Master Me (6 page)

“Sorry to be late,” I mumbled.

“Never mind. We’re just getting started. You’re on stage when the curtain rises, sitting on the step and talking to Hatty.”

“I know. Sorry.” I’d learnt my lines a month ago—Stella’s, too. Actually,
Streetcar
was one of my all-time favourite plays, both romantic and tragic. I must have read it twenty times. It never failed to leave my eyes damp.

I scrambled up on stage, trying to hold my skirt down over my bare rear. I had to walk past Geoffrey to get to my chair.

“Good morning, Sarah,” he said. “Good to see you.”

I was terrified that he was going to do something lewd, but he just gave me a knowing smile. I nodded, not trusting myself to answer. My resolutions didn’t matter. His voice melted me. I just hoped I wouldn’t leave a wet spot on the seat.

Being on stage with him was torture. Fortunately, after repeating the opening interaction a few times, he exited stage left and we moved on to Blanche’s entrance. Helen fluttered onto the stage, looking shocked and uncertain.

I asked her what was the matter, trying hard to put the lilt of the South into my voice.

Helen’s accent, speaking Blanche’s famous first lines about, “a streetcar named Desire,” would make you believe that she’d grown up in Louisiana instead of in Knightsbridge. I felt humbled but incredibly impressed. She was an inspiration.

The play caught me up in its magic. I forgot about Geoffrey, at least most of the time. It wasn’t too difficult, because he wasn’t paying any kind of special attention to me, the neighbour woman Eunice. He was in love with his wife and pissed off at her ever-so-refined sister Blanche. He was Stanley Kowalski, through and through, rough and urgent, proud and needy. He was close to perfect.

And this was only our first rehearsal.

Arthur called out for sandwiches at noon, not wanting to break too long and lose the momentum. I took my ham and cheese out to sit on the back steps behind the playhouse. I didn’t feel like socialising.

To my left was the dormitory building. The prop and costume sheds were to the right. Straight ahead, beyond the fence, brilliant green fields stretched towards the purple hills. If I listened carefully, I could hear the lowing of the cows.

“Mind if I join you?” Geoffrey settled himself on the step beside me, not waiting for permission. He didn’t touch me, but I found myself drowning in his scent.

My sorrow and anger evaporated, burned away by searing desire. I stared at my lacquered toenails, not trusting myself to speak.

“Are you all right, Sarah?” Ah, that tone of concern. If only he were sincere.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep all that well last night.”

“Neither did I,” he confided.

I glanced up, surprised. There was no mockery in his expression. “Oh really?”

“I kept thinking about you, little one.”

I thought my heart would jump out of my throat.

“Um—I was thinking about you too—sir.”

“I know you were. I was so aware of you, only a few doors down the hall from me. I could almost hear your heart beat. I wanted to snatch you from your room, carry you off and tie you to my bed so that you could never get away.”

His rich, nuanced voice excited me almost as much as his words.
Why didn’t you
? I wanted to scream. I kept silent, painfully conscious of his eyes boring into me.

His finger traced the outline of my lips. I held my breath, afraid to break the spell.

“How is your ass? Still sore?”

“Not really. Yesterday it hurt a bit, but today I’m pretty much back to normal.” Right. If you call wanting to be bound, beaten and fucked to a quivering pulp normal.

“Would you like to visit me tonight?”

“It’s up to you, sir. If you want me, I’ll be there.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. I remembered the creamy strands of his cum decorating Anne Merrill’s portrait and I wanted to refuse, but somehow I couldn’t.

Dimly I heard Arthur’s voice calling us back to rehearsal.

“I want you.” He tweaked my nipple, making me gasp. “Midnight.”

He disappeared into the building, leaving me sitting there in a puddle of my own making. He didn’t even bother to wait for my assent.

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I told myself over and over I was making a mistake. I was usually so rational and disciplined. Why couldn’t I stop myself from doing whatever Geoffrey Hart ordered?

It wasn’t just curiosity or the novelty of his kinky games. He touched me, somehow, in a new way. That first night, I’d felt some kind of magic and I wanted it again. I knew, instinctively, that I could trust him. He’d teach me, he’d take care of me, and he’d never judge me. The submissive slut that I became in his presence didn’t disgust him. Far from it. He wanted to see me let go. He wanted to show me who I really was—his eager, willing slave.

