Yes, Master, page 6
“You are so unbelievably responsive,” he murmured as he tickled that sensitive spot between my inner thigh and pussy. My back arched, tipping my pelvis up, giving him better access to the parts of me that were aching for his touch. “I can smell your need.” He inhaled deeply. I did too. My breath came out in a rough huff, though. His didn’t.
Wouldn’t he just get this over with? Please? Finger me. Fuck me. Do something so I wouldn’t be burning anymore, breathless and on the verge of begging for relief.
My thigh muscles tightened. I stretched them as wide apart as I could. “Please, Tristan.”
“Please? You beg so pretty. So sweet.” He grazed my nether lips with a fingernail then lifted his hand to my mouth. “Speaking of sweet. Taste.” He pushed his finger into my mouth, and I flicked my tongue over it, tasting myself and him. The blended flavors were delicious. I swirled my tongue ’round and ’round, pretending it was his cock. Wishing it was his cock.
He made a growling sound.
With lips pursed around his invading finger, I giggled.
“You’re good at that.”
I’d had plenty of practice. If a girl wanted to keep her virginity, she had to be creative. Before last night, I’d never had sex, but I’d done other things.
He stood, pulled his finger out of my mouth, and instead fondled my breasts, caressing them, weighing them, pinching and tugging on my nipples. Little blades of carnal heat pricked me as he pinched harder. My pussy burned hotter. All I could think about was having Tristan’s hard cock crammed inside of me, stroking away this terrible, glorious need.
He stepped closer, legs straddling my hips. His cock was at roughly face level. The chair I suddenly realized, sat lower to the ground than normal. A droplet of precome shimmered on the very tip. “Suck me.” Without waiting for me to respond, he fisted the base of his penis and thrust his hips forward. The tip of him shoved into my mouth. I tightened my lips, forming a ring around the swollen head, and flicked my tongue up and down, up and down. “Oh yes.” He grabbed hold of my hair, using it to anchor my head in place. Slowly, he moved, forcing his cock deeper into my mouth. I flattened my tongue, a cushion for his cock as it filled more and more of my mouth.
“Damn, how much can you take?” he asked, pulling his hips back until the head popped out of my mouth.
“All of it.”
“All?” His eyes narrowed for a moment. Then that wicked smile I’d come to like so much returned. “Let’s just see about that.” Once again, he thrust forward, fucking my mouth slowly, inch by delicious inch. As he moved into my upper throat, I relaxed it. Deeper, deeper he went, until my lips were circling the base of his cock.
“Good girl. My sweet, good girl. You will get a reward for this,” he growled, his voice husky. “To hell with the training.” He pulled back then surged forward again, testing my control over my throat. I took him all the way, again and again. When he pulled out at last, I was so wet and ready for him my outer pussy lips were slick and the air smelled sweet with my musk. He bent down, kissed me fiercely, tongue dancing in my mouth. Before I’d caught my breath, he was on his knees and had my ankles untied, held high up and wide out, and was shoving his condom-covered cock into me.
Oh, to be full at last.
I moaned. I writhed. I thanked him over and over as he fucked me. His cock stretched me as it slammed in and out, over and over. With each stroke, my body became tighter, hotter, until the pleasure was overwhelming and I thought I might die from it.
“Come for me,” Tristan demanded. “Come now.” He released one ankle to stroke my clit. That was all it took, a couple of soft touches with the pad of his thumb, and over I tumbled, into a morass of swirling, throbbing ecstasy. I felt him still for a brief moment, and then he groaned as he too found release. As he pounded into my spasming pussy, his movements were jerky, abrupt, rough, just shy of too rough, and yet my body responded. I was swept up in another climax, taken by complete surprise. I trembled and shook, my nerves zinging, my muscles clenching. I don’t know how long it lasted, but ohmygod, it was insane.
This was what I’d waited for. Was it ever worth it.
Tristan kissed the top of my head. He was still breathing heavily as he pulled out of me. He discarded the condom and left, promising to return in a minute. True to his word, he came back almost immediately, a damp washcloth in his hands. With my arms still restrained, I sat and watched him gently clean me. Only when he was finished, did he untie me.
“You . . . are doing something to me,” he said as he helped me stand on legs that felt like molten cheese.
“You’re doing something to me too.”
“No. I mean, yes, you do that too. But . . .” He studied me for a moment, peering deeply into my eyes. “I don’t know what it is about you. I have to go. I don’t want to. But I need to get to work.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“You’ll come back. Next weekend.”
“Is that an invitation? Or a command?”
His lips quirked. “Both? I want you, Alice. I want you to be mine. For one weekend. The whole weekend.”
“What does that involve, exactly?” I glanced nervously around the room.
“It involves spending forty-eight hours with me, exploring, experimenting, learning what your limits are and how far you’ll let me push them.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It will be.”
“I’m not sure I completely understand.”
“Come with me.” He offered a hand, and I accepted it. We went back to his bedroom. He went to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and a second later, he handed me a book. “Read this. Then decide.”
I ran my hand over the cover. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why do you do this? You’ve shown me you can enjoy regular sex. What is it about the toys and equipment, that you don’t want to have sex without them?”
