Master M (3 page)

I dropped the corset to the floor. Briefly wondered how the audience were viewing my body then discarded the thought. It didn’t matter.

He was still there, his face beside mine.

“Speak to me,” he whispered.

“The chains, Sir. I want…”

He moved away, and the absence of his nearness was tangible. The tinkle of chains infiltrated the sound of my harsh breathing. I was helped to stand and my arms were lifted, my wrists then secured in cold metal manacles. I allowed my body to sag, to give in to the heavenly lethargy that was taking my body by storm—but not my mind. No, I couldn’t allow that. Master M didn’t want me doing such a thing.

Another shoulder touch, another sound of the whip.

Another strike.

Oh, God, that one hurt. Good, magnificent hurt.

More. Give me more, Sir.

He did—one, two, three, four, five—then a sixth I’d been expecting but not until a little later. The whip met with the soft skin of my belly, so intense, so
there
that I almost opened my eyes. I let out a
whoomph
of surprise, then a groan as he struck my belly again. Then higher than before, just underneath the lower swells of my breasts, then lower still, the stripe burning above my pubic hair. I shoved my torso out, going on tiptoe—my signal that I wanted my tits to be tended to, to be blistering hot from his assault.

“Did you see that?” he called out. “One little movement from my sub tells me what she needs. And what she needs is this.”

I quickly released a gust of air through my lips then snatched in a breath.

And there was his gift, straight across my tits.

Agony spiraled through me. So delicious. So damn wonderful.

A flicker of the past visited me, where I’d spent so long wondering what it would be like to be dominated by him and thinking I’d never get the chance. He’d courted me well. He’d taken me on a journey, one I’d never traveled before. Not only had it been one where we’d gotten to know each other slowly, but where he’d trusted me with his dream of owning a club. Letting me share his vision.

With each stroke of the whip on my breasts, each snap of throbbing that branded my nipples with increasing pleasure-pain, I drifted further away. I bucked to shake myself out of drawing ever closer to subspace, and when it encroached some more, trying to snatch me fully in its grasp, I remembered another snippet of the past.

I had to. Otherwise I’d show a side of me that Master M didn’t want them to witness. A side that belonged only to Master M and myself. He had nurtured me, allowed me to grow, and there were some things he felt must remain wholly private. The way I reacted when in subspace was one of them. While there I wailed, jerked, screamed, became frenzied and—as my Master had told me—it was amazing to see.

So far, only he had seen it.

He didn’t think the audience had earned the right to appreciate the beauty of that spectacle. I saw Marshall Cottage behind my closed eyelids, how it had been at my first viewing. I’d been lit up in the darkness. Floating… Solace found, my soul calm. It had robbed me of breath. So beautiful. So enchanting…

* * * *

Then

I’d been seeing him for weeks without a speck of play in sight. That was certainly different. I was used to coupling up with a Master for a scene or two, knowing we’d walk away from each other at the end of the night, never to get together again. I wasn’t into long-term relationships, and it seemed the men I met weren’t either.

But Mr. M? He was different. Perhaps because he hadn’t put an inappropriate hand on me, hadn’t given me any kind of command—was just a man whose company I wanted to be in, no matter what kind of attention he gave me.

I couldn’t deny I wanted to scene with him. The thought of his strong hands on me inspired many a desirable fantasy. But… He really was different. He seemed to want to get to know me.

That was a first.

Now, I stared through the passenger window of his car, undisturbed by the fact we were traveling out into the countryside at night. The city had been left behind about five minutes ago, along with safety in numbers. Yet I was at ease, my gut letting me know there was nothing to fear from him.

It had been like this from the moment I’d met him.

“We’re nearly there,” he said, glancing across at me, giving me one of his wonderful smiles.

My stomach rolled in a pleasant way—the way it always did when he smiled at me like that. “I can’t wait to see it.”

“I think the location is perfect. Close enough to the city, yet far enough away to make guests feel as though they’re on a complete break from the rat race. That’s important to me, for people to be comfortable. Relaxed.”

