Master Me

by Lisabet Sarai, Trina Lane, Elizabeth Coldwell, Charlotte Stein, Jane Davitt, Justine Elyot

  “I can’t pretend it’s not exciting, of course—trying new implements, pushing the sub’s limits, testing her devotion. But that’s not the main point.”

  I burned in the heat of his stare. I felt myself begin to melt, the crotch of my jeans growing damper with every beat of my pulse. I didn’t want to listen but I couldn’t hide my fascination.

  He stroked his thumb across my cheek. I held my breath, wanting him to stop, dying for him to go further.

  “Aren’t you curious, Sarah? Wouldn’t you like to drop your diligent, high-achieving, good little girl persona and find out what’s underneath?”

  I couldn’t answer. How did he know these things about me, this man I’d met less than a half-hour ago? Did he really understand the way I’d pushed myself in college and grad school, working for the top grades, following the rules, determined to succeed in my chosen path despite the odds? Did he know that I hadn’t had a lover for nearly four years? I hadn’t had time. Anyway, I’d been all too aware of the fact that everyone around me was both a colleague and a competitor.

  I saw compassion in his chiselled face, mingled with lust.

  “I know you, little one. I know what you really crave. What you really need. Open yourself to me and I will fulfil the desires you don’t yet dare to admit, even to yourself.”

  He didn’t wait for permission. He simply claimed my mouth as though it was his by right. I struggled for a moment, as his strong arm snaked around my waist and pulled me to his chest. Then I let go, let his tongue slide between my lips and his fingers slip under my shirt.

  His mouth was muscular and insistent. I tasted his expensive liquor and his foreign cigarettes. I was in some kind of trance, swooning as he devoured my mouth and stroked my bare back. I felt him fumble briefly with the hooks on my bra, then blissful relief as my breasts were set free.

  My nipples throbbed, aching for his touch. He released my mouth and held me at arm’s length.

  “From now on, you will not wear a bra.”

  Raising my shirt, he palmed my breasts, flicking his thumbs over the rigid tips. Each flick sent electric currents sizzling down to my engorged clit. New moisture flooded my pussy. I could smell myself, like tidal flats baking under the summer sun. His flaring nostrils told me that he caught the same scent.

  “Is that understood?” He pinched a nipple and pain arced through me like lightning. Then like thunder, pleasure rolled in.

  “Ow! Oh…!”

  His hard thigh pushed into the gap between my thighs, stealing my answer. I tried to nod. I was ready to agree to anything as long as he continued to touch me. He kissed me again, forcing me open and plunging his rude tongue down my throat.

  Shameless, driven, I ground my denim-covered pussy against his invading leg. His male scent rose around me, the cologne tempered now with the musk of his sweat. He gripped my ass and pulled me closer. His rock-hard erection prodded my belly. The knowledge that he wanted me—that I pleased him—took me to the edge. I hovered there at the tipping point, ready to topple into climax while he squeezed my butt and ravaged my mouth.

  His lips slipped away from mine. He nibbled his way along the line of my jaw, kindling sparks and I felt his warm breath in my ear. “I knew it, Sarah. You’re a perfect slut,” he whispered. Then he bit down on my earlobe.

  The sharp stab of his teeth entering my flesh cut me free. Scalding pleasure exploded between my legs and swirled through me like a ball of fire. Geoffrey held me tight while I convulsed, wave after wave of delicious sensation shaking me until I was exhausted and as loose as a rag doll. Then he brushed his lips across mine once again.

  “Mine, Sarah,” he murmured. “You’re going to be my slut. My sweet little fuck toy.”

  I should have been offended. I should have gathered what dignity I could muster, stood up and stomped out of the room. Instead I sank to my knees in front of him, trying to open his zipper and extract the enormous cock I could see distorting his fine trousers, which were now smeared with my pussy juice.

  His mocking laughter rang through the room. He pulled me to my feet, far more roughly than I had expected. “Hold it right there! Did I give you permission to touch me?”

  There was a cruel glint in his eye that worried me. “Uh, no, but I thought…”

  His big hands circled my wrists. He held me at arm’s length. “It’s not your place to think. Your only responsibility is to obey.”

