The Master's Exploits: Night One (7 page)

“Enjoy it while you can,” I said, pulling a little strip of black fabric out of my pocket.
 

“Really?” She glanced at it, then back at me, plaintively. “I promise, I won’t tell anybody about your secret bat cave.”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” I said. “This isn’t for my benefit. It’s for yours.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, but she turned her head around anyway, letting me slip the blindfold on and tie it firmly.

The trip was long, and mostly silent. I let the anticipation build, refusing to answer any of her questions. She could run her imagination around in circles for a year, and she’d never guess what I had in store for her.

We made good time. When she felt the car slow down and heard the gravel crunching under the tires, she perked up, turning her head from side to side as if to gather as much information as she could. I smiled, just watching her for a moment.

Very carefully, I led her out of the car, letting my hand rest on the small of her back to guide her forward.

“There are steps coming,” I warned her. “Lift up your foot. No - a little higher. There you go.”

I didn’t stop until we were inside, standing in the vast, marble-floored foyer. When I finally removed the blindfold, she blinked a few times before she could see.

“So this is where you live when you’re not in the city,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

I just smiled. “Come on,” I said. “I have to show you your present.”

Taking her hand, I led her down the hallway, to a room that I’d had specially outfitted for the occasion. I could see her pulse fluttering nervously under her jaw, as I pushed gently on the massive wooden doors, and they swung open, just enough for her to see what was inside.

Word for word, as much as I possibly could have, I’d recreated the room from the book. The room where the party was held. It was opulent and mildly sinister, with a raised dais in the center. Chains hung from the ceiling above it. Waiting for her.

But that wasn’t what made Madison’s breath catch in her throat.

In the far corner of the room, just as I’d instructed them, five men were standing. Talking quietly amongst themselves, sipping brandy, staring at the fire.

She blanched, going pale as a ghost, but she didn’t back away. “I don’t...” she whispered, her fingers clutching the door frame. “I don’t understand...”

“I think you do, Madison,” I said darkly, taking her arm and leading her through the doorway. “Don’t you recognize this? Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, but...” Her eyes darted from the chains, to the men in the corner, and then back to me. “This is...I never...”

Her pulse was fluttering by her throat, and she looked on the verge of running away. With deliberate slowness, I reached out and stroked her cheek. She shuddered, eyes closing in surrender.

“Do you trust me, Madison?”

“Yes,” she breathed, eyes still closed.
 

“Then you know what to do.”

She opened her eyes again, staring at the dais, biting her lip in apprehension. My own heartbeat was quickening as I watched her. She
trusted
me. The kind of trust that you rarely find, in this life.

Eyes closed, trembling all over, she stepped up onto the dais.

The men all kept to their corner, facing the wall, as I’d instructed them. They weren’t looking at her. Yet. But she was looking at them, her eyes fixed on their backs as she lifted her arms for me to shackle.

“What are they going to do?” she whispered.

I let a smile grow, slowly, but I didn’t let it reach my eyes.

“Whatever I tell them to do.”

She was trembling all over, pale as a ghost. Fear and trust warred in her eyes. She knew I would never push her past her limits. But there was just enough doubt in her mind - she wasn’t quite sure what I was capable of. And that made all the difference.

And that, I realized, as I watched her stand there, arms suspended in midair, waiting - that was the reason why.

That was why she didn’t want to know my name.

If I became more than just a Dom, more than just a stranger, she would lose that sense of anticipation. That fear. That uncertainty. That was what she needed from me.

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped up onto the dais behind her. She tensed, and then relaxed, feeling the heat of my body.
 

“This has to go back on,” I whispered, dangling the blindfold in front of her. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.
 

Sliding the silky fabric over her eyes one more time, I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly so that she could feel it caressing the back of her neck. She shivered. As I shackled her wrists, I half-expected to hear it. The safe word we’d established months ago, that she had never used.

I expected her to stop me. I wouldn’t have blamed her. The kind of trust she’d placed in me was something I couldn’t imagine feeling.

But she kept her lips closed. The only noise she made was a slight whimper as I stepped away.
 

“You’re beautiful,” I told her, softly. Seeing her on display like this - it woke up something something dark and primal inside of me, something that wanted to own and possess and
control
. But I never could. Not really.

It was time to make her wait.

For a long time, all Madison could hear was the quiet murmuring of voices, indistinct, meaningless. I watched her from the corner where I sat, watched her breathing grow more labored, watched her squirm.
 

I watched for her lips to move in that one particular way, forming around the word.

Pharmacy
.

I watched, and I waited.

She was a captivating sight. With her arms stretched above her head, her breasts were perfectly displayed under the sheer fabric, stiff nipples doing their best to poke through. The strain of her pose was starting to wear on her, but she stayed strong.
 

When the cigars had burned down to the ends, I finally turned to one of the men and gave him a nod.

He knew what it meant.

Drawing closer to Madison, I watched her breath quicken, sensing that something in the room was changing. Shifting. She bit her lower lip, arms straining, feet slipping in her high-heeled shoes with the effort of holding herself up.
 

With her eyes covered, all she felt were the hands. Fingers. Eager lips traveling down the side of her neck, the press of a firm, muscular leg. A kiss. Many kisses. If she had expected to be handled roughly, she was surprised - until fingers clasped hard in her hair and jerked her head back, exposing her throat like prey. She moaned and whimpered, a dark wet spot appearing on her dress where it clung between her legs.
 

