Masters at Arms

by Kallypso Masters

  She would leave. Today. But where would she go?

  Maman. I can’t do this alone.

  A distant memory flitted across her mind. The Christmas before she’d left, Maman had taken her down to Solana Beach to attend midnight Mass in the Eden Gardens neighborhood. Maman spoke both French and Spanish and loved to hear the Christmas Mass said in one of those languages. Savannah had only been seven then, but remembered it now as if it were yesterday. Maman told her the sermon had been about the Blessed Baby and the importance for members of the community to help young women who were in trouble to find safety and shelter to have their babies. At the time, Savannah hadn’t known why having a baby would cause a girl to be in trouble.

  And suddenly the answer for herself seemed so clear. Of course! She’d go to the Catholic church in Eden Gardens. They would help a young girl they perceived to be “in trouble,” even though this baby actually was the impetus Savannah needed to get herself out of trouble. And her father would never look for her in a barrio neighborhood like that. She’d take on a new name—perhaps the English version of her Mama’s maiden name Pannier. Savi Baker. He’d never trace her.

  If the people of the Hispanic community were anything like Damián, she’d be okay. Perhaps she could tutor kids or somehow be of help to them while she waited for the baby.

  Oh, Damián. I’m so scared. I wish I had your courage and strength.

  Section Three

  Prequel to Marc’s Story, Nobody’s Angel

  October 2003, Aspen, Colorado

  “Not tonight, damn it.” The knock at his door was not welcome. Marc D’Alesso had had an exhausting day trying to juggle what seemed like dozens of crises at the resort and just wanted to be left alone.

  He drained his glass of Pinot Bianco and leaned over to set his wineglass on the oak coffee table. Standing, he walked over to the stereo to turn down Bocelli’s Por Amor. The living room of his Aspen apartment was done entirely in earth tones that reminded him of his childhood home in Lombardy, and usually provided some calm for him after the stresses of trying to run the family business.

  So not working tonight.

  With reluctance, he crossed the living room to open the front door. On the welcome mat knelt a voluptuous Italian woman he recognized immediately, even though her head was bowed.

  Ah, shit. Not again.

  “I’ve been very bad, Master Marco.”

  Melissa raised her head to look at him and smiled. She wore a very low-cut blouse, her breasts spilling from the gaping vee. Two years ago, he’d have dragged her inside, stripped her, and had her ass reddened within ten minutes.

  That was before he’d found her in bed with his brother, Gino.

  “Look Melissa, I’m tired, I don’t appreciate your topping from the bottom, and I thought we were finished playing these games.”

  She sat back on her heels, straightening her back. A look of sheer desperation crossed her face before she controlled it and reached up to place her hands on the sides of his hips. He didn’t help her stand, but perhaps if he had, she wouldn’t have been able to rub her breasts across his crotch and chest as she pulled herself to her feet.

  Melissa teetered and grabbed his arms for support. Had she been drinking? Not nearly as much as he’d have to drink to want to have anything more to do with her again.

  The woman who had nearly become his fiancée wrapped her arms behind his neck and pulled his face toward hers. “Please, Marco. I need you. No one can satisfy me the way you can.”

  He doubted she’d waited around celibately over the last eighteen months for him to satisfy her again. What the hell did she want? He reached up to separate her interlocked hands and took a step away from her. Big mistake. She stepped into the apartment to follow him.

  “Melissa, we’re through. We were through six months before what happened after Gino’s funeral. That was just a big mistake.”

  Tears filled her brown eyes. She’d always been able to cry at a moment’s notice. Her well-manicured hand splayed across his chest. “Marco, we need each other. Gino would have wanted us to be together to comfort each other.”

  “Somehow I doubt that.” Gino didn’t share. What was his, was his. And he’d made it abundantly clear that she was his before he left for Afghanistan. Of course, after their betrayal, Marc had wanted nothing to do with either of them.