He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered why. Was he afraid I was judging him? Did he not know how to answer? “For me, it takes sex to a level far beyond physical. When I am dominating a submissive, we aren’t just connected on a physical level. I am reading his or her reactions, using my mind, I am keying in to his or her emotions too. It’s not only a sensual experience but an emotional one as well. It’s the only way I know how to connect with people.”
I felt a little sorry for him then, at that admission. It was the only way he knew how to connect? Could I help him learn how to connect emotionally to people without the use of chains and manacles? I wanted to.
He pointed at the book, still in my hands. “Read the book. Maybe you’ll better understand then.”
“Okay, I’ll read it.”
He nodded. “Now, get dressed. The plane’s ready. We’ll be leaving in ten minutes.”
Such an abrupt shift. I almost got whiplash. I scurried around, gathering my clothes and redressing. In exactly ten minutes, we were out the door. And within the hour we were back in the air. While Tristan worked on his laptop, his leg leaning against mine—an intimacy I appreciated—I started reading the book he’d given me.
One chapter in, I wondered whether I could handle Tristan Stark and his domination games.
He’d said only one weekend.
But I knew that would be only the beginning.
7
By the following Saturday night at 5:45 P.M., I was still unsure what I would say tonight. A part of me was curious about this domination and submission stuff. It intrigued me. But a bigger part of me was absolutely terrified.
The whips, the clamps, the canes.
I didn’t like pain. Pain didn’t excite me. It made my eyes water. I avoided pain. I’d gotten my ears pierced. A long time ago. But that was the only time I’d ever willfully subjected myself to pain. Well, except for dancing. There was plenty of pain in dancing. Muscles burning, stretching, straining. Feet. Oh yes, the foot pain. But that was different. It was dance. It was art. Expression.
Then again, was it so different?
A knock at the door sent my heart rate into the stratosphere. I checked my watch. Six o’clock. On the dot. It was him. It was time to face him, make a decision.
Oh God.
Please, please make the right choice.
Knowing I couldn’t hide my anxiety, I opened the door. Tristan was waiting patiently, a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in his hands. Orchids, I recognized. Some of the other flowers I couldn’t name. He smiled as he handed them to me. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks. The flowers are gorgeous. I’ll put them in water before we go.” I back-stepped, almost bumping into the box mountain.
His hand shot out, catching my arm, halting me. “No need. They’re packaged in a vessel.”
I unwrapped the paper. The arrangement was even more breathtaking without the wrapping. “Wow. I’ve never seen flowers like these.” I brought them to my nose and inhaled deeply. They smelled like I would expect a lush tropical forest to smell.
“I have a friend who cultivates rare plant species. These are from his private collection.”
“Please pass along my gratitude.” I placed the flowers on my desk.
“Will do. Ready?” he asked, his gaze wandering around our tiny space.
“Please, excuse the mess. We’re getting ready to move.” I repositioned my purse strap, which had slipped off my shoulder. “I’m ready to go if you are.”
“Let’s go.” He motioned for me to head out first. As I passed him, he placed a hand on the small of my back. The touch sent little jitters up and down my spine and made my heart do a few flip-flops.
Why was it that I reacted so intensely to this man? Why not someone else, someone safer? Someone who didn’t want to chain me up and whip me?
Why?
Could it be because he was a little intimidating, dangerous?
More like very intimidating and dangerous.
With Tristan by my side, I click-clacked down three flights of stairs, through the lobby, and down the front walk to the waiting limo. I climbed aboard and settled in for the ride. Tristan sat beside me. He placed one hand on my knee. The other arm draped across the seat behind me. His thumb stroked my skin, back and forth, back and forth. I couldn’t help focusing on that soft touch.
“You’re very quiet tonight. Nervous?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?” His thumb kept moving, back and forth, back and forth.
“This whole thing is scary,” I said, staring down at his hand.
With a fingertip under my chin, he coaxed me to look at him. “Tell me, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it might be too much for me, too intense.”
He nodded but said nothing.
“I read the book . . . most of it. I kind of understand where the submissive is coming from.”
“Could you relate to her?” he asked.
“Sure. But does that mean I want what she has? That I want it all? The whole master-slave thing? That, I’m not sure about.”
“Hmmm.”
“Can we take this thing in stages?” I asked, feeling as conflicted as ever. Sitting here, close to Tristan, I craved his touch, his kiss. But did all those scary things have to come with that? Wasn’t there some compromise we could reach? “Is it all or nothing? Or is there such a thing as Bondage for Beginners?”
“I assumed we wouldn’t dive in to the intense submission, sure. We would take it slowly, test your limits, see what you like, what you don’t like. What I wanted you to understand by reading that book is the overall nature of the relationship. If you decide to move forward with our arrangement, I will be your master for the weekend. I will determine what you eat, when you sleep, what you wear, what you will do and won’t do, and what your punishment will be for making a mistake. Me. Only me. You will have to abide by my decisions and rules.”
My insides knotted at the first sentence, about what I’d eat. Those knots got tighter with every word he said after that. “The same rules as in the book?”
“Yes.”
