Master Me (7 page)

Geoff’s gleeful laugh rang through the room. I sank to the floor, wishing that I could disappear.

“Whatever you want, my pet.”

I don’t remember the details of how he bound me. I was in some sort of swoon of terror. The next thing I knew I was on my belly, a pillow wedged under my pelvis, my arms stretched to the edges of the mattress. I guess he must have threaded some rope through the rings on my restraints and passed it under the bed frame.

My cheek pressed against the coverlet, I watched him bustle about the dim room. He dragged the vanity stool over to the bed and sat beside me.

“How are you, little one? Are the bonds too tight?”

I shook my head, still too embarrassed to speak.

“How do you feel?” His tone of voice made it clear that he expected a reply.

“Helpless,” I said finally. “And horny.”

“Good. That’s how you’re supposed to feel.” He trailed his fingers across my bare buttocks, tracing little spirals.

My pussy spasmed, leaking my juices onto the pillow.

“You have a lovely ass, Sarah. I really enjoyed spanking you the other night.” He gave me a sharp pinch then smoothed the pain away, stroking and kneading.

I found myself relaxing under his magical touch. I drifted, enjoying his attention. When he parted my rear cheeks, however, I jolted awake.

Geoffrey brushed a fingertip across my anus. “Are you a virgin, Sarah? Has anyone ever fucked you in the ass?” He pressed against the clenched knot.

Panic made me jerk against the bonds. I felt something warm and slippery spill along my crevice. “No! Don’t!”

“You’d refuse me?”

I was silent with shame. I’d promised to obey him.

“This was your choice, little one. This is what you wanted.” He spread the lubricant around my hole, then worked his finger into the ring of muscle.

“I’ve changed my mind…Oh…oh!”

His wriggling set up lewd vibrations in my clit. The farther he intruded, the more intense the sensations became.

“Too late.”

I felt myself stretch as he pushed a second finger in next to the first. I gasped as a miniature climax exploded deep in my cunt.

“Oh…oh…”

“I’d guess from your tightness that I’m the first to ever take you here.” More fingers, pushing deeper inside my most private place, working me open.

“Oh, sir! Please…” I was empty for a moment as he removed his fingers. Then the oiled bulk of the plug pressed against my hole.

It just wasn’t possible for that enormous thing to enter such a narrow passage. He exerted a steady pressure, though, and I felt the tip breach my sphincter. He twisted, screwing the infernal object into me. It began to hurt, my poor virgin tissues stretched to the limit. At the same time, my clit throbbed and another climax simmered in my soaked pussy.

“Relax,” Geoffrey murmured close to my ear as the unrelenting invasion proceeded. “Breathe. Let me in.”

His voice was hypnotic. I wanted to obey. I remembered the lightness and peace that followed the pain of his spanking. I wanted that again.

Geoffrey must have sensed my surrender. He gave a sharp push. The plug popped into my rectum. I moaned, mortified by the sensations coursing through me, the fullness of the plug expanding inside me, the overwhelming urge to expel it.

“Good, very good. Let go, little one. Don’t fight it.”

He stroked my buttocks, then wriggled the plug. Delicious, obscene pleasure claimed me. The flicker of pain at my stretched entrance only added to the stew of sensation. The movements of the toy made my clit sputter and ache. The pleasure sparking in my cunt made the plug feel better—or worse. I could hardly tell.

My master left for a moment while he rummaged in the suitcase. The feelings built with each breath.

“I decided to choose a favourite toy as well,” he chuckled. His well-manicured hand gripped the riding crop.

He didn’t give me time to comment. The crop whooshed through the air and landed a stinging blow on my right cheek. In some dim corner of my mind, I knew that it must hurt, but somehow the pain just turned up the heat. He slashed at me again. I clenched down on the plug and ground my swollen pussy against the pillow. The next stroke sent me over the edge, spiralling into sweet oblivion.

Geoffrey was still beating me when I recovered. “Good girl,” he breathed, as the crop whistled and my ass burned. “Take it in. Let it out.”

I felt another orgasm coiling inside. Let it out, he had said. He had given me permission.