I smiled. His attention to detail was evident every time he spoke about his project. On our second date—dinner at a quiet restaurant—he’d handed me a folder thick with paper. On each page were details so fine that I knew what he was doing would be a resounding success. His drive, his need to provide the right setting, the right feel, propelled him to work faster so he could realize his dream quicker.

“Ah,” he said, tightening his hands on the wheel. “You’ll see it any moment now.” He paused. “You must tell me exactly what you think when you do.”

My stomach rolled for an altogether different reason. Excitement at being a part of this from the beginning. It was as if this were my baby too.

Seemingly out of nowhere a mansion appeared, lit up by perfectly aimed spotlights in the darkness. The building seemed to be floating, a beacon to those who would come here seeking play, the kind that would give them solace and calm their souls. It robbed me of breath. So beautiful. So enchanting.

“Tell me what you think.” And there it was for the first time, a command.

“It’s stunning,” I managed. “What will you call it?”

“Marshall Cottage.”

I hesitated for a second or two, working out why he’d chosen such a name. Then it came to me, flooding my brain with understanding. “Marshall—for the policing aspect? Cottage—for the emotional feel of warmth, despite the place being so huge?”

“I knew you’d get it, Shareena.” He let out a soft sigh. “Knew you were the one who was meant to take this journey with me.”

Chapter Three

Now

“Don’t go there,” he whispered. “Not here, not now.”

He’d stopped whipping, giving me the chance to revel in the swell of heat swarming over my skin. To pause, take stock. My nipples stood out so hard it was as though they were being tugged by clamps. I concentrated on them, slowly drawing myself out of bliss.

I panted, hearing his words as they resounded in my head, coaxing me back from the abyss I’d almost slipped into. How could I have forgotten what he’d said about doing that very thing? That was easy to answer. When I was with him, I forgot all else. This show had been a test to see if I could push myself as close to the limit as I dared without actually going over. To see if I could do as he’d asked and keep a part of me to myself.

The trouble was, despite his past request and me agreeing that he was right, deep down I didn’t want to hold anything back. He could own me outright, every bit—emotions, self-respect, the lot.

“That’s it, come back to me, sub. You were too close to the danger zone.”

He’d spoken so quietly—on purpose, I supposed, so no one else would hear what I’d almost allowed. I floated back into my body, the pain growing by the second now I was fully aware of everything. And yes, that pain intensified to the point I wanted to get back to where I had been before. That utopia that beckoned, enticing me over a threshold I shouldn’t publicly cross. The pain was so strong it wiped out my thoughts for a moment—I felt nothing but the blissful agony. It roared, sharp and spiteful, then whispered, brilliant and beautiful. That sway between the two feelings had
me
swaying, the chains taking on the buoyancy of my body and rocking me back and forth.

“Listen to me,” he murmured. “Concentrate on my voice and cling to it. That’s it. Perfect. You’re doing exactly what I knew you would—controlling yourself, learning to hold back in certain scenarios. I know you no longer want to, and I understand that, but I promised you no man would treat you badly, no man would have such utter control over you that you’d do whatever he asked—and that includes myself.”

His voice penetrated the pain, breaking it apart from one huge block into millions of splinters. Scattering it, casting it away—helping
me
to cast it away.

“You’re a true sub, my lady. I don’t think you quite understood what I meant when I said this before, but I knew you were the one who was meant to take this journey with me.”

How odd that I’d thought of that time only a few minutes ago. How in tune we were.

It humbled me.

“I am, Sir,” I said. “Meant to take this journey with you. I just needed to wait for you to come along.”

“To search the clubs until we found one another.” He blew air over my shoulder and onto my chest.

I sighed my thanks.

“Do you remember the first time I brought you here, Shareena? It seems so long ago now, yet at the same time, it’s like it was only yesterday. Remember that? Before I’d even touched you? Before we’d signed contracts?”

