The Master's Exploits: Night One (4 page)

I waited for a few moments longer. Idly, I wondered how long she would stay there, restrained by nothing but my words.

Finally, I went to the coiled ropes on the wall and picked one of my favorites down from its hook. It was a deep, royal purple - not that she’d appreciate it - but I thought it would contrast nicely against her skin.
 

“How long do we have?” I asked, finally. Her head whirled around in the direction of my voice.

“What do you mean?”
 

“Until your phone rings.”
 

She laughed softly. “My friend should be calling in about half an hour to make sure I’m okay.”

“Are you?” I came a little closer, winding the rope around my hands. I have a bit of an addiction to theatrics, even when my audience is blindfolded. Maybe, just maybe, she could hear the sound of the fibers rubbing against my skin.

Another soft laugh, this one more like an exhale. “Better than okay,” she said. “Much better.”

“All you’re doing is kneeling on the floor. Blindfolded.” Again, I knelt down behind her, watching the way her neck arched ever-so-subtly, drawing her head closer to me. “That doesn’t sound very exciting, does it?”

I was teasing her, and she took it gracefully.

“Not when you put it like that,” she said.
 

Binding her wrists together, firmly but gently, I listened to the rhythm of her breaths, and briefly allowed myself to get lost in them. There’s something hypnotic about rope-work. I wound them higher, up her arms, drawing her shoulders back, turning her into a beautiful, living, breathing work of art.

When I was finished, I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Her chest was thrust forward, her breasts straining at her blouse, and I could see her stiff nipples poking through. One of the buttons across the center of her bust looked as if it might actually give way.

She made a slight whimpering sound.

“Are you all right?” I asked, softly, from my vantage point by the far wall.

“Yes,” she said. “But, it’s just...I feel like my blouse is about to rip open.”

I smiled. “You might lose a button.”

“Can you please...” she wriggled slightly. “It’s just, it’s my favorite blouse.”

“Of course.” Crouching in front of her, I slowly undid the top three buttons, relieving the pressure on the fabric. Inch after inch of porcelain skin was revealed, and the delicate black lace of her bra.

I stepped away after that, waiting for a few more moments. She kept shifting, stretching a little and trying to find a comfortable spot without moving too much.

“Does anything hurt?” I asked, when just enough time had passed that she might suspect I’d left the room. Again, she jerked at the surprise of hearing my voice, turning her face in my direction.
 

“My shoulders, a little,” she said. “My chest muscles. But no, not really. It just aches a little, like...” she stopped, and smiled. “Yoga, or stretching, or something. It’s fine.”

“Good.”
 

I was silent for a little while, until her phone rang, right on cue.

Walking swiftly to where her purse sat in the corner, I dug the phone out and hit “answer.” I held it up to the side of her head, without saying anything.

“Hi,” she said, softly, her lips curving up into a secretive smile. “Yes...yes. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.”

I pulled the phone away and returned in to its home.

Then I went silent and still, for a long time.

Patience is the greatest virtue that a Dom can have.
 

I didn’t look at my watch. That only makes it seem longer. I watched her, like she wanted, silent, like she wanted. I let her imagine. I let her worry.

After a long time, I walked over to the main door, opened it, and closed it again.

She squirmed. She nibbled her bottom lip, she sighed, but she didn’t call out for me. She didn’t say a word.

While I waited, I read.

Her e-reader was in her purse, too. I could have guessed at some of her favorite books based on what she’d told me, but this way, I could go straight to the source.

The first book on her reading list had come out almost a year ago. Either she was late to the party, or it was something she frequently went back to. I was betting on the latter.

I read, and I learned.

By the time I set the e-reader down, my head was swimming with ideas. Most of them, I wouldn’t dream of doing to a stranger. She’d told me she wanted to be afraid, but everyone has their limits.
 

Finally, I went to the freezer tucked away in the corner of the room.

Trust.
 

Trust is central to every BDSM encounter. And trust has to be earned, with time and experience. Madison chose not to
dis
trust me, but that was different. I had to be very careful.

