Master M

by Natalie Dae

  He laughed, throwing his head back. “Oh, that’s a lovely way of putting it. And yes, I suppose I could employ someone I trusted to take over from time to time. You’re very sweet, Shareena, although I sense you’ve had some of that sweetness soured at some point.”

  I nodded. Normally I wouldn’t have—keeping my secrets hidden had proved the best way to go so far—but with Mr. M standing with me…well, I could spill a few secrets with no trouble at all.

  “There have been men who haven’t been too…respectful,” I said. “Which makes me wary of playing. I visit this place, and I have entered a scene or two, but only when the men were clearly…decent. And then only light play. Nothing where I’m tied up and can’t get away.” I bit the inside of my cheek.

  His eyes clouded, the irises darkening. “And there has been a time when you have been tied and couldn’t get away? When the Master hasn’t let you get away?”

  “Yes.”

  He clenched his jaw. “That should never happen.”

  “I know. But it did. It does.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I found that I did.

  And it all spilled out.

  Chapter Two

  Now

  “On your knees, sub.”

  His words peppered my skin with goosebumps. My breath hitched, my heartbeat stuttered. All good things. I obeyed Master M, sinking down to the stage—the floor, my favorite place to be when with him. That and in his arms after a scene, in bed, where he stroked my humming, whipped body and murmured words of love until I drifted off to sleep.

  The wood was cold on my shins, hard beneath my knees, both signals to my psyche that I’d soon be getting what I wanted. I faced the crowd, although I set my sights on a patch of wall at the back of the room. I didn’t want them distracting me, taking my attention. That belonged to me and Master M now—to our emotions and what we were about to do.

  I wondered what the guests were expecting. There were many here who hadn’t seen us on stage before. The occurrence was a rarity. Did the newcomers think he’d get undressed, bare his body for all to see? If they did, they didn’t know him very well. Then again, who did? Only I’d been allowed to understand him, to know his fears, his dreams, his desires. To them, him undressing would undoubtedly be like a revelation, him showing a part of himself they’d possibly only imagined. He had to intrigue them, the man who stood at the door night after night, offering nothing of himself except his welcome.

  He could seem intimidating, aloof.

  But not to me. He was my everything, a true gentleman.

  Those who had seen our previous shows…were they wondering if he would go to the next level? He hadn’t undressed in public before, so I could understand it if they thought he might this time.

  How very wrong they’d be.

  “Shareena enjoys her back being whipped,” he said, voice stern yet pleasantly soft. “Her shoulders.” He paused. “Her tits and nipples. It gives her release. She doesn’t necessarily have to come. She tells me that every single bite of the whip is an orgasm in itself. Can you imagine that? Twenty strikes, twenty orgasms, one after the other?”

  How well he understood me. How well he’d listened to what I’d had to say.

  “It’s no wonder she’s wrung out after a whipping session. I can’t imagine coming so much, but then men don’t have the luxury of that option.”

  Some of the audience chuckled.

  “Coming isn’t the be all and end all, either, I find. A Master or sub doesn’t have to come during play. And satisfaction can be gained by being fully dressed—no orgasm achieved. Holding off and coming much later, denying yourself, teasing yourself until you can stand it no more, can lead to a richer experience.”

  Not only a richer experience but more intense. He had done this so many times. I had held off too, let the euphoria of the whip take me to a place no orgasm could. Then, after he’d soothed my skin with balm, he’d licked my cunt or filled it with his hard cock until I’d come.

  He reached out and a member of staff stepped from the shadows at the side of the room. The man handed Master M a whip. My stomach muscles contracted—here we go, here’s what I want, it won’t be long now—and I breathed deeply to semi-quell the rush of excitement that bubbled up. Too much too soon brought on lightheadedness.

  “Now,” he said, “you’ll notice I haven’t asked my good lady to undress. I prefer to warm her up, striking outside her corset at first. And so I shall begin.”

  I held my breath, closed my eyes—I wouldn’t open them again until we were done, if I could help it. This part was always the best. Anticipation. Skin prickling with it. Nerves buzzing.

  I heard him move away, knowing he’d gone to stand behind me. I imagined him getting into position, telling himself that performing, showing a side of himself he rarely did, wasn’t a negative. I’d explained that if the guests saw him in a different light, it wasn’t a bad thing. They’d know he felt the same way as them, that he wasn’t some superior being, one who acted like an eagle on a tree branch, staring down at his prey, waiting, ready to swoop to the ground and clutch them with sharp claws if they so much as looked at another guest funny.

  It’s okay to be your true self from time to time, Master. It really is okay.

  The sound of the whip sailing through the air didn’t faze me. He wouldn’t strike me without a signal. But that sound… God, it set my soul on fire. I shivered, pretending the whip had met its target. Pretending that pain lanced through me, streaking from my back then blazing out through the skin of my stomach, a fiery flame of goodness. Pretending that he wasn’t just making sure his position was right. That he wasn’t just preparing me.

  As the whip stopped short of contact, a whisper of displaced air cooled my bare shoulders, the nape of my neck. I swallowed, lacing my fingers in my lap. He touched my shoulder with his fingertips, and I nodded—some of the watchers might have caught it, some might not. I waited for him to arc that whip again. The sound of it being wielded repeated, and I straightened my back, bracing for impact. There it was, a strip of biting pain just below my shoulder blades. I jerked my torso forward, curving my spine, hanging my head back. Heat spread from the stripe, stunning and all consuming. I waited again. Another hit came quickly, increasing the warmth.

  I straightened my spine once more, eager now for the proper whipping to begin. Those first two strikes had been tame, a precursor, something to whet my appetite.

  It wasn’t only my appetite that was wet.

  He laid into me then, hit after hot, hot hit. They found their mark and, I knew, had marked me. I imagined the redness beneath my corset—how, because he was striking randomly, I’d have a criss-cross pattern. At no time did he let the whip meet with my skin, yet I wanted him to—needed him to. Waves of pleasure rolled over me, my cunt spasming, my tits aching, nipples throbbing. A spectacular lift took over—a lift of spirits that guided me away from the stage, away from the audience and their groans of wonder. I shook from the intensity. Each line on my back belted out heat, their close proximity to one another resulting in the warmth merging, becoming one big accumulation.

  This. This was where I wanted to be.

  He touched my shoulder.

  I shuddered with delight.

  “Take off your corset,” he whispered in my ear.

  His voice, his breath—he was so close, yet so far away. I wasn’t there with him as such but above him, us, my self almost divorced from my body but not to the degree that I had fully entered subspace. I lingered on the edge, in control, not allowing myself to take the final step. I reserved that pleasure for when we were alone, but God, I so wanted to let go now.

  I undid the hooks and eyes that held the garment together, my hands shaking. The energy to complete my task was fast disappearing. I wished he’d secured me to chains from the ceiling so I could hang there and take whatever he chose to give—what I had granted him permission to give. To have to keep lucid when my self was intent on floating
away was a difficult task. I fought harder for control and felt like I was winning.

  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.
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  “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.