  “I just wanted to please you—sir.” The honorific came so naturally that I was shocked. What was I doing?

  His voice mellowed. “You do please me. But I make the rules here—that is, as long as you’re interested in playing this game.”

  I extricated myself from his grasp and brushed the hair out of my eyes. My shirt was still tangled under my armpits. I yanked it down to cover my bare breasts, not bothering to refasten the bra. “I thought you said that D and S wasn’t a game.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and looked at me. I felt that he was judging me, weighing me up before deciding on his next move. Comparing me, perhaps, to his lost Anne. I straightened my spine to my full five-feet-two-inches and stared back. I was determined not to be intimidated.

  Emotions flitted across his expressive face—annoyance, desire, amusement, something like sorrow. I wondered if anyone really ever knew him. I was all too familiar with how hard it could be for actors to separate their real selves from the roles they played.

  “You’re right. It’s not a game, though sometimes we pretend that it is. In any case, I can’t command your obedience. You have to consent, to give me your trust.”

  His words stirred me, rousing something deeper than the lust I’d felt before. I didn’t understand what he was offering, not really, but I sensed its value. Our brief interlude had given me some clues. Still, I was mostly travelling blind.

  “How can I trust you when I don’t even know you?”

  He stepped closer, but didn’t touch me. “We’ll take it more slowly from now on. Step by step. I’m sorry I pushed so hard this time. It’s just—I had this sense that you’re a natural submissive, Sarah. That you were born to be my slave.”

  I tried not to show how his words thrilled me. I didn’t want to even think about why I had that reaction.

  “Let’s start with something simple, shall we? I already told you I don’t want you wearing a bra. Well, those jeans are damned inconvenient as well. So if you want to please me, from now on you’ll wear skirts or dresses only.”

  “But I only have two skirts…”

  “I’ll take you shopping. I’ll dress you the way I want my slave to look.”

  My blush was my only answer.

  “And no panties. Ever. I want to have you always accessible.”

  “What! I can’t…”

  “Of course you can. You will, for me. Won’t you?” The yearning in his eyes startled me. Did this really mean so much to him? Or was he just playing with my emotions?

  “Don’t answer me now. Go back to the theatre. I’m sure you have work to do—besides entertaining the newly arrived leading man, that is.” He gave me a devilish grin as he led me to the exit. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight. And I’ll read your answer in what you’re wearing.”

  He closed the door, leaving me standing in the empty hallway—confused, disoriented and hornier than ever.

  Chapter Two

  Fiddler on the Roof opened in two days. We should have been in dress rehearsal. The arrival of Geoffrey Hart, however, had thrown the troupe into crisis.

  We sat in a circle on the stage, talking things out. Arthur Rosen, the director, had been in the theatre for thirty years. He knew how to handle a fractious cast.

  “Damn it, Arthur, it’s just not fair! I’ve been rehearsing Tevye for two weeks! My agent has already sent out the press releases!” Jack Clarkson’s usually good-natured features were distorted by anger. “Now you tell me I’ve got to play Fyedka instead, because the almighty Geoffrey Hart insists on top billing.”

 
“Calm down, Jack. You know he’s good for the Playhouse. Our Town has played to half-full houses at best. We announced the cast change two days ago, and we’ve already sold out the next ten performances of Fiddler. That means extra money for all of you.” Arthur ran the troupe as a kind of cooperative. Every staff member, even the stage crew, got a percentage of the take.

  “Fiddler has always been popular in the Berkshires,” Jack grumbled. “Can the guy even sing?”

  “Like an angel,” Helen assured him. “You should have heard him do Henry Higgins at the Cambridge.”

  “I supposed he walks on water, too,” snorted Jack.

  “Actually, he’s something of an arrogant bastard.” Adele threw in her two cents as usual. “You wouldn’t believe the way he bossed poor Sarah.”

  The hot blood climbed into my cheeks. I didn’t really want to remember what had happened an hour ago. It still felt too raw. “Oh, he’s okay, I think. Just overcompensating for being a big fish in a small pond.”