He blew some more, cooling my abused skin, further tightening my nipples. I drifted, there yet not, but in a different way. I was coming down, loving the nudge back into a painful existence, yet craving the serenity of subspace again.

“Do you remember why you need to come back to me? Why you don’t want to show your true self to these people? What have I taught you since you came here?”

I recalled walking into Marshall Cottage for the first time. How what he’d said had shocked me a little. To know that I had been so obvious, that for all my self-assurances, I hadn’t been a closed book as I’d imagined myself to be. If he’d known that, if he’d read my emotions so clearly, the crowd would too.

“Some things should remain just yours and mine,” he said. “Or yours alone. The clock, Shareena. Always remember the clock.”

* * * *

Then

The décor inside was so opulent that I was struck mute for a moment. The wallpaper, the flooring, the high shine on the wood—something out of a fairytale. It was Mr. M all over, matched him perfectly—soft, no hard edges, welcoming, embracing. I immediately felt at ease. A transparent grandfather clock claimed my attention, lit up with neon lilac light. It should have seemed too
there
, sticking out like the proverbial sore thumb, too modern for its surroundings. But it had a different effect on me.

“Oh,” I said, walking toward it, holding my arm up, hand out, ready to touch it. I stopped in front of the clock, mesmerized by the swinging pendulum.

“Oh indeed. Spectacular, isn’t it?”

He was behind me—so close, his breath on my neck—and I held mine waiting for… For what? Him to touch me? To order me to my knees right there in the foyer?

“It’s wonderful,” I said, voice shaking. “Everything here is wonderful.”

“Everything?”

I wanted to turn to him, to look in his eyes and say that yes, everything was wonderful but not as wonderful as him. I couldn’t, though. Revealing my feelings that way might ruin what we had. There had been no mention of him playing with me, no suggestion of indulging in a scene at all, although the sexual tension was always there. Under the surface, a boiling pot of it waited to reach the right temperature so it could spill over.

At least it was that way for me.

“Yes, everything,” I said, curling my fingers into my palms. Digging my nails in.

My heart—it beat so fast. My legs—they weakened until I almost had to reach out and steady myself against the clock.

“Good. That’s what I wanted to hear, my Shareena.”

My Shareena? Oh, God. I’m falling for him.
Have
fallen for him.

“That clock is you,” he said.

I frowned. Held back a nervous laugh. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Grandfather—wise. Inner workings—easily visible through the glass. Lilac, lavender—the color brings calm to mind for me. Time—you just needed time to know what you wanted, what you’re really looking for.”

I’ve found what I was looking for.

His words registered properly and I blushed. ‘Inner workings—easily visible through the glass.’

Oh. He knows? Knows what I’ve been thinking all this time? Things involving him—and me?

I swallowed, determined to keep him from seeing my face.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said.

He settled his hands on my shoulders. I jolted from the contact, a thrill going through me. Heat from his palms gave me a hot flush.

“I’ve known all along”—he tightened his grip a little—“that you just needed time—to get to know yourself. To get to know me.”

I shook, not from fear or from being exposed this way, but from the truth rattling through my veins. No one had ever given me time or thought that I might need some. No one had ever put me before their own needs. And no one had ever had the ability to make me feel naked while I stood fully dressed.

Except him.

“I don’t know what to say,” I said, the pendulum blurring.

“You don’t have to say anything at all, Shareena. Because I know what you’re thinking. And yes, I want you. Yes, I want to Master you. And God, yes, I want you to be my forever sub. But remember, always keep a bit of yourself back, especially when in public. Call it self-preservation. When you fall hard for someone, when you give everything that you are to them, you must never allow yourself to become lost, thinking that what you do with them can be done in front of everyone. You must never do so much for that person that you end up blinded, possibly doing things you wouldn’t normally do.”

“What things?” I asked breathlessly.

“The sharing of yourself—your whole self. No one should own you, Shareena. The only person who has the right to do that is yourself.”

“Will you help me?”