Mastered: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender

by Opal Carew

  And she didn’t want to control it. Not in the slightest.

  Chapter Four

  “Konbanwa. Welcome to Twilight Teahouse. Would you please confirm your preference for this evening, Miss Solie?”

  Solie beamed and executed a formal bow. “Yes, thank you, Kuri. I’ll be having both dinner and dessert.” She didn’t bother asking about a reservation, knowing that Burton would have seen to it if he’d told her to be here.

  “Wonderful, Miss Solie. Please wait here. Your table is almost ready. Mina will be along to escort you in a moment.”

  “Arigato gozaimasu,” Solie replied, thanking her hostess in perfect Japanese.

  Kuri bowed and then turned to greet other guests. Her traditional kimono was a gentle swish of purple silk covered with delicate-looking cherry blossoms. Solie was always amazed at how every attendant always had every single hair in place and perfectly coifed. Elegance and class with a dose of kink described Twilight Teahouse perfectly.

  For dinner she’d have a shrimp salad and fresh yellowtail sashimi. If she was brave enough, dessert, would be the St. Andrew’s cross in the far corner of the play space upstairs in the Hall of Mirrors.

  Yes, this place had become her personal crack. Japanese teahouse in the front, and a world-class, well-equipped, totally not-somebody’s-converted-basement dungeon on the upper floors.

  As she stood in the waiting area, Solie looked around. Being here once again brought a mix of giddy anticipation and inner-growly annoyance.

  The last time she’d played here was when one of the area’s premier rope Tops had agreed to give Marcais flogging and rope lessons as a favor to Solie. That Friday night, Solie had gladly been both the rope bunny and the flog bunny.

  Even now, the details of that time started out bright and shiny in her memory, then unrolled themselves like a stained cheap carpet.

  The play had been fabulous. In fact, she and Marcais had gone home and played some more that night, and then did yet another scene on Saturday morning. It had been a wonderful way to begin a weekend and each session had gone just the way she’d hoped. The buzz-like floaty experience had been followed by standing in front of the mirror and admiring the pretty deep purple marks left on her skin.

  A smile played over her lips as she recalled Mac’s words—”Solie, you look like a cinnamon tiger with a rainbow-striped ass!”

  But then Sunday rolled around and Solie had hit bottom. Hard.

  Just as one sometimes experienced subspace, or endorphin rushes, after heavy impact play, Solie found herself living the polar opposite—an endorphin crash, or sub-drop. And she’d “dropped” so deeply into a funky depression, she’d wanted to stick her head out the window and slam it closed on the back of her neck. It was like falling down a deep pit full of spikes…and just never getting to the spikes. When she’d tried to call Marcais, he’d been incognito. Gone. Dropped off the face of the planet. Wouldn’t answer his phone nor return her texts.

  By evening, she’d hit full-blown subby distress, and was completely out of chocolate, damn it. Thank God for Mac and Burt. Those two had come over to keep her company and both were livid by the time Marcais finally got back to her late that night. And Burton was beyond pissed, had even snatched the phone and torn Marcais a new one after Marcais had finally admitted that he didn’t know what sub-drop was, hence his lack of urgency in getting back to her.

  Solie had been amazed. Marcais was the first to ever get her to a place where subspace bliss had occurred. So he was also the first she’d experienced sub-drop with. And though it had been her first sub-drop, she’d at least known what the hell was happening to her and why.

  How did a person just tool around in this lifestyle and not bother to learn how their actions could physically affect the person they Topped? And how had he hidden something so significant as his lack of knowledge for so long?

  He’d lied. Skillfully and often.

  Just…goddammit.

  As the memory rolled through her, Solie recalled her reaction when she’d learned that while she’d been in sub-drop hell, her so-called Dominant had been chatting up one of the attendants right here at the Teahouse. While trying to talk the woman into having coffee with him, he’d used the same cheesy line he’d used on Solie when they’d first met.

  “Are you single or am I too late?”

  Yeah, that.

  She hated the memories of it all, hated that it flashed into her brain as she stood at the threshold of the Twilight Teahouse’s inner sanctum awaiting the man of her fucking dreams. It had only been a month since what felt like the ultimate heartbreak by a world class man-whore, yet a part of her felt like she should be further along. Instead, it was all still so very fresh in her mind.

  Usually she liked fresh things.

  But this? Not so much.

  Solie knew herself. Knew exactly where she stood in regard to her emotional and psychological recovery—she had a long way to go in the mending process. And a trip to the Twilight Teahouse with Burton was the ticket. Or at least the beginning.

  Right then, one of Solie’s favorite service Tops rolled in looking like a decadent breath of fresh air. Rachelle served others by Topping them in the manner they required, and she was damn good at it. Handing her large black duffel off to one of the male attendants, the woman made a beeline for Solie.

  Arms spread wide, she said, “Ah, So-leee, how are jew daaahling? So vunderful to see jew!” The words were full of joy and wrapped in Rachelle’s smooth French accent as she pulled Solie into a fierce hug.

  Solie grinned and tried to answer, but her face was smashed between the taller woman’s breasts. So instead, she simply inhaled Rachelle’s floral light perfume and let the comradery flow over her. After all, the woman offered to castrate Marcais if he ever showed his face at the TT again. Yes, it was good to be back here for sure.