  “Well, nobody invited him into the pond…” Jack continued to gripe, while Arthur worked to soothe his ruffled feathers.

  I knew that it would work out. It didn’t really concern me anyway. I don’t have much of a voice so I was just playing one of Tevye’s younger daughters. I was on stage for quite a lot of the play, but had only half a dozen lines.

  The doors at the back of the stage were open. The chirp of crickets and the smell of newly cut grass drifted in. I shifted on my metal chair. The smooth cotton of my skirt caressed my bare bottom. The sensation was as exhilarating as it was shocking.

  I glanced at my watch. Six thirty. Dinner was at eight on the nights when we didn’t have a show. We’d gather in our corner of the dining room at the inn and officially welcome the newest member of our troupe.

  I dreaded the moment when his eyes would snag mine. He’d see that I’d swapped my jeans for a skirt. He’d know I was naked underneath. I couldn’t bear the thought of that nakedness—not the physical fact of my bare ass but fact that I’d obeyed his directive, the tacit admission that I wanted his dominance.

  What in the world was I doing? If getting involved with my peers had been risky, surely an entanglement with Geoff Hart was far worse. At the very least, I was risking my professional reputation, never mind my emotional equilibrium.

  I couldn’t resist, though. He had drawn back the curtain, had shown me a side of myself that I’d never dreamt existed. He had invited me deeper, promising me more revelations.

  Like the snake in the garden, he promised me secret knowledge. Like Eve, I couldn’t help but give in to temptation.

  * * * *

  He arrived late, breezing into the dining room only after we’d finished our salads. Favouring us all with a brilliant smile and offering apologies in that refined, British-tinged voice, he seated himself between Helen and Jack. Directly across from me. I stared down at the oily residue on my salad plate, hoping that my cheeks were not as red as they felt.

  I ventured a quick glance at him when the waiter brought me my baked chicken breast. He was not, as I feared, staring at me. Instead, he was engaged in a lively conversation with Helen, who gazed up at him with something akin to adoration. I only caught snatches of his story—“Vanessa,” “Othello,” “three curtain calls,” “damned director.”

  Helen’s bell-like laugh rang over the table. I focused my attention on Geoff’s aristocratic profile, willing him to look in my direction. Before I’d wanted to be invisible. Now I was dying for him to acknowledge me, to take note of my state of dress—or lack thereof. However, he continued to ignore me. He turned to Jack, who was grimly shovelling mashed potatoes into his mouth, leant in and murmured something in the sandy-haired actor’s ear.

  Jack’s glum expression turned to a grin. Geoff said something else and the former leading man couldn’t help but chuckle, despite his obvious attempts to cling to his righteous indignation.

  He can charm anyone, I thought. It’s all part of the game for him.

  Well, if he wanted to pretend I didn’t exist, that was fine with me. I could play at indifference at least as well as he could. I addressed myself to my dinner, determined not to look at him again.

  With every lull in the conversation, though, I fought with temptation. Perhaps I fooled the others, but I couldn’t fool myself. I wanted his attention, even though it made me sublimely uncomfortable.

  “So what happened?” Adele had been chatting with Harry, her neighbour on the other side, but now she turned to me, her voice low and conspiratorial.

  “What do you mean?” I speared a broccoli floweret and raised it to my lips, then chewed carefully.

  “With Geoffrey Hart, of course! When you brought up his luggage. Mr. Wiggins told me you didn’t come down for at least half an hour.”

  Damn. I should have realised there’s no privacy in a theatre troupe. I tried to make my laugh sound convincing. “You’re such a gossip, Adele! Nothing happened. He—ah—he was just asking me some questions. About Barrington, the Playhouse, you know, trying to get oriented.”

  “Oh really? So why are you all dressed up tonight?” My friend gave me an arch grin.

  “You’re impossible! All my jeans are in the laundry, that’s all.”

  Adele looked sceptical.

  “Look, if he were interested in me, wouldn’t he have sat here?” I indicated the empty chair to my right. “He hasn’t paid me the least notice all evening.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about that, either.”