  She closed her eyes, then gazed up at him again and took a new tack. “Gino never satisfied me the way you could. He didn’t understand my need to be controlled.”

  As if Marc had ever been in control in their relationship. She’d pursued him in college and they’d dated exclusively the year before he graduated. Then he brought her home to the resort to meet his family in preparation of popping the question. At least he’d been divested of that notion before it was too late.

  Melissa had played Marc for a fool. He’d vowed that no woman would have that kind of control over him ever again.

  “Look, I’m going to drive you home. You’ve obviously been drinking. Someone can bring you back over tomorrow to get your car.”

  He turned to walk into the kitchen to retrieve his Porsche keys. Melissa pressed her body against his back, pushing him against the dark-gray granite countertop. Her hand snaked out to grab his cock through his pants. She couldn’t suppress a moan, apparently disappointed to find she hadn’t given him an erection despite her blatant attempts.

  “Marco, please. It’s always been so good between us.” She stroked him and he felt his long-neglected cock responding.

  He spun around and grabbed her shoulders, wanting to push her away. Her pupils dilated. Damn her. If she wanted to be controlled, he could accommodate her.

  He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and guided her back into the living room. She stumbled on the stilettos and he steadied her. Maybe it wasn’t that she was drunk, just that she couldn’t walk on those damned five-inch heels.

  When they reached the tan-colored leather sofa, he pushed her hips against the armrest and eased her torso over until her head was on the seat cushion and her ass high in the air. She turned her head and looked back at him, smiling.

  “Hard, Sir. Give it to me hard.”

  Marc knew he’d hate himself later for letting her top him like this, but right now, he needed to blow off some steam. His life was so damned fucked up. He hated his job, but knew he couldn’t leave it. He owed the family that much. But being cooped up behind a desk all day was killing him. He hadn’t been out on the slopes since Gino enlisted.

  Managing the resort was killing him by degrees.

  He went to the bedroom to grab his toy bag and returned to Melissa, who waited patiently for him to begin. God help him, if she didn’t look good to him, draped over the armrest, waiting to be spanked. Well, he wasn’t in the mood for an over-the-knee spanking tonight. Too intimate. He reached into the bag and pulled out his riding crop.

  When she saw it, he saw her butt cheeks clench. Her mouth fell open as she sucked air into her lungs.

  “What’s your safe word, Melissa?”

  “Cherry, Master Marco.”

  “Use it if you need it.”

  Whack.

  The flat leather tip came down on her right cheek and she gasped. He watched as the red mark appeared on her olive-colored skin.

  Whack.

  Again on the left cheek. Normally, he would have rubbed her ass cheeks before beginning a spanking. He would have planned the scene and gotten his head in the zone, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess tonight. Not that Melissa would notice or care.

  He delivered four more whacks in quick succession, alternating cheeks.

  “Oh, God, yes!” She moaned.

  Damn her for liking it, too. “Quiet!” The next blows fell to her upper thighs. One leg kicked out at him, nearly hitting him in the groin.

  “Keep your legs down!”

  She put her feet back on the floor. “Sorry, Sir.”

  The next eight blows reddened her ass nicely. Dio, he didn’t l
ike taking his pleasure when angry, but his cock throbbed at the sight. He needed to find release. He’d given her plenty of warning, if she wasn’t looking for sex tonight, but Melissa had never run cold on him before and he didn’t think she would this time. He reached into the bag and pulled out a condom package. Placing the riding crop on top of his bag, he tore open the foil packet.

  “Yes, Master. Give me that big cock.”

  “I didn’t give you permission to speak.” He ground the words out between his teeth as he sheathed himself. He most definitely didn’t give her permission to speak in porn-flick script lines either. Standing behind her, he reached down to stroke his fingers between her folds. Wet. He spread the moisture to encircle her clit, which protruded from its hood. Her ass bucked and tilted toward him. “Mmm.” He rammed two fingers inside her and she moaned, but didn’t speak.