The evening performance of
Fiddler
ended around ten thirty. It took me twenty minutes to remove my costume and make-up. Back at the inn, I set my alarm for eleven forty five, just in case I fell asleep again, but I didn’t need it. I’d never felt so alert.

I knocked on his door precisely at midnight. This time Geoffrey answered in person.

He wore a robe of some shimmery material that looked like silk, twilight blue woven with patterns of gold. His feet were bare. His eyes were hungry.

“Come in, little one,” he purred, stepping aside so that I could pass. “You’re very punctual. I gather you’ve learnt your lesson.”

“Yes, sir.” I didn’t know what else to say. I stood in the middle of the room, eyes cast down and hands clasped in front of me like a schoolgirl about to recite. I couldn’t bear to look at him; I was sure I’d lose control and do something without his permission.

“So you don’t want another spanking?” he laughed.

A wave of heat sizzled through me like summer lightning. I wanted his hands on my flesh—I didn’t care about the pain.

“It’s your choice,” I whispered. “Spank me if you want to.”

“Not tonight,” he replied. “For tonight, I have other ideas. Look at me, Sarah.”

I raised my head. He snared me with his eyes and wouldn’t release me. As usual under his scrutiny, my nipples tightened and my pussy wept. He seated himself on the sofa, still holding my gaze, and crossed one leg over the other.

“Now strip.”

Shame overwhelmed me. I didn’t understand it. I’d been naked in his presence the night before last. He had explored my body, inside and out. Why was I blushing and sweating now?

I wanted to obey him, to please him. Truly I did. Yet I couldn’t move.

“Sarah?” he queried, impatience evident in his voice. “Is there a problem?”

Suddenly I understood my reluctance. It was all about her. I knew that I couldn’t compete. I glanced around, searching for her photo, not seeing it anywhere. Perhaps it was in the bedroom, where he could fall asleep gazing upon her beauty…

“Sarah!” His rebuke brought my eyes back to his. “If you’re not going to follow instructions, you might as well go back to your room.”

“Oh no! Please don’t send me away. I’m sorry.”

I rushed to unbutton my blouse, not caring whether I was graceful or seductive. His scowl relaxed as I bared my breasts, my eager nipples all too obviously erect. His lips shaped themselves into a half-smile as I yanked off my skirt and tossed it away. That was all it took. I hadn’t worn a bra or panties for two days.

“Good girl. Why did you hesitate?”

“I—um—I didn’t know whether you’d like me. Whether I’d please you. My breasts are so small…”

“Your breasts are just fine. Anyway, it’s not your place to worry about such things. When I tell you to do something, just do it. Don’t question, obey.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” A tiny part of me wanted to protest, to complain, to rage against him for using me to dull his desire for his true love. Then he flicked his robe open, revealing his rampant erection. Any thought of resistance vanished. I wanted to be used.

“Kneel,” he commanded. “Suck me.”

I bruised my knees in my hurry to comply.

His cock rose proudly from its thicket of black curls. It bobbed in my face, the fat olive shaft ropy with veins, the livid bulb reminding me of a ripe berry. My mouth watered. His rich, musky smell swirled around me, making me hungry. Taking a deep breath, I bent to the task he had assigned me.

I swirled my tongue around the tip, then trailed it along his length. His skin was silk stretched over granite, salty and smooth, unutterably delicious. Moisture seeped from the slit. I gathered it with my tongue, savouring the slight bitterness.

“Not so delicate, girl,” he growled.

He seized my hair and pulled my face to his crotch. I stretched my lips wide, trying to accommodate his bulk. With a grunt, he rammed his swollen penis down my throat. I choked, suddenly unable to breathe.

Sensing my distress, he backed off. I gulped air into my lungs. He waited until I opened my mouth as wide as I could before he plunged back in. This time I was ready. I relaxed my muscles and allowed him to thrust against my palate. He pulled back then drove his rod back in, deeper than before.

I tried to suck, to stimulate him with my teeth and tongue, but he was in control. All I could do was open myself and let him take me. He fucked my mouth with the same fury that he’d used on my pussy. It was glorious. I was the vessel of his pleasure. I wanted nothing more.

