Master Me (3 page)

“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.

[Back to Table of Contents]

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.”

Before I could reach out to grab him and hold him back, he was gone.

The next two hours were possibly the longest in my life. I couldn’t focus on my book. I kept hearing Geoffrey’s velvet voice saying, “If you’re ready for more…”

I wasn’t ready. Maybe I’d never be. I knew, though, that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let this chance slip away. My body buzzed with tension, anxiety and lust more or less indistinguishable. I tried to picture what it would be like, but my imagination was not equal to the task. What did I know about dominance and submission? Sure, I’d seen
Nine 1/2 Weeks
like everyone else, but I figured that was just fantasy—though the film did affect my dreams for days afterward.

“You must give me your trust,” he had told me.

Could I do that? Was that even wise, to surrender myself to someone who, despite my knowledge of his reputation, was basically a stranger?

I replayed his delicious kisses over and over. My pussy grew wetter and more swollen with each passing minute. I considered pulling my vibrator out of the drawer, to cool myself down and bolster my rational capacity. I knew somehow that Geoffrey wouldn’t approve. He wanted me to wait, to build up the pressure. That was why he’d barely touched me in the foyer. He wanted me hungry.

Lying fully clothed on the chenille bedspread, I was acutely aware of my body—aching nipples, damp thighs, pulsing clit. I circled a wrist with my finger and thumb, wondering about sensations of rope or leather. I would have sworn that I was one hundred percent alert, counting the seconds until my summons. Yet somehow I drifted off into sleep.

I bolted upright some time later. My bedside lamp made a lonely pool of brightness. The window showed a square of solid black where there had been deepening twilight before. I snatched my alarm clock and peered at its face. Eleven oh five! Fear shot through me like an electric shock.

Shuffling into my sandals, I raced down the hall to his door at the end. My heart felt as though it would split my chest. I sucked in a lungful of air and knocked.