. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Do you feel better?” He took a tissue and wiped her eyes and nose.

“Much.” She hiccupped. “I needed that.”

“When was the last time you cried?”

“Like that?” She shook her head. “Never.”

“Even after Peter?”

“I wept a little, but nothing major.” Her breathing was coming easier; her heart rate slowed. A feeling of cleansing peace came over her and filled her. She lifted her head to meet his gaze and the reason why she’d wept so little hit her. “Before today, I never felt safe enough to cry.”

•   •   •

H
er softly spoken words were both his dearest dream and his worst nightmare. For while he wanted her to feel safe with him, he’d never given any thought to how emotionally attached he would be once she got to that point. It shook him how attached he was to the woman in his arms.