The master, p.8
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       The Master, p.8

         Part #8 of Submissive series by Tara Sue Me
 

  She was still smiling when he removed the blindfold. Her first sight was his own smile.

  “You did it,” he said. “Wonderfully and without penalty. I’m so proud of you.”

  Holy fuck, what that smile did to his face. He was so gorgeous it hurt.

  “Thank you, Sir,” she managed to get out.

  “So, what will it be for your reward? What do you want? If it’s within reason, it’s yours.”

  His lips mesmerized her. They were full and so sexy-looking, and when he smiled like he was, her heart skipped a beat.

  The words rushed out before she could stop them. “A kiss, Sir. I want a kiss.”

  He froze. “A kiss?”

  She could have kicked herself. He’d been so happy and pleased with her. Now he was looking at her like she’d lost her mind.

  She looked at his shoes. “It’s okay, I mean, you don’t have to. I under—”

  “Stop, Sasha.”

  Silence surrounded them and then he softly said, “I’m going to touch you.”

  His hand gently cupped her chin and when he lifted her head, she found him staring at her mouth. His thumb traced her bottom lip as if asking a question. He was so silent, she knew he was thinking of a polite way to tell her no. How could she have blurted out something so stupid? She hoped this didn’t make things uncomfortable between them.

  “Oh, Sasha,” he said, his thumb sweeping her bottom lip one last time, and he lowered his head so his lips lightly brushed hers.

  She couldn’t hold back the low moan that escaped her throat.

  He whispered a curse and then his lips were back on hers in a crushing kiss that took her breath away.

  His lips were more than full, they were rough and demanding. His arms came around her and he pressed his hips into hers so she felt his sizable erection.

  It was more than a kiss. It was a claiming, it was a command, and more than anything, it was an assurance. She could still feel desire and want and need for a man. A Dom, even.

  He parted her lips and she tasted mint. She needed more, wanted more of his touch. She wanted to know what he meant when he said he required much from his sexual partners. He was everything she craved and even though he carried about him a hint of danger that should have scared her, it didn’t.

  One of his hands left her hip and inched up her body, bypassing her breasts and coming to rest behind her head. His fingers dug into her hair, holding her to him while he took what he wanted. He moved half a step closer, eliminating any remaining distance between them.

  She had to touch him, had to. She put her arms around his waist and pushed ever so slightly against his ass, hoping to feel more of his cock. She gasped. Damn.

  His hips jerked and he pulled back with a groan. She kept her head down and didn’t dare look at him. She knew that once she did, she’d only see regret in his eyes and couldn’t face that yet. But he spoke her name and when she looked up, she only saw his desire for her.

  “I won’t apologize,” he said in a voice that was several degrees hoarser than before.

  “I would hope not, Sir. It’s what I asked for.”

  He didn’t smile. “So you did, little one. But I think it’s for the best we don’t do that again.”

  • • •

  She tried her best not to dwell on the kiss. After all, what was one kiss? She’d been kissed hundreds of times. What was it about his that should make it so special? Was it because it was the first she’d had after Peter?

  Deep down she knew better.

  Even if she told herself that and believed it for the shortest moment, twice a day, her body proved her wrong. After she inserted the horrible plug, she’d situate herself on her back, reclining in her bed. Her eyes would close and as she relaxed, she’d let her knees fall apart. And though each time the fantasy was different with regard to what they did, one thing was consistent—when she arched her back and panted with the pleasure of release, the only thought in her mind was Cole Johnson.

  She decided to leave that part out of her journal.

  On Saturday afternoon, he met her at the shop as she and Julie were closing.

  “Afternoon, ladies,” he said, looking devilishly handsome in a worn pair of khakis and a blue T-shirt that emphasized his biceps and brought out the blue hues in his eyes.

  “Hey, Cole.” Julie picked up her purse and dug through it, pulling out her keys. “You two off to somewhere fun?”

  He hadn’t told her where they were going, only that he would pick her up at closing. Deciding to tease him a bit, Sasha looked up at him. “I don’t know, he hasn’t told me where we’re going. Are you taking me somewhere fun?”

  His eyes traveled over her and instead of answering he replied with, “Sasha, you look lovely. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress before.”

  “Thank you.” She’d spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find something to wear and had pulled the dress from the back of her closet.

  Julie snorted, but thankfully didn’t say anything about how rare it was for her to wear a dress. “Bye, guys,” she said and headed out.

  Cole stood by Sasha’s side while she locked up and then led her to his waiting car.

  “Today,” he said, opening the passenger side door for her, “I’m taking you to do one of my favorite things.”

  Her mind raced, trying to imagine the possibilities. He didn’t say anything else as they drove out of the historic district. She tried to think of possibilities for his favorite things, but she was at a loss and didn’t even know where to start.

  Now, one of her favorite things had to be kissing him, even after just their one kiss. But she doubted they were going to do that. Especially since he made an ordeal about it not happening again.

  She watched him from the corner of her eye. He didn’t seem affected by the kiss. Even in the shop he acted the same as always. It probably didn’t cross his mind after it happened, and she was even happier she hadn’t written all the details of her time with the plug.

  They pulled into the parking deck of a high-end hotel the Petal Pushers did business with.

  “You’re taking me to a hotel?” There was only one thing she could imagine doing in a hotel with Cole, and he’d made it clear earlier in the week that wouldn’t happen.

  “Yes, but not for the reason you think. Today, we’re going to get to know each other by having tea.”

  “Tea?” She took the arm he offered her and walked with him inside.

  “I am an Englishman.”

  “I thought so, considering, you know, the accent and all.”

  He obviously came by the hotel frequently. Almost every employee they passed greeted him with a “Hello, Mr. Johnson,” and he’d reply with a smile and a nod, calling them by name. She didn’t say anything until they got to the hostess, a gorgeous woman who looked her up and down before turning her attention to Cole.

  “Come here often, do you?” she asked as they were led to a window table.

  He flashed his million-dollar smile at the hostess, told her the table was perfect, and held Sasha’s chair out for her. “It’s so hard to find good tea in the Colonies.”

  “The Colonies? Seriously, the war’s been decided for more than two hundred years. Let it go.”

  “My dear, when it comes to tea, I’m never content to ‘let it go.’”

  He was carefree, relaxed, and perfectly in his element as he selected his tea and offered suggestions for hers. They made small talk for a few minutes, stopping only when the waitstaff brought their tea.

  She watched as he prepared his tea and copied on her own. Before too long, they were served tiny sandwiches and pastries. The silence and efficiency of the servers caught her attention, and she mentioned it to him.

  “This is nothing.” He took a sip of tea. “You should see the service exhibited by a full-time slave at high tea. Perfection.”

  Her hands trembled slightly at the thought. Just as quickly, she had a vision of Cole dressed in a three-piece suit, sittin
g at a formal table as she served him tea. She had on a short skirt and while she poured him water, his hand slid up her thigh.

  “Sasha?” he asked, and she realized she’d spaced out for a moment. “Did you have an attack?”

  “No.” She squirmed in her seat. At his continued look, she added, “The opposite, actually.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He didn’t say anything else about it, nor did he mention her slip in calling him “Sir.” In fact, he changed the subject altogether, asking her where she went to college and how she met Julie.

  She went along with the conversation, answering his questions and then asking him about his own education. She knew he’d been at college with Daniel for a while, but knew nothing about his life after.

  He spoke of his hometown in England, his days at Oxford, and how, even though he loved the UK, he now considered the U.S. his home.

  “When did you first get involved in the lifestyle?” she asked as he prepared her a second cup of tea.

  “In Oxford.” He leaned back in his seat. “Was doing a bit of research and supplemented with a little hands-on experimenting.”

  “That sounds quite . . . thorough.”

  “Never let it be said I cut corners.”

  “I don’t think anyone could ever say that.”

  He inclined his head in response. “How about you, when did you first enter the lifestyle?”

  “In college. One of my boyfriends restrained me . . . during sex.”

  “And you liked it?”

  “Very much.” She was reminded of a conversation she had with Julie not too long ago. “But the bondage isn’t the main reason I stayed, though I do like that part.”

  “What kept you coming back?”

  “Being able to give control to someone else. Knowing he’ll protect me. To just be able to feel for the time I’m with him, knowing that in doing so I’ll please him.”

  “Is that what you were doing the night you were with Peter? Giving him control? Trying to please?”

  For some reason, she didn’t feel the usual tightening in her chest that typically followed talk of that night. Probably because she was in a hotel having tea. Or maybe it was because of who she was talking with.

  “I knew we’d have to discuss it eventually,” she said.

  “Today, we don’t have to discuss anything you don’t want to. But yes, we will touch on it more eventually. Though I’ll remind you, I’m not a therapist. I simply want to help you as you get back into the lifestyle.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Focused on the quiet conversations around them, the faint clinking of china, the aroma of spicy tea.

  I can do this. I am safe. He will protect me.

  When she opened her eyes, she was ready and, across the table, Cole smiled softly. She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

  “Only if you’re ready, little one. It can wait.”

  “He wanted to collar me. No one’s ever wanted to do that before.” A question filled her mind. “How many submissives have you collared?”

  “Only one,” he said almost hesitantly.

  Kate. And there was something else there. Something he wasn’t telling her, but now wasn’t the time to ask about it.

  “I wanted,” she started and then paused. “I wanted to mean that much to someone. I’d been a submissive for six years and never worn anyone’s collar. Do you think that’s bad?”

  “I think it’s a big step to wear someone’s collar. The fact that you haven’t found the right Dom isn’t a reflection on you. It just shows you’re holding out for the right one.”

  “And I jumped too quickly when I thought I found him.” And she would carry the scars of that poor decision for the rest of her life. Literally, she added with a snort, thinking back to Cole’s assignment.

  “It’s not a mistake to be wanted,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry the trust you gave wasn’t cared for and cherished the way it should have been. That is a difficult lesson to learn the hard way.”

  He spoke so tenderly it made her eyes water. Even Daniel, when he’d talked with her about that night, had never touched her so deeply with his words.

  “Sasha.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “You are a beautiful woman and you have a sweet, sultry, and sassy submissive nature. If someone hasn’t claimed you with his collar yet, it is not a reflection upon you.”

  She sniffled and rolled her eyes. “Please don’t say it’s because they don’t see how special I am.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “Then what were you going to say?”

  His grip tightened on her hand. “It’s because they know they aren’t man enough to master a submissive such as yourself.”

  She almost laughed at him, but one look told her he was serious. Unfortunately, she had the sinking feeling there was only one man with the ability to master her and he’d already told her he wasn’t interested. She tossed her head. “I’ve been a submissive for six years, I’m willing to bet such a man doesn’t exist.”

  “I wouldn’t make that bet if I were you. You’ll lose.”

  • • •

  When he dropped her back off at her apartment after tea, he’d told her to arrive at the guesthouse on Tuesday after work wearing a conservative dress. She arrived five minutes early and he was pleased to see she’d arranged her hair so it lay flat instead of standing up in spikes like it often did.

  “Good evening, little one.”

  “Good evening, Sir.” Her smile seemed to come easier to her lately. The thought made him happy.

  He motioned for her to enter the house. “I have something planned tonight I think you’ll enjoy. Hand me your journal and go wait for me in the sitting room.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” She gave him her journal and headed down the hall.

  He took the journal into his office and read over her entries about the plug. He made it through all of them, then closed the book and leaned back in his chair. She had completed the assignment, and unlike before, she had done exceptionally well.

  Many of her entries were completed in pencil and the numerous smudges showed exactly how careful she’d been and how many errors she’d caught. Though he’d enjoyed having her recite the dirty sentences, her dedication to improving and working harder spoke volumes.

  He pushed back from his desk and went to find her. She knelt, waiting for him, in the sitting room and he took a minute to watch her. Kneeling appeared to have a calming effect on her. She usually looked so serene as she waited on her knees. What he would like is to have that calm spread to other areas of her life.

  “There was a vast improvement in your assignment this week, little one.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Your effort pleases me.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her cheeks flushed a light pink color.

  “Stand up and come with me,” he said.

  She followed him into the dining room and shot him a questioning look when he pulled out a chair from the head of the table and bid her to sit down.

  “There was a certain look of excitement you had on Saturday when I mentioned a slave serving high tea. The idea of serving tea appeals to you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “There is something almost primitive about the ritual of serving tea. On the surface, it comes across as nothing more than one person pouring tea and offering food to another. And for some, that’s all it is. On the other hand, when done between a slave and Master, it can take on an erotic quality.”

 
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