I reached into the freezer and pulled out my weapon of choice.

Making no effort to dampen my footsteps as I approached her, I knelt down quickly and touched the ice cube to her bare chest.

She gasped, then laughed slightly.

“I really thought you were gone,” she said, softly. “I...” She shivered as I traced a wet pathway across her skin. “Ice?”

There was something in her tone. I wanted to grin, but I didn’t let it seep into my voice. “Is that a criticism?”
 

She swallowed. “No, sir.”

“Disappointment?”

“No, sir.”

I pressed the ice cube against a sensitive spot on her neck, and held it here, until she whimpered.

“No lying,” I said. “That’s against the rules here.”

She sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“Disappointed why? Not sadistic enough for you?” I chuckled darkly.

“Well...” She was still nibbling her lower lip.
 

I went back to the freezer.

This time, when I touched her, the gasp was different.

She swallowed hard, her muscles tensing, her breathing quickening. “Wait,” she said. “What is that?”

This time I didn’t bother to conceal the smile in my voice. “It’s exactly what it feels like.”

“But I -”

“I’ve been doing some reading,” I interrupted, pressing the flat of the cold knife against the space below her collarbone. “I know what you think about when no one else is around. I know what you’re afraid to ask for.”

I pulled the blade away, before it had a chance to warm up too much from her skin.

“You like men who leave a mark on their submissives,” I said, turning the knife around. “Maybe someday you’ll ask me to brand you.” I rested the spine of the knife lightly against her chest, mindful to angle the tip away. “Or maybe something else.”

Her breathing got even faster, so that I had to make an effort to hold the knife steady as her chest rose and fell.
 

I pressed gently, drawing the spine of the knife along her skin.

She let out a tiny sound. I knew what it felt like. What she must think I was doing to her. And still, she never told me to stop.

The coldness of the metal tricked her body into feeling the pain of a cut. There are plenty of ways to thoroughly fuck someone, but I’ve always found that the
mind
fuck can be the best of all.

In the back of her mind, she was certain that I wouldn’t cut her without permission. But that didn’t matter. Enough of her mind, enough of her body, was aware of the possibility.
 

I was giving her the fear that she craved.

Her lips parted, each breath coming out in a little, panting moan. She’d surrendered herself completely, and so easily. So elegantly.
 

“You’re a monster,” she breathed, unable to hide the smile twitching at her lips. She needed a little more practice. “What kind of man wants to brand a woman, like property?”

“A very bad man.” Very carefully, I slid the tip of the knife between the blindfold and the side of her head. “And what kind of
woman
wants to be branded, like property?”

“How could I possibly know that?” She sounded defiant. She was slipping into her role a little better.
 

“Because that’s what you want. That’s all you’ve
ever
wanted. To be owned. Tamed. You’ve always known there was something wild inside you that no man could match. No one could handle you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Even in the midst of our game, I was hitting too close to the truth.

“You don’t do anything halfway, do you? You’re fire and ice. Everything about you runs so deep that most men are afraid of you.” I tugged at the blindfold with the knife, but not quite enough to cut it. “But not me.”

And then, with a jerk, I sliced through the blindfold. It fell away, revealing her face, her beautiful pale-blue eyes, wet with tears.

Wet with rapture.

“I’m the one
you
should be afraid of,” I whispered, before I captured her mouth with mine.

She kissed me back, frantically, and when we pulled apart, her eyes stayed locked with mine for a moment before she looked down at her chest. A smile spread across her face as she saw nothing but the faint pink line, quickly fading, where I’d drawn the blunt side of knife across her.

“You’re good,” she murmured.
 

“No,” I said. “I’m very bad. That’s why you’re here.”

Her eyes were wild, her hair coming loose from its bun. I hurried to untie her arms. She’d been restrained long enough. I needed to feel her arms around me, her fingers clawing at my back when I fucked her.