I recalled a few. Not looking the master in the eye was one. Another was only speaking when asked a direct question. Setting aside the question of wanting this, could I do this? I’d been on my own for a long time. When someone, besides Jenn, tried to tell me what to do, I tended to dig in my heels. “Aren’t those rules a little . . . extreme?”
“The rules exist for a reason. If you would like to experiment, then you must follow them. Without them, the experience won’t be the same.”
“And why would I want to have this experience?” I challenged.
“Because it will change your life.”
He was too certain of that. How could he know for sure? He cupped my cheek. “I have been living this lifestyle for a long time. I can recognize a submissive from across a room. You want this. Don’t let fear stop you.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Have I given you any reason to distrust me?”
“No, but—”
“When I took you into my dungeon, did I push you too hard?”
“No.”
“I will push you. I will force you to stretch your limits and try things you might not want to try. But I will only do so to increase your own pleasure and understanding of yourself.”
When he said it that way, I kind of felt better about it. But . . . “If you are only doing this for me, then what do you get out of it?”
“The pleasure of watching you find ecstasy.”
Did I believe that? I wanted to. Because the alternative, that he got off watching me suffer, was horrifying.
“What if I want you to stop?” I asked.
“Say the word Red, and I will stop immediately. But trust me, you won’t have to say it. I watch, I read your body. I can tell when you can’t take anymore.”
“What if I disagree?”
“Say the word. I won’t gag you.” His thumb caressed my lip. His gaze flicked to my mouth. “Say yes, Alice. Say you’ll be mine until tomorrow night.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. So soft, like a feather. It tickled. Teasing. Tempting. Heat pulsed to my center, between my legs.
“You’re not playing fair here.” My eyelids were getting heavy. And my nerves were zinging and zapping. I wanted him to kiss me hard, not tease me. I reached for him, but he snapped his hands around my wrists and shoved them out to the sides.
“I always play fair. You’ll see,” he murmured.
Once again, he was mighty confident. His assumption that I would say yes grated a little. “Don’t you think you’re jumping the gun?” I hiked up my chin in a show of defiance. My breathless, I’m-about-to-melt voice, however, was working against me.
“Am I ‘jumping the gun’? I apologize.” He released my hands and leaned back, tossing an arm over the back of the seat and regarding me with a cool, composed mien that had my teeth gritting. Here I was, practically panting, my panties sodden, and he was looking calm, cool, and utterly collected. Bastard.
I wanted him to be as desperate with wanting as I was.
The challenge of getting him to that point made the whole arrangement a lot more palatable. “What if I decided I’m more comfortable dominating my partner than submitting to him?” I asked.
“Then I’ll help you find a partner who is looking for a domme.”
Could he really do that? Shuffle me off to someone else? Without a second thought? His voice said he could. His words said he could too. But the dark shadow in his eyes . . . that said something else. I liked what his eyes said much better than the rest of him.
The car rolled to a stop, and I glanced out the window. We were parked outside of a hotel. A fancy one. I gave him a raised brow look.
“Dinner. The cook here is amazing. And we can have some privacy. I reserved a suite.”
A suite. “Okay.” We exited the car, and Tristan escorted me inside. We went straight to the elevators, stopping in front of the one car that went to the top floors. Tristan poked the button, and a little chime signaled the arrival of the car. I stepped in. Tristan followed. The doors slid shut.
“This is a nice place. I’ve never been here before,” I said, filling the tense silence.
“I’ve never stayed here, but I have dined in the restaurant. Quite a few times.”
I couldn’t imagine a life where I could afford to eat at fancy places like this whenever I felt like it. Having spent the last few years scraping together pennies to buy schoolbooks, I considered a cheap pizza to be a splurge.
Once again, my heart sank. We were from such very different worlds, Tristan and I. How could we ever find common ground? How could I expect this . . . arrangement . . . to lead to something stable, long-term? After all, that was what I wanted. Now that I was finished with school, I was ready to start looking for Mr. Right. I wanted to enjoy a few years of marriage before having kids.
What am I doing here?
I was a planner. That was how I lived my life. Tristan Stark wasn’t a part of the plan. Not him. Not his kinky sex games. None of it.
Tristan led me to a closed door at the end of the hall. He pulled a key card from his jacket pocket, slid it in the slot, and opened the door.
I stepped into the fanciest hotel suite I had ever set eyes upon. Absolutely unreal. And huge. We were standing in the living area, a wide open space with contemporary furnishings and a wall of windows overlooking the city. “Wow, this is some place.”
“I was hoping you’d like it, that it might set you at ease.”
It didn’t exactly do that, but it did distract me a little. “I like it, though it wasn’t necessary.”
“I’d rather have privacy during our meal, so we can talk freely.” He collected me from in front of the windows by sliding a hand across my back and around my side. “This way. Our dinner will get cold.”
I let him lead me to the table situated at one end of the room. The lights were low, and soft classical music was playing from hidden speakers. The table was draped in a snow-white tablecloth and set with china. In the center sat yet another beautiful flower bouquet, flanked by lit candles. “I have to give it to you, Tristan Stark. You do nothing halfway.”