  Unable to wait any longer, he positioned himself behind her, held her ample hips with his hands, and thrust himself inside.

  “Oh my God, Master!”

  Ignoring her, he battered against her, his balls slapping against her pussy. He nearly pulled out of her, then pushed her legs open wider and slammed into her again.

  “Sweet, Jesus! I need to come so badly, Marco!”

  “Silence! You do not have permission to come yet.” He continued to pound her pussy, then reached down and took her clit between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed hard. She bucked against him. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, Marco!”

  “How do you address me?”

  “Master Marco, please. I can’t wait any longer!”

  “But you will.”

  “Ohhh! Oh, yes!” As little as she could move with him confining her, she still managed to tilt her hips toward him, allowing him deeper access. “Fuck me, Master! Fuck me harder!”

  He thrust until he felt his own explosion nearing. He purposely pictured her in bed with Gino to delay his own orgasm. “Come, now!” As she went over the top, he felt her vagina clenching his cock. He needed to hold out a little longer. He wasn’t finished with her yet.

  “Oh, God! Ohhh, Marco, yesssss! Don’t stop!”

  He leaned over her, continuing to stroke her clit even after her spasms had ended. She tried to move her pelvis to evade his fingers on her oversensitive clit.

  “Come again.”

  “No, Marco. I can’t.”

  “Twice you have addressed me as Marco without using my proper title. You owe me two more orgasms.” They’d negotiated orgasm torture before, but broke up before they’d tried it. “I. Said. Come. Again.” He ground the words out against her ear. With her body restrained under his, he stroked her clit harder, faster. She couldn’t escape the pressure he applied. She was trapped.

  Just as he was.

  Trapped.

  “Oh, my God! I’m coming! Oh, shit!” She bucked wildly against him, clenching his cock as another orgasm wracked her body, this one seeming to be more intense than the last. He’d been taught never to promise a sub something and not deliver, but delaying his own orgasm was hell.

  He let her breathing slow a bit, then touched her clit again.

  “Oh, God, don’t! Please, Mar…Master. Enough!”

  His fingers stilled. “Do you wish to say your safe word?”

  She paused, gasping for breath, then shook her head. He pulled her hair away from her face so he could judge whether she could take another one. He began stroking her clit again. Her cheeks were wet from tears, but her mouth panted as she let the sensations build again. Her mewling sounds told him she wasn’t in pain. Not that pain was necessarily a bad thing in Melissa’s book of needs.

  He stroked her harder. Her screams became incoherent as she bucked against him.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She did as he ordered. He pinched her clit again, then stood up and rammed her with his cock.

  “Oh, shit! Oh, Master, please! No more!”

  Again and again, he thrust himself inside her, demanding more than he ever had before. He took perverse pleasure in making something so desired feel like a punishment. Not unlike his feeling of being trapped at this resort, staring at the mountains every day and knowing he couldn’t walk away from that god-damned desk and enjoy them as he had before Gino had joined the Marines.

  He reached down and stroked her clit again as he neared his own climax.

  “Oh, ohhh, ohhhhhh, yes! Yes, please! Don’t stop!” Her body convulsed beneath him as she experience her third orgasm in just a few minutes.

  Marc found himself breathing hard, as well. He pumped harder, faster. The release he felt as his semen spurted from him caused his legs to go weak. But he continued to pound her pussy until the last spasm of his cock and her vagina ceased. He pulled out immediately and staggered on weakened legs to the bathroom where he disposed of the condom, washed himself off, then got a clean washcloth and wet it with warm water for her.

  He looked into the mirror over the vanity. The disgust he saw written on his face brought him to a standstill. Surprisingly, he wasn’t disgusted with Melissa, but with himself.

  What the fuck was he doing?

  He needed to get away—from Melissa, from the resort, from his family.

  Far enough away to find himself.

  Before this place totally consumed his soul.