  “Please! Don’t let your imagination get the better of you. Why would Geoff Hart care anything about someone like me?” Why indeed? “Have you ever seen a picture of Anne Merrill? She’s gorgeous. I’m not even remotely in his league.”

  “Come on. You’re brilliant and pretty, and you’ve got lots of talent…”

  “You’re sweet. But compared to what he’s used to, I’m skinny and awkward and inexperienced.” Especially when it comes to power games.

  “Well…if anything does happen, you’ll tell me, right?”

  I couldn’t help laughing at her eagerness. She had proudly revealed all the details of her past affairs with two of the stagehands only a day or two after we’d first met.

  “Nothing’s going to happen!” I gave Geoff a quick glance. Now he was involved in an earnest discussion with Arthur, who was listening intently. “Nothing at all,” I sighed.

  I wasn’t hungry but I forced myself to sit there through dessert and coffee—to act normal. It was Monday, our dark night, when the Playhouse was closed. Adele and some of the other cast members were going over to Rory’s, the pub on the other side of the green. If I’d really been serious about giving Geoffrey the brush off, I would have accepted Adele’s insistent invitation. Instead, I pleaded a headache. Then Geoff agreed to join them. For a moment, I desperately wanted to change my mind. Don’t give in, I told myself. He’ll just chat up all the local girls and make you feel miserable. Better to curl up in bed with Margaret Atwood’s latest and try to forget him.

  I headed for the stairs, exhausted by the emotional cartwheels I’d been doing. He caught up with me in the front hall. I smelled his cologne, felt his bulk behind me. His hands settled on my shoulders and I really thought, for a moment, that I’d faint from the rush of desire that touch triggered.

  “Sarah.” His voice was a caress.

  My frustration and resentment evaporated in the heat of my lust.

  “I see that you’ve made yourself more—accessible. Wait, don’t turn around.” He let his fingers wander along my throat, tracing my collarbone, then just grazing my taut nipples.

  I shuddered with delight.

  “Without a bra. Very good.” He gave the aching nubs a symmetrical squeeze.

  Pleasure sizzled through me.

  He moulded my hips, feeling for a panty line. “And panty-less, too! What a sweet, obedient slut!” He began to raise my skirt.

  I remembered that we were in a public place, that a cast member, another
guest or a member of the hotel staff might wander into the hall at any moment. “No…” I moaned as he brushed his palm across my exposed bush.

  “No? You’d refuse me?”

  I felt a fingertip parting my curls, stroking my slippery outer lips. His gentle tap on my clit sent lightning up my spine. I went rigid, holding my breath, silently begging for more. The finger disappeared. His big hands smoothed my skirt over my buttocks.

  “No…” I tried to stifle my sob, but knew he wouldn’t miss it.

  “Meaning what? Are you mine or not?”

  “I—I don’t know.” I was desperate for his touch, but fear held me back. Not the fear of being discovered. The fear of what I might discover about myself.

  He twirled me round to face him. “An honest answer. I appreciate that. Just as I appreciate the fact that you’ve followed my instructions. Really, I do.”

  I searched his eyes. He appeared to be sincere.

  “Then why—why did you ignore me all through dinner?”

  His laugh was edged with mockery. “Did you want my attention, little one?”

  My cheeks burned.

  He cupped my chin. “I thought you might be more comfortable if I wasn’t undressing you with my eyes. Believe me, I saw you, Sarah. I saw your gesture of submission, and rejoiced.”

  He bent to me and pressed those arrogant, sensual lips to mine. This kiss was different from the ones in his room. It was deep and quiet, like a pure forest pool. Our mouths locked. Our breath mingled. I seemed to feel his thoughts, probing, questioning, inviting me to fall further under his spell.

  I forgot where I was. I was loose, wet, ready to let him take me then and there. When he finally broke the kiss, I felt almost physical pain.

  “They’re waiting for me now, your friends. They’re dying for my company, too.” He gave an evil chuckle that reminded me, once again, that he was a rock god and I was just his groupie. “I’ve got to go now.”

  Then his voice became velvet and I melted once more. “Tonight, Sarah. Eleven p.m. I’ll expect you in my room. If you’re ready for more—come to me then.”