Master Connor (Marshall Cottage Book 3) (4 page)

“I’m going to give you the double treatment,” he said. “Both cheeks at the same time. I’ll start soft then build up the strength. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes, Sir.” I was breathless—excessively so—and the air seemed to lock in my lungs so I wasn’t able to breathe at all for a second or two. I could have panicked but didn’t—Master Connor was here, ready to catch me if I fell.

“What is your safe word?”

I hadn’t decided on one up until now—nothing had seemed to fit—but a word tumbled around inside my head, something that was relevant, something he’d said earlier. “Newbie.”

He smiled, stared at me—
God, those all-seeing eyes of his
—and my emotions melted into a puddle. Being close like this would ordinarily have made me self-conscious, have me wonder how he saw me, whether I was good enough, but his explanation of how he saw me—and what he was looking for, what he was imagining—scrubbed every little doubt I had away. What did he see now then? What was he imagining as he stared at me? How my facial expression would change when he slapped me for the first time?

He stopped rubbing my arse then struck, both hands at the same time, equal strength. I gasped and caught the beginning of a smile from him as I closed my eyes. Savored the burn, hoping I would remember the heat of it forever. The first time of anything was always the best for me, and because I’d been waiting for this night for so long, it seemed all the sweeter.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let it seep into you.”

And I did. He spanked me again, harder, my arse already burning from the first contact, the heat growing with a third, more forceful wallop. My breasts jiggled, the basque abrading my nipples, and I hung my head back while his palms met with my skin time and time again.

It hurt, as I’d known it would, but not in a way where I felt the need to get up and walk away. No, I wanted more of it, for him to hit me harder but, conscious that I shouldn’t be asking for more, that I ought to just take whatever he decided to give out, I kept silent—except for a long groan.

“You like that, don’t you, pet?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Smack.

“I think you can take more.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Smack.

“More than you thought you could.”

“Oh, yes, Sir.”

Smack, smack, smack.

If I thought it had burned when he’d started, I’d been mistaken. My arse was on fire, my cunt spasming every time he slapped, the heat from my buttocks spreading to my pussy, my whole lower region in some form of limbo. Time appeared to be suspended, me hanging from his neck the way I was, his cock tapping against my lower belly each time he treated me to another meeting of palms on arse.

“You’re doing so well,” he said, gripping my waist and putting me in the same position as I’d been in before—cock sitting just inside my entrance, me waiting for permission to lower myself onto it.

He didn’t give it. Instead, he rammed me down, and God, I was right where I needed to be.

Chapter Four

The feel of him inside me ratcheted up my desire and prompted the instinct to ride him hard and fast. I lifted my head and opened my eyes. Looked at him. He raised his eyebrows and smiled, then kissed me, at the same time using his grip on my waist to set me rocking. I drowned in his kiss, allowing him total access to my mouth. With his tongue he plundered as though he wanted to possess every inch of me. And, God, I felt beautiful, desired and so very special.

Lust burned inside me, the kind that grew quickly in intensity and urged me to work faster. I upped my speed, lifting then ramming down onto him, a frenzy overtaking me. My skin was still hot—it itched where the heat seemed to intensify even though he wasn’t spanking me anymore.

Digging my nails into his shoulder blades, I raked them down his skin, enjoying the sound of his appreciative moan and the basque creaking. I wrenched my mouth away, wanting to taste his skin, then laved a path with my tongue from his collarbone to his ear. He rubbed his cheek against mine, and I suckled his earlobe, the skin soft on my tongue. Raw passion ignited, so swift and urgent that I knew it wouldn’t be long before I exploded. I drew my nails up his back again then clamped my hands over his shoulders, pushing down for leverage as I rode him.

He sought out my mouth for another kiss, licking the seam where my lips met, and moved his hands from my waist to cross his arms over my back and bring me closer. My skin, the exposed strip where the basque didn’t meet, warmed when he hugged me to his chest, and a ribbon of excitement swirled through my lower body, spreading out in tendrils.

“Turn around,” he said.