Just as I was about to explode, though, he stopped. I felt the bed shift from his weight as he climbed on and straddled me. Even through the haze of pain and pleasure, I rejoiced at the feeling of his taut thighs gripping my hips.

“Time for the real thing,” he said, and popped the plug out of my ass.

My ass gaped, open and abandoned. I cried aloud in my disappointment. Then I was full again, as he slid his greased cock into my bowels.

He wasn’t as thick as the plug, but he was much longer. His ripe flesh felt far better than the inanimate toy. He moved with a smooth, steady rhythm, filling me up then drawing back until I was almost empty. With each thrust, he delved deeper, taking possession of me. I yielded gladly.

“You’re so tight, little one—so hot. I could fuck you all night. You love it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, arching to take him deeper, wanting it to last forever. “I love it…”

He drove in and out, reaming me like the slut that I was. I rocked on the pillow, meeting him stroke for stroke, taking everything he had to give. I felt every muscle as he clutched and thrust and withdrew, again and again. I knew he felt me, too, the fluttering of my stretched tissues embracing him, the building heat.

I knew when he was about to come. I heard the change in his breath. I felt him swell and harden.
Yes
, I thought as he groaned and ground his cock into my butt.
Yes, my love. Yes.
It was joy, as much as physical pleasure that sent me spinning into my own climax.

Afterwards, he held me for a long time. I cuddled against him, my head on his chest, soothed by the regular beating of his heart. We didn’t speak. I felt closer to him than anyone I’d ever known. I couldn’t believe we’d met only days before.

I wanted to talk to him, to tell him how much he meant to me. I didn’t dare.

Darkness leached out of the sky. Dawn was not far away. Geoffrey seemed to be asleep.

I tried to extricate myself from his embrace. He clutched at me, his eyes still closed.

“No, don’t go…”

“I’ve got to get least a couple of hours of sleep.”

“No!” His eyes sprang open. “Oh—it’s you, Sarah.”

My heart turned to lead. “Of course. Who else? Don’t you remember—last night?”

Geoffrey’s lips curled into one of his infuriating smiles. “Indeed. Last night. You were quite the slut, girl.”

“Your slut,” I reminded him.

“My slut,” he agreed. “I’m very pleased with you, Sarah.”

I guess he was too tired to notice me blinking back tears. That wasn’t at all what I wanted him to say.

I was so groggy at breakfast that I could barely keep my eyes open. I poured myself a huge mug of black coffee and snagged a muffin from the buffet, then went to huddle in a corner seat. My rear hole felt loose, gaping open. My lack of panties made the sensation all the more embarrassing.

I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to think. However, I couldn’t stop Adele from bouncing in and installing herself in the chair next to me.

“How are you, Sarah?” she asked, her green eyes sparkling.

“Fine,” I replied automatically.

“You look tired. But then I’m not surprised…” She could barely contain herself.

I gave her a sharp glance. “What do you mean?” The caffeine was starting to work. I was beginning to worry.

“I heard you,” Adele whispered. “Last night.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on! I’m your friend, remember? I heard your voice, coming from Geoffrey Hart’s suite. You can’t deny it.”

I didn’t have the energy to lie. I just nodded. “So?”

“So how was it? I want all the details. Did he do anything—kinky?”

I remembered the suitcase, the butt plug, the crop. “Not really.” I searched her face. Behind her prurient interest, I saw real concern. All at once I needed to talk to someone about Geoff and what he did to me, even if I couldn’t tell the whole truth.

“He’s special, Adele. Smart and strong and sexy—he made
me
feel special. It was—amazing.”

“Wow!”

“I’ve got to watch myself. I think that I’m falling in love with him.”

“I’ve heard that he has that effect,” my friend confided, “leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. You shouldn’t let yourself get too serious about a summer fling. Just enjoy it.”

“You’re right. I’ll try. But it’s hard…”

At that very moment the subject of our conversation sauntered into the dining room. One look at Adele and me with our heads huddled together and Geoffrey clearly knew something was up. He served himself a cup of tea, a boiled egg and some toast and seated himself on the other side of me.

“Good morning, ladies. How are you?” He oozed charm.

Adele’s cheeks grew pink. “Good morning,” she gushed. “I’m fantastic, thank you very much.”