He held my head and jerked his cock in and out of my mouth. Saliva dribbled out the corners of my lips. Each stroke buried my nose in the fragrant nest at his root. I sensed the tension building in him, power rippling up his shaft.
Please, master
, I silently begged.
Let me taste you.

He granted my prayer. His cock convulsed against my tongue and flooded my mouth with his warm cum. It flowed and flowed—I swallowed what I could, finding it sweet and slightly chalky—but some spilt down my chin and onto my breasts.

When the flood ebbed, he withdrew and sat back on the couch. I remained where I was, kneeling before him with my head bowed. I could feel his eyes raking over me. I was acutely conscious of my tangled hair, my saliva-streaked cheeks, the sticky mess drying on my chest. I knew he could see the wetness coating my parted thighs and smell the ocean aroma rising from my pussy.

“What do you have to say, girl?”

I looked up. His X-ray eyes bored into me, through the last layers of pride and artifice. I spoke from my heart.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Thank
you
, Sarah.”

Geoffrey raised me from the floor and pulled me into his lap, then fastened his lips on my bruised mouth. His kiss was like a draught of clear water, profound and refreshing. I melted into him, a deep peace stealing over me. He stroked my hair and traced little circles around my nipples, then licked the droplets of cum from my chin.

“You did well. I know that you’re not used to all this, but you’re learning fast.”

I glowed at his praise. I realised that I was hornier than ever, but somehow that didn’t matter, as long as Geoffrey was satisfied.

“Shall we try something a bit more challenging?” All at once, his voice held that familiar mockery, edged with menace. Fear shivered down my spine. Lust coiled in my belly.

He didn’t wait for my answer. “Come with me,” he ordered, leading me into the bedroom.

A rosy light shone beside the bed—Geoffrey had draped a crimson scarf over the shade—but otherwise the room was in shadow. The luggage rack had been moved in here from the sitting room. It supported the suitcase I had dragged upstairs. With a flourish, Geoffrey flung it open.

“I’m sure that you remember this bag.”

I blushed despite myself.

“I’d be willing to bet you’ve spent some time thinking about it, while we’ve been apart. Am I correct?”

My flush deepened. “Um—yes—a little.”

My tormenter chuckled. “I know that you’re curious. So here’s what we’ll do. I want you to look through my toys and choose the two that you’d most like to try.”

“Oh no! I can’t…” The notion appalled me.

“You must—unless of course you want to return to your room and forget about all this.”

“No…”

“Go ahead, then. Make your choices.”

I crept over to the suitcase and stared inside. Everything was neatly arranged with fasteners and transparent pockets to keep the infernal contents organised yet visible.

“I think of it as my portable dungeon,” Geoffrey commented. “You should see my collection in New York.”

I could hardly make sense of what I saw. I recognised a riding crop, and what looked like a small multi-stranded whip. There were leather restraints of several sizes, garnished with silvery buckles and rings, as well as a pair of steel handcuffs, neatly coiled leather thongs and braided rope. I pointed to a metal bar about two feet long, with clips at either end. “What’s this?” I whispered.

“Spreader bar. To keep your legs apart and make sure that you’re properly—accessible.”

Gingerly, I touched a bulbous device fashioned from some kind of purple plastic. “And this?”

“Butt plug. I have several sizes to accommodate you.”

Terror raced through me. My knees almost gave way. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have that obscene object embedded in my ass.

I nearly came at the thought.

“Choose, Sarah. Time is running out.”

What did I want? Oh, I wanted him to choose, to decide which of these devilish devices he’d inflict on me. I couldn’t make such a decision. I didn’t dare.

Geoffrey was behind me, his hands on my trembling shoulders. “It’s all right, Sarah. You can be honest with me. Tell me what you want.”

I leant back against his lean, strong body. The soft hair on his chest caressed my skin. Lower down, delicious hardness pressed into the small of my back. I swallowed hard.

“Be brave, my sweet.”

“Those,” I blurted, indicating a pair of leather cuffs. “I want you to tie me to the bed.”

“Glad to,” he chuckled, freeing the leather circlets and snapping them onto my wrists. “And what else?”

The blood roared in my ears. I thought I’d faint. I pointed to the butt plug. “That,” I whispered. “Use that.”