  * * *

  Christmas Day 2003, Aspen, Colorado

  “You’ve what?” Mama turned red. All conversation at the dinner table came to an abrupt halt, quite a feat at a large Italian family gathering. Marc felt the scrutiny of every set of eyes at the table, but most especially Mama’s. And Melissa’s.

  “I’ve joined the Navy.” Marc repeated.

  “How could you do such a thing?” Mama’s voice rose an octave. “Hasn’t this family given enough already?”

  Marc met his mother’s gaze. “Exactly why I need to do this.”

  In part, at least. If Marc could play some part in the victory over Al Qaeda and the Taliban, Gino would not have died in vain. He’d even passed the test to train as a hospital corpsman. Maybe he could help keep someone else from dying, so he or she could return home to loved ones.

  He glanced over at Melissa, whose face was redder than Mama’s. If looks could kill, he’d need a corpsman of his own. Why had Mama invited her to the family dinner anyway? She and Gino had barely been engaged a week when he’d enlisted. Talk about a whirlwind romance.

  Marc hadn’t seen her since that disastrous night at his apartment when he’d totally lost control. He’d talked to the Navy recruiter the next day.

  See the world. Whether he was sent to Iraq, Afghanistan, or just another part of the States, it would be far enough away, he supposed.

  Seeing Melissa again reminded him of the last face-to-face conversation he’d had with Gino before his brother left home, only to be killed in the mountains of Afghanistan five months later.

  Since Gino’s death—Dio, two months short of two years now, he realized—Marc had buried himself in the running of the resort, losing interest in the frivolous pursuits he’d specialized in since high school.

  Gino had been the favored son, the one Mama groomed all his life to take over the family business. Always the dutiful son, Gino had gone to Cornell’s Johnson School earning an MBA, just as Mama wanted. He’d returned to Aspen and put the degree to use turning the family’s ski lodge into a popular world-class, five-star resort offering all of the amenities.

  Marc had opted to attend a nearby college and earn a degree in recreation and leisure studies, hoping to come back to the resort to pursue the things he loved, like skiing and camping. He’d lived the life of a carefree playboy—easy job, easy money, easy women. No one expected anything more from him.

  Then Marc had invited Melissa to Aspen late in the summer following their college graduation to meet his family. He and Melissa had dated more steadily since his third year of college. Marc’s interest in BDSM had been developing for a few years and Melissa had been a willing participant, the first woman his age to hav
e shown any interest in bondage and discipline.

  When Marc had caught Gino in bed with Melissa early one September morning two years ago, the brothers had fought, physically, but also verbally. Gino had everything he could possibly want—and yet he found the need to steal Marc’s girl away. It wasn’t until much later Marc realized Melissa had set Gino up. But Gino hadn’t had time to pursue women and fell head over heels for Melissa, proposing to her that day, whether because he loved her or wanted to rub Marc’s face in their relationship, Marc wasn’t sure.

  Neither of them had seen Melissa for who she really was at that point. Gino probably never did. When the Nine-Eleven attacks happened a week later, Gino surprised everyone by enlisting. He loved his brother, even if they were embattled in a constant rivalry.

  Since he’d heard Gino had been killed in action, guilt plagued Marc over the things he’d said to his big brother that day. Had Gino enlisted for patriotic reasons for their adopted homeland—or because Marc had driven him away with his anger and animosity?

  He’d loved his brother, even if they had spent most of their lives embattled in an ugly sibling rivalry. Had Marc driven his brother to his death?

  Even though that thought had consumed him every day since February 2002, it still had the power to cause his meal to churn in his gut. He laid his fork down.

  Mama’s voice brought him back to the present. “You have responsibilities here. Who will operate the lodge?”

  Anyone the hell but me.

  Lord knew, he’d tried. But he and his mother had clashed over every major decision he’d tried to make. Besides, Marc had always been more interested in developing backcountry ski and hiking weekend packages he could lead groups on, not overseeing the day-to-day operations and making sure the payroll and taxes were paid on time.