“And you, Ms Gladstone?” There was that mocking tone, teasing me, making me weak.

“Adele knows about us, Geoffrey.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “I told you that you should be quieter! But never mind. That’s just fine. I had been thinking that it was about time for me to claim you publicly.”

He slipped one arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a robust kiss. I tried unsuccessfully to keep it decent. His tongue wormed its way into my mouth and tangled with mine. After a moment, I gave up any resistance and let his scent and taste carry me away the way it always did. His hand cupped my breast. I was bra-less under my blouse, as he required. One finger flicked over my jutting nipple, sending bolts of electricity racing to my pussy. I jerked in his arms as the pleasure struck deep.

When he finally released me, I was breathless and damp and Adele’s eyes were like saucers.

“From now on, I want everyone to know that you’re my girl.”

I was grateful he didn’t say, “my slut.”

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I managed to croak. “I am.”

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It didn’t take long for everyone to view Geoffrey and me as a couple. Adele told me that cast relationships were pretty common in summer stock. In fact, once she saw that Geoff was taken, she hooked up with Harry, the bespectacled, intense grad student who was our prop-master.

Geoff and I didn’t spend every night together. He told me that I needed time to recover from our sessions, and he was right. That didn’t stop me from wanting him all the time. I lived in a sort of dream world, constantly aroused. I could hardly remember what it had been like to wear panties and have a dry pussy.

Each time we met, Geoff pushed me further. I came to know the bite of those silvery clamps constricting my nipples, and the agony of the blood rushing back when they were removed. He introduced me to his flogger and his paddle. One night he shackled me hand and foot to the headboard and drizzled hot wax onto my breasts and belly. Another evening, he blindfolded me then stroked me with various articles, making me guess their identity. Every incorrect answer earned me three lashes from the crop.

He kept up the psychological pressure too, forcing me—inviting me—to share my darkest fantasies. We’d sit in his bed while he toyed idly with my pussy and grilled me about my reactions to public punishment, group sex and knife play.

After a week or two, he moved our games out of the bedroom. I never knew when he’d come up behind me backstage, raise my skirt, and wiggle a finger into my ass. Keeping his promise, he had his chauffeur drive us to Boston for a shopping trip. I spent practically the entire trip with his cock in my mouth and returned with a black satin corset and a red lace garter belt. When the theatre had its Fourth of July picnic at Lake Mansfield, he dragged me into the woods, tied me to a tree, and fucked me within fifty feet of the beach and the barbecue pits.

He was outrageous, unrelenting, insightful. He knew what I wanted before I knew, myself. Usually he’d make me ask—no, beg—for it. Even when drunk with his own power, though, he was never cruel. He let me come at least as often as he did. He praised my willingness, my endurance and my honesty. Without being told, I knew that I pleased him, but he didn’t hesitate to say so.

Never, though, did he say he loved me.

As for me, I tried to live in the now and not worry about the end of the summer. It wasn’t too difficult when I was in his presence. Lost in submission, in thrall to his will, I found that time had no meaning. Had he been beating me for minutes or hours? I couldn’t tell. Alone in my room, however, I ached and cried, berating myself for my susceptibility. But how could anyone not fall in love with Geoffrey Hart?

All in all, if I just kept my mind on the present, I was happy. After all, my master enjoyed and appreciated me. What more could I ask for?

We opened
Streetcar
to universal acclaim. We had people coming from Boston, New York, even D.C. to attend performances. Each night, looking on as Eunice the neighbour, I marvelled at the way Geoff inhabited Stanley Kowalski. With his confidence, strength and earthy sexuality, Geoff was born to play the part. When he bellowed, “Stella!”—when he swept up Adele and carried her offstage—I was as thrilled as anyone in the audience. Even more, perhaps, because I knew first-hand the way it felt to be cradled in those powerful arms.

I was offstage at the start of Scene Seven, watching the action. Stella was decorating the table for Blanche’s birthday. Stanley had dug up some dirt about Blanche’s past. He was bitter and sarcastic as he gloated, while Stella defended her sister. I shivered. I wouldn’t want to face that kind of rage.

“He calls her, you know.”

I started and whirled around to find the source of the hoarse whisper. It was Jack, costumed as the unfortunate Mitch.