The Master's Exploits: Night One (3 page)

“Tragic,” she agreed, her eyes sparkling.

“But we can go somewhere more private,” I suggested, leaning back in my chair. If my feet brushed against hers under the table when I extended my legs out, so be it. “Just to talk.”

“Just to talk, of course.” Her smile was full of secrets and wicked promises.

“I don’t live far from here,” I said, with a casual gesture. “It’s actually a nice walk.”

The “
yes
” was in her eyes even before it passed her lips.
 

While we walked, I kept my hands in my pockets, making light conversation. Long ago, I’d learned how precarious these moments could be. Too many men assume that once a woman has decided to sleep with you, she won’t change her mind unless something horrible happens. They get nervous, or worse, they get cocky. Sometimes both. They turn into someone completely different from the man she was attracted to before.

I’m always very careful not to let that happen. Madison had grown quiet and cautious, even more so than I was used to. She’d been betrayed before.

Someone she loved wasn’t the person she thought they were.

The pieces were coming together. Instinctively, I knew I’d have plenty of time to work out the rest. Once Madison had a taste, she wouldn’t be going anywhere soon. And me - I was unattached. Even the most casual of submissives had moved on, leaving me with a lot of time on my hands.
 

I had all sorts of wicked ideas for Madison. But the time wasn’t right. Not yet. First, we had to develop trust between us. I needed to learn her limits, and she needed to understand that I would never force her to break them.

It was impossible not to notice the way her lips parted, a slight
wow
escaping her throat as she walked through my front door.
 

“Your place is beautiful,” she said, running her hand absently along the smooth, glassy surface of the entry table. Her eyes lit up as she took it all in, slipping off her heels and letting her toes sink into the plush carpet. She wasn’t wearing any pantyhose. And from the mischievous curve of her mouth, I began to suspect she wasn’t wearing any panties.

I took a step towards her, letting my nostrils flare and my eyes close briefly as I inhaled. The smell of her skin, her shampoo, a sweet perfume, and yes - arousal.

“Did you leave them in the coffee shop?” I asked her, my voice low and teasing. Her eyelids fluttered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, softly.

Smiling, I rested my arm on the wall, caging her into the entryway - but not really. She could have easily brushed past me, but the point was that she
didn’t
. She wanted this. She relished my proximity.
 

“Madison, I know you like me,” I said. “But I’ve never met a woman who would leave her panties at home for the
first date
.”

Her face colored deep red, but she kept her chin high. “And what if I did?”

“You didn’t,” I said. “So where are they? In your purse?”

Her lips thinned. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” she muttered, her eyes dropping down to the floor. I was starting to lose her. Quickly, I reached out, my hand cupping her chin and raising her face back up to meet my gaze.

“And I appreciate the gesture,” I said. “Really, I do. But you can’t keep secrets from a Dom.”

Her eyes softened. “So you never get to be surprised?”

“Of course I do.” I released her chin, stepping back a little. “It’s just seldom pre-planned.”

In spite of her boldness, she made no move to push things any further. That was fine. I wanted to move as slowly as I could, without frustrating her. She seemed content to sit down in the living room, tugging her skirt further down on her thighs before she sat, and keeping her knees very close together. I wondered if she’d spread her legs at my command. Would she resist, or hesitate, even for a moment?
 

But the time wasn’t right.

For a while, talking was all we did. But now that I was no longer in public, I was able to tease her a little more. In the coffee shop, I’d only talked about my bondage and domination scenes. In many cases, there were subs I never even touched. Not skin to skin. There were some I barely ever saw in person, giving them orders by phone or text message. Making them feel in control of their day-to-day lives, by controlling them.

Madison was aroused just from imagining me tying her up, or telling her how many scoops of ice cream to eat after dinner. There are some people who don’t ever want to take our relationship further than that. But Madison wasn’t one of them. For her, sex and sexuality were still closely intertwined. She wanted me to dominate her, but she also wanted me to fuck her.