I eased off him and did as he’d asked. Going on my hands and knees with heady abandon, I reveled in the fact that my arse was bared to him, there for him to inspect at his leisure. Was he seeing red handprints, or had his spanking just created a massive blush on each cheek? Did it turn him on to see that he’d done that? Being a Master, I suspected it did. Wasn’t that what they craved? To give their subs pleasure and see the results of their performance? I hoped he’d explain things to me when we met again, let me know how he felt when he spanked, when he whipped. There was so much for me to learn—about Masters and also about myself as a sub. I smiled—yes, I knew for sure now that I wanted to be a sub.

Still on my hands and knees, I sank backwards onto his cock. Rising and falling on him, I moaned as he cupped my breasts.

“This feels so good,” he said. “I can touch you here…” He tweaked a nipple. “And here…” He ghosted one hand down to my soft folds before gliding two fingertips over my wet clit.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my sensitive nerves buzzing from his touch. He applied pressure, circling my nub, the strength of his strokes releasing a rush of sensation from there straight into my cunt. I gripped my thighs harder, digging my nails into my flesh, and hissed through my teeth. I strove to reach the peak, unable to concentrate on any one feeling—his fingers on my nipple, his fingers on my clit, his warm kisses on the side of my neck. Light breaths shunted out of him, warming my skin, and I shivered in delight.

Yet I’d read somewhere that I mustn’t come unless he gave me permission—and that was going to be difficult. I was on the precipice, ready to allow my orgasm to sweep me away somewhere I’d never been before.

“I want you to come. Let go and come,” he said.

I worked harder, faster, thrusting down onto him. Drawing back up, leaving only his tip inside, I waited a beat before plunging onto him again. I repeated the motion, gaining speed, and he groaned out his pleasure. I joined him, releasing a strangled moan as my climax descended, crashing over me. His cock stiffened further then throbbed. I glided up and down, clenching my teeth, my pelvis spasming from the force of my orgasm. His nipple tweaks changed to soft caresses, and he stilled his fingers on my clit. He drifted his hand from there to stroke my thigh, and I hung my head back, turning my face to the side to look at him. He dipped his head, drawing his hand away from my breast to run a trail up and down my arm. A light puff of air reached my mouth a moment before his lips.

He kissed me sweetly, a tender joining that had my clit throbbing for more of his expert handling. How had I nearly turned him away? What I would have missed if I had gone home.

“There are many more hours left of this night, Dahlia. Care to share them with me? To test your limits some more?”

“Yes, Sir. Please.”

“It would be nice for us to observe a little. Downstairs. I want to know what turns you on and what doesn’t. What you’re prepared to do and what you’re not.”

I eased off him, wondering whether I should have waited until he’d said I could. It was confusing, not knowing what I was supposed to do for the best, but he was willing to teach me, it seemed.

“There’s a shower through there,” he said, “although I rather like the idea of you going downstairs stinking of sex—of your cum.”

I climbed off the bed, smiling, collecting my clothes item by item. “Then I’ll do that, Sir. Go down as I am, I mean.”

“Literally as you are?” he asked, getting off the bed to pick up his own clothes. “In just that leather basque?” He tipped his head to the side in question.

God, could I do that? “I…I’m not sure I can, Sir.”

“And why not? You look beautiful like that. Why on earth would you want to cover up?” He put his trousers on.

“Because I…” I didn’t really have an excuse. I thought about all those women I’d seen earlier, in various states of undress. No one had appeared to care who wore what—they’d been too engrossed in watching other people in scenes and getting off at the same time. I took a deep breath, then, “All right, Sir.” I nodded, as if that action would be enough to convince me that I had the courage to swan into one of the voyeur rooms or the bar dressed in nothing but a bit of leather. “Yes, all right. I will.”

He chuckled, slipping his shirt on then buttoning it up. “And the shoes,” he said. “We mustn’t forget those.”

I walked over to them then popped them on, and somehow they gave me confidence. Whether it was from me being taller, or the fact they made me feel feminine, I didn’t know, but I’d take it all the same.

He sat on the end of the bed and put his socks and shoes on, then stood to shrug into his jacket. I watched him in wonder—it was like we’d done this a million times before. He was so at ease, seemed so comfortable with me. I thought back to what he’d said about not coming here often, and a rush of pleasure settled in my belly. I meant something to him—he felt something for me.