Finally, she opened her mouth to speak.

“Who...” She stopped, making way for a sharp intake of breath as a hand brushed against her over-sensitized nipple. “Who are you?”

She was shaking all over, like a leaf, aching and needy, wanting and ashamed with herself for wanting. I could have ignored her question, I could have commanded her to be silent. But she deserved an answer. Even if it spoiled everything between us. Even if it meant this would be our last time together.

Slowly, I reached up and undid the blindfold.
 

She blinked rapidly, staring into my eyes, just inches away, before whipping her head around to survey the rest of the room.

Empty. We were alone.

Her lips moved a few times, silently. Then she found her voice.

“You...”

“I couldn’t bear to let them touch you,” I confessed, with a small smile.

For a moment she was frozen, a thousand different emotions running across her face.
 

“You...you let me think...” She let out a small, disbelieving laugh. Then, a smile twitched at her mouth. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

“No. You didn’t.” I leaned in and kissed her, swiftly. “That was the point.”

She kept smiling while I unshackled her, let her down from the dais, and lifted her up in my arms. Winding her arms around my neck, she closed her eyes and smiled against my chest as I carried her. I laid her down, gently, on the plush sofa by the fireplace.

Sliding the dress up past her thighs, following the movement of the fabric with heated kisses on her quivering skin, I forgot myself. This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t going to let on so quickly, I was going to let her believe or half-believe in my trickery for a little bit longer. I was going to fuck her, hard and rough, before she knew who it was. I was going to give her what she needed from me.

Instead, I was taking what
I
needed from her.

Tenderly, I kissed her parted thighs. She spread them further for me, sighing in anticipation. She tasted like wine and honey and
Madison
. Her soft moans drove me on, licking and kissing, savoring her, giving her selfless pleasure because I was too selfish not to. She came long and slow, clenching and shuddering, her juices dripping down my chin. I
ached
.

When I climbed up on the sofa with her, she was smiling softly, looking at me with eyes that
almost
wanted more. Almost.

Madison would never be mine. I knew that. But for just this one moment, I could pretend.

Her body molded to mine perfectly as I slid inside her, my cock throbbing urgently, swelling and surging before I was ready. A very tangible sign of my body’s inability to treat her like any other submissive. There was a human element that I couldn’t switch off with her, that I
wanted
to, but the feelings were too sharp and bright and overwhelming.

When I came inside of her, jerking and shuddering, somehow, in whatever part of my brain was still aware of anything but pleasure, I knew it would be the last time.

***

For a long time, I felt frozen in place, my hand partially covering my mouth.

“So.” Dalton exhaled, leaning forward on his desk. “What do you think? Will that make for a good story?”

I cleared my throat. “With a few modifications,” I said, softly. “So you - so you never meant to let those other men...”

“Of course not.” He smiled, but it was a little subdued. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

“Sorry,” I muttered, taking the last sip from my wineglass. “But you sort of set me up.”

“But it’s much better that way, isn’t it?” He topped off his own glass. “Who doesn’t love a good twist?”

I felt like
I’d
been taken for a ride, and I couldn’t imagine what must have gone through Madison’s mind when she was shackled to that ceiling.

“People like to know what to expect,” I pointed out. “And I think a happy ending would work better.”

He didn’t answer this, didn’t even acknowledge it - almost like he hadn’t heard me, although that was impossible. Suddenly, he rose to his feet and walking over to the small wine rack in the corner. “I think it’s time for another drink. You?”

“No thank you,” I said, my voice husky. I cleared my throat. “You actually have quite a way with words, Dalton.” I re-crossed my legs, tugging my skirt down a little. “I’m not sure you need me.”

“Talking and writing are two very different things,” he said, smiling at me. “Am I making you uncomfortable? You’re not trying to quit on me, are you, Grace?”

“Of course not,” I said, tilting my head up. “It’s just a new experience for me. That’s all.”

Dalton swirled his glass. “Anything else you’d like to know?” He paused for a moment. “To serve the story, of course.”

I took a deep breath. “Did you ever see her again?”

He paused with his hand on the glass. “I thought you were going to change the ending,” he said, flatly, not looking at me.

“I’d still like to know,” I said.
 

Dalton shrugged. His eyes traveled across the desk, finally coming up to my face. “After her birthday, she didn’t call for a while. I stopped by her place out of curiosity some months later. A man answered the door. That’s all.”

His voice was very measured, putting a lot of effort into convincing me that he didn’t care.
 

“Did you ever find out why she was so sad?”

He drummed his fingers on the desk, softly. “I can guess,” he said, his voice going slightly quiet. “But it doesn’t really matter.”

Thoughtlessly, I nibbled on the end of my pen. I could turn it into a workable story, but if this was going to be a series featuring some stand-in for Dalton as the main character, then the happy ending ultimately wouldn’t be so happy. Maybe Madison could be the grand finale - the one submissive that he finally fell in love with.
 

I looked up, and immediately noticed Dalton’s eyes fixed on me. Instantly self-conscious, I pulled the pen out of my mouth and tried to think of something to say.

“But wait. What was in those rooms?” I cleared my throat. “The other rooms, the doors that Madison saw in your...”

Dalton smiled. “That’s not part of the story,” he said.
 

“Maybe I’ll just go downstairs and look,” I said, with considerably more boldness than I felt.
 

“You could try.” He reached into his pocket, withdrew a small keyring, and held it up in front of his face, jangling it slightly. “Or, you could wait for the right story.”