I told her some of my juiciest stories. The subs who had to ask permission to wear clothes around the house. The ones who cooked for me in just an apron and heels. The ones I would tease and tease for days at a time, with my hands and my tongue and my cock, never letting them climax. The way their eyes rolled back in their head, the raw feral screams that came ripped out of their bodies, every muscle taut and straining when I finally allowed them to come. With proper training, I told her, a submissive would actually be
unable
to climax without my permission.
 

Her eyes were glassy when I finally stopped, and turned the tables on her.

“So tell me, Madison,” I said, leaning forward in my armchair that was opposite the sofa where she sat. “What’s the one thing you always wanted, that no one’s ever done for you? The fantasy that keeps you awake at night?”

She hesitated, but not because she was unsure of her answer.

I waited, patiently.

“I want to be afraid,” she said, finally, the words coming out in a rush. “Not...not terrified. Nothing like that. But for just one second, I want to be afraid. I want to be unsure of what’s coming next.” Her eyes locked with mine, beseeching me not to judge her. “Every man I’ve ever been with, I always felt safe. Every moment of every encounter,
safe
. Like being wrapped up in a warm blanket. But when ‘safe’ is the only thing you know, it’s meaningless. And worse than that, it’s boring.”

She took a deep breath, shifting in her seat. “I don’t want to be
un
safe,” she said. “But...”

“I understand,” I assured her, smiling. “And trust me, there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting that.”

Madison swallowed audibly. “Thank you,” she said, her voice slightly faint, like the effort of unburdening her fantasies had taken something out of her.

I tilted my head slightly. “Do I frighten you, Madison?”

Some of the color came back into her lips as she smiled. “A little,” she admitted. “That’s why I’m here.”

It’s a delicate thing, learning to be at peace with someone else’s fear. When I was younger, I might have scrambled to reassure her. I would have been unable to accept the idea of someone feeling less than one hundred percent comfortable with me. But I’ve learned a lot since then. So I just smiled.

“What are you afraid of, Madison?”

Her hands were clutched so tightly, resting in her lap, that her knuckles and fingertips had gone white. “I’m afraid because I don’t know what you’re capable of,” she murmured. As she spoke, her eyes drifted all over my face, my body. Drinking me in. “I really don’t know you at all. I’m afraid you’ll tie me up in a room, blindfolded, and I won’t know where you are, or what you’re going to do to me.”

I rubbed my thumb and forefinger together, absently. Her eyes locked on my hands, watching the muscles in my forearms move ever-so-slightly. I’d worn my sleeves rolled up. Always do, for a casual date. And it was working. She was picturing those muscles flexing in all sorts of ways, while I fingered her, while I wrapped my hand around her throat, just enough to remind her who was in charge. While I worked and knotted the ropes around her delicate wrists. She was imagining everything.

“Do you use safe words?” she asked, finally, her voice very faint. She cleared her throat.

“Sometimes,” I said. “In my scenes they’re seldom necessary.”
 

“What do you mean?”
 

I interlaced my fingers loosely, letting them hang between my knees as I rested my forearms on my thighs. She was watching me carefully as I spoke. “I mean, as far as I’m concerned, ‘no’ means ‘no’ and ‘stop’ means ‘stop.’ If the play is going to involve a ‘no’ that doesn’t mean ‘no,’ then that’s negotiated beforehand. Safe words are necessary. But I only play like that with submissives who ask for it.”

She looked a little bemused.
 
“I thought this was all about you being in charge.”

“Only when someone asks,” I said, smiling. “I don’t wander around the grocery store giving orders.”

“Too bad.” She was grinning. “I’d like to see that.”

“Trust me,” I said. “When I’m in charge, you’ll know.”

And with that, tension crackled in the air again. Her lips parted, eyes darkening as she tried to imagine
exactly
what I meant by that.

But she didn’t have to imagine. She already knew exactly what I was going to do - because she asked for it.

She’d told me what she was afraid of. And she told me that she wanted to be afraid.

I was going to make her tremble.

Normally I’m more cautious with women I’ve just met, but the look in her eyes was intoxicating. I love experienced submissives, the way they slip effortlessly into the role, responding to your every word and movement, like an intricate, well-rehearsed dance. But there’s nothing quite like the first time. Knowing that I would be the first one to see Madison come alive in ways she’d never thought possible...