He rose, straightening his jacket, then held out one arm. “Come here.”

I went to him, a tad conscious of how I must look. He held me close, flush to his chest, and lightly stroked his hands over my arse. His touch reignited the heat there, and I shivered in remembrance. I wanted more of what he’d done—and for longer. I couldn’t wait for the next time.

“Everyone will know,” he said, “that you’ve been spanked. Your arse—it’s quite red and quite beautiful. They’ll perhaps wonder where it happened, whether they’d missed the opportunity to watch. How do you feel about that? About people hoping to see me smacking your arse?”

I widened my eyes a little. Was he asking if I could go public? Already? “I don’t think I could do that yet, Sir. Newbie, remember? There’s so much for me to learn as it is. Letting others watch me? Perhaps sometime…”

He nodded then pressed his lips to mine, giving me a kiss that had me curling my toes and forgetting to breathe. My head swirled with possibilities—me on a cross in front of an audience, Master Connor doing things to me I’d only thought about in the privacy of my own home, in the darkness of my bedroom. The idea that all my fantasies might be realized was surreal. He pulled back and I moved forward for more of his kiss but he denied it.

“We’ll go on a short tour,” he said. “Then come back up here. Perhaps try some of the things we’ve seen.”

I nodded, already eager to have him striking my arse again.

He led the way from his suite, down to the second floor where the private rooms were situated. Most of the doors were closed, although shrieks of pleasure-pain echoed from within. They had my cunt throbbing as I imagined what was going on, how the subs were feeling while they enjoyed their Masters dishing out their preferred form of punishment or play.

“Listen to that,” Master Connor said. “You could sound like that if you’d let yourself go.”

I wondered if I’d seemed on guard in his suite, whether he saw more potential in me than I saw in myself. Could I give myself over completely? I had it in me to, and perhaps in time I could—with his guidance.

“I want to learn, Sir,” I said, glancing into a room where a door was wide open. “Oh, God,” I whispered. “Look at her, Sir.”

We paused to stare. As the door was fully open it meant we could join in if we had a mind to. I didn’t, I was content just to watch for now, but one day, who knew, I might have the courage to walk in and take what was on offer.

A woman was on her hands and knees, facing away from the door. Her Master whipped her arse, standing quite far back—the bullwhip he wielded had a long reach. The lash as it whistled through the air was quiet, yet when it cracked onto her skin the noise exploded, melding with her loud scream of pleasure.

“That takes some getting used to,” Master Connor said. “In my opinion, the bullwhip is something we would leave until last, after you’ve tried other toys. A paddle, a cat-o’-nine-tails, for example. All in good time, pet.”

Red welts streaked her skin, and each time her Master struck she shunted back into it, as though the strength he was striking her with wasn’t quite enough. She whimpered, perhaps trying to express that she needed more, and her Master gave it. He flicked the whip with such ferocity I held my breath, waiting to hear her screech shatter the quiet of the room.

“She’ll enjoy looking at her arse tomorrow,” Master Connor said, taking my elbow and drawing me closer to his side. “And when she moves, when she feels the sting twenty-four hours later, she’ll remember what she’s been doing. I suspect it’ll keep her going until they meet again.”

I could identify with that. Already I was anticipating my next scene with Master Connor, longing for the feel of something harder on my arse and buttocks. My cunt dampened, and I squeezed my legs together, stifling a moan.

“How does it make you feel, to watch?” he asked.

“Like I shouldn’t, like it’s too private, but at the same time I could just stare and stare, Sir. To learn.”

“Good. One day you will be her.”

And I knew I would. The zest for knowledge, the need to push myself, to learn all that I could about myself and the lifestyle was encouraging me to run through Marshall Cottage and soak it all in. I had to see everything—and since he’d spanked me, I felt more a part of this place than I had when I’d arrived. I thought back to the Dahlia I’d been as I’d walked up the steps to the front door. Unsure, worried, thinking that I could never be how other women were, other subs. And I’d almost turned away, gone home, denying myself this experience because I’d had a massive dose of doubt. Yet here I was, beside a man who now fondled my sore arse and watched another man strike a woman who clearly lived for the touch of the whip.