I wanted to bring her to the bed, but as soon as her arms were free she pulled me down onto the carpet, grinding her body against mine. She hooked her leg around my waist, numb to the pain of the blood rushing back into her arms, the aching and tingling of being suddenly freed.
 

I slid my hand under her skirt and to the place she wanted me. My fingers found smooth flesh, and she was wet,
molten
, her cunt clenching and squeezing around my fingers the moment I caressed her. She let out a long, low moan.

Before her thighs stopped trembling, I unzipped and pulled out my cock, stiff and straining. I was lightheaded with wanting her, and when she found me and her fingers squeezed my length, I groaned.

She guided me in. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, her legs wrapping tightly around me as I thrust in deep. She moaned, her head thrown back, exposing her neck and throat to me. I closed my hand around the base of it, not pressing down. Just a gentle reminder.

Her hips tilted up to meet me with every thrust. Gradually our movements became less frantic, and we undulated together, with nothing but the sound of our breathing and the rustling of clothes.
 

This was good. But it wasn’t quite what she wanted. She wasn’t going to say anything, but I knew.

I pulled back, getting up on my knees above her. She let out a small noise of protest, looking up at me with an unasked question in her eyes.

“Get up,” I said, roughly, unbuttoning my shirt. “Get up and undress.”

Moving slowly, on shaky limbs, she pulled herself upright and stood before me, still panting slightly. I was naked by now, my clothes in a pile on the floor beside me. But with the way I was looking at her, I made
her
feel like the naked one.
 

Her eyes cast down on the floor as she stripped off her blouse, sleeve by sleeve, then stepped out of her ruined skirt.
 

I waited for her to look up. It wasn’t my intention to make this too easy on her. For as long as I lived, I’d never forget the look on her face when I touched her with that ice cube. She didn’t want this to be easy. She didn’t want me to be nice.

When she was finally able to raise her eyes, they caught for a moment on the center of my body - taking in the whole view, particularly my stiff prick, still throbbing with want for her, harder than ever. Then, she finally got to my face.

I pointed, silently, to the bed in the corner.

“Hands and knees,” I said.

She didn’t hesitate, assuming the position on the mattress. I knelt behind her and let my fingers run along the smooth expanses of her skin, now displayed to me for the first time. I could have had her naked a long time ago, almost the moment she walked into this room. I was certain of that. But I liked it better this way. Having started with her kneeling in her skirt and barely-unbuttoned blouse, I appreciated this view so much more.

Her cunt lips were pink and swollen, aching for my touch. I leaned down and blew a puff of air on the over-sensitized flesh, and she let out a throaty groan that went straight to my cock.

“Can you come from this?” I asked her, my voice quiet, but commanding. There was a moment of confusion as she hesitated.

“This?” she echoed.

“Penetration,” I said, just letting the tip of my erection bounce against her entrance. She shivered, the incongruously scientific term just making it seem that much filthier.
 

“No,” she said. Then, correcting herself quickly: “No, sir.”

“Good,” I said. “You’re not to come again.”

She cleared her throat. “Until...?”

My hand was resting on one perfect cheek of her ass. I squeezed, tightly, until she let out a quiet whimper. “Are you questioning me?”

“No,” she breathed. “I just...what does that mean?”

I squeezed again, and she whimpered.

“It means that if you feel yourself about to lose control, you have to tell me. If you come, I’ll know. And you won’t like the punishment.”

“Are you sure?” she murmured, pressing back into my hand. God, she was making things difficult. I let out a frustrated sigh.
 

“Don’t push me,” I growled, grabbing her by the roots of her hair and yanking her head up. She moaned as I slid inside her, slowly, up to the hilt. I loved this position, how filthy and primal it could feel under the right circumstances - but also so intimate. And in my experience, most women - especially just after a powerful orgasm - loved it too. A little bit too much, perhaps, considering the order I’d just given Madison.

True to my prediction, when I hit that particular spot deep inside her, the noises she made were positively inhuman. Her whole body shook, her toes curling, and her breaths sounded like sobs.