Well. I wasn’t going to waste any more time.

I stood up briskly, taking the few strides to close the distance between us. She was startled, but she didn’t flinch, just looked up at me expectantly.
 

“Madison, I want you to understand a few things.” In one swift movement, I knelt down on the floor by her feet. Her forehead creased slightly in the middle. She wasn’t expecting this. She wasn’t comfortable looking down at me, but she was going to have to learn. I wouldn’t begin our scene until I was confident that she understood the terms of our agreement, and I had to send the right signals before I began. If I asked her any questions while I loomed over her like I was already her Master, they’d sound like demands. It was crucial that she understand she was still in charge.

She was still frowning a little. I looked up at her, resisting the urge to rest my hand on her knee. To caress her smooth skin, and then slide a little higher. Higher.

Not yet.

I went on. “Like I said, if you say stop, I’ll stop. I don’t want you to hesitate. If it makes you more comfortable, we can agree on a different word.”

“No,” she said, softly. “That’s fine. Stop is fine.”

I smiled gently. “I won’t be disappointed. If things get too intense, just tell me.”

“Okay.” She took a long, shaky breath. “I promise I will.”

“Good,” I said, standing and extending my hand down to her. “Then come.”

I led her down the stairs, slowly, letting the anticipation build. When I pushed the door open, she gasped slightly.
 

“Are you...” Her eyes darted immediately to the St. Andrew’s cross in the center of the back wall, the undisputed focal point of the room - rich, black leather, massive, imposing.

“Not today,” I smiled, darkly, letting my tongue dart out to wet my lips. “I like to take things slow.”

She shuddered, jerking her eyes away from the cross and looking around the rest of the room. The ornate chair caught her interest - looking like an ordinary antique, at first, until you realize it’s specially designed for bondage. The array of whips and floggers hanging on the wall. The plush bed in the corner of the room, partially shrouded in curtains. She took all of this in, all of this and more, her eyes finally settling curiously on two closed doors on the other side of the room.

“What are those?” she breathed, glancing at me, then back to the doors.

“You’ll find out,” I promised her, stepping very close, so there was almost no space between our bodies. “When I want you to. Not a moment sooner.”

She looked at me expectantly, biting her lower lip. Waiting for orders.

“Take off your shoes,” I told her. “Place them by the wall, over there, and then come back and kneel on the floor where you’re standing now.”

I pointed to the spot just next to the St. Andrew’s cross. She stepped out of her high heels and carried them over, hanging from the tips of her fingers, placing them carefully on the plush carpet and then walking back as I’d told her to. She knelt, delicately, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.

Taking a silk blindfold down from the shelf, I unfolded it in front of her, making a show of it. She swallowed hard, her fingers digging into the carpet.

“Are you going to train me?” she whispered, as I came close and kneeled down behind her. I saw the goosebumps rise on her skin as the silk covered her eyes. “Isn’t that what you call it?”

“It is,” I said, letting my fingers brush against her cheek. “But no. Not today. Not yet.” I rested my hands on her shoulders, gently at first, then digging my thumbs into spots on either side of her shoulder-blades where nearly everyone carries tension. She had knots, all right, big firm ones that didn’t want to yield under my fingers. She moaned softly, letting her head drop forward.

“When you’re with me, I’ll always take good care of you,” I said. “Always.”

A few minutes later, when she was relaxed, I stood up and stepped away. Immediately, her head jerked up and she turned it slowly from side to side, as if she were hoping to pick up some sense of where I’d gone. But I was completely still, far enough away that she couldn’t hear me breathing.
 

“Hello?”

Right then, I could see the realization as it struck her. She didn’t even know my name.

A moment later, her shoulders relaxed again.

“Sir? Are you still there?”

Standing there, watching her, I couldn’t help but smile.

She somehow instinctively knew that it would be presumptuous to call me Master. She’d chosen an honorific that made sense, with only a moment’s hesitation. Without having to be told.