  No surprise that Rachelle knew what Marcais had done. In fact, it may as well have been on the local news considering how many women had come forward after word of his trifling behavior had gone viral. There were too many to count that had either been approached by him or had slept with him. And yes, they’d known about Solie, but Solie hadn’t known about any of them.

  “Well, I knew he was seeing some people, but I was seeing some people too, so I didn’t really think much of it.”

  Which basically meant that that particular bitch hadn’t cared that Marcais was cheating on Solie and had been happy to be “the other woman”. Another had claimed that she and Marcais had fallen so hard for each other and she just loved him so much, and blah, blah, blah.

  Solie hugged Rachelle back as the other woman kissed each cheek and offered some slow-motion castration for Marcais. One thing was certain—good friends with encouraging words, cuddles and chocolate were greatly appreciated at times like this. Take those same friends and add floggers and the occasional paddle, and you had a total god-send.

  Rachelle was skipping dinner tonight and headed directly to one of the banks of private elevators strictly for club members. Moments later she was greeted by yet another club regular, and another.

  Perhaps Mac and Burton were right and she’d truly been missed in the local community?

  As if conjured, Burton’s big warm hand slipped around her waist.

  She turned her head to meet the gaze of the one of the most darkly gorgeous men on planet Earth. And he happened to be grinning at her as if he’d won the lottery. Perhaps, in his mind, he had.

  Body heat radiated through his clothes as he pressed close to her from behind, wrapped his arms around her, and placed a soft kiss on her check.

  “Good evening, beautiful. I love this dress on you,” he whispered in her ear as he discretely traipsed a finger up the spine exposed by the knee-length red and black backless number.

  “I’m glad you like it.” Lord, she was almost breathless just from that simple touch; as this morning’s kisses replayed themselves over again in her mind. Oh man, she had it bad. “You gave it to me for Christ
mas last year, and Mac gave me the matching shoes.”

  He looked down at her feet to the red suede heels, and when his gaze once again met hers, it smoldered until she was sure her panties would catch fire. She’d seen that look before, but it had never been directed at her.

  Burton moved deeper into her personal space, and was almost lip-to-lip when he said, “Baby, those shoes are meant to be airborne. Damn, we have good taste.”

  And they did indeed considering he was dressed impeccably. Black slacks and a black silk pullover knit sweater set off his mesmerizing blues until they shone like jewels. Dark, hard, and a twinkle of a smile made this man number one on the delish list.

  Having Burt’s full attention did funny things to her organs—the damn things just seemed to dance all over the place. And after the recent hell she’d been through, she was happy to let them do the mambo if they wanted to. Why? Because there was one thing she knew—Burton was sincere. If he’d been anything over the years, it was honest. Sometimes brutally so.

  There was quite a line waiting to be seated by the time their attendant arrived a few minutes later.

  “Good evening, Miss Solie,” Mina said. Then she turned to Burt with the same graceful bow and said, “Master Burton.”

  “Good evening, Mina. Thank you for seeing to us this evening.” Burton bowed, then took Mina’s hand and planted a chaste kiss. Solie hid a smile as the hostess blushed and giggled, a bit flustered and put out as she motioned for them to follow her.

  As they were led down the silk-lined hallway and through the thick double doors into the dining area, Solie wondered why it felt so new. She’d been down these same hallways a bazillion times; eaten and played here, even danced and partied here plenty. But tonight, in this moment, it felt…

  She took in a deep breath as the light bulb went on. This was a new chapter in her life, and who better to accompany her on a new journey than an old friend?

  As they walked, Burt’s hand settled on her lower back and her stomach dove down into the soles of her feet.

  Wow. Tummy wiggles and goose bumps? Heh.

  “What are you smiling at, Sols? Looks like you have a secret.”

  “Oh, nothing,” she lied. Burt’s raised brow let her know that he wasn’t buying it, but he was obviously letting her get away with it…for now.

  Once through the main dining-room doors, they stopped at the shoe station, slipped off their shoes and placed them in the little wooden bin with their table number on it. Twilight Teahouse provided traditional tabi socks or slippers for each guest. Tonight Solie chose a pair that matched her dress. Burt followed suit and chose a gray pair of men’s slippers.

  The slippers were so comfortable, Solie almost didn’t look forward to getting her own shoes back.

  Shoji screens separated each booth, where classily dressed people sat and enjoyed their meals. Candlelight cast a romantic glow off the highly polished wooden table tops. The aroma of various teas filled the air, complimenting the scents from the dishes that were being delivered to those who were dining.

  Once at their table, Solie automatically slid into the booth, but not before Burton pressed the sweetest kiss to her lips—a kiss that finished the story his eyes had begun to tell when they met up in the lobby only moments before. It was a tale of possibilities. Very, very good ones.

  They made small talk about their day until the waiter arrived with tea…and no menu. With a bow and a smile, he turned and left.

  Solie looked after him wondering why he hadn’t bothered to take her order. She was dying for some fresh Ahi, damn it. She opened her mouth to call him back, then snapped it shut at Burt’s word.

  “Don’t worry. I ordered ahead.”

  Her pissy side reared its head, but she smacked it back down. She knew what she was getting into the moment she’d accepted his offer this morning. Or at least she thought she knew.

  Besides, this wasn’t anything new. Burton liked to order the food for their table. Always had. Even Mac occasionally let him get away with it and that woman didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.

  “Stop glaring at me and take your meds, Solie. Dinner will be here pretty quickly.”

  She didn’t stop glaring, but she did do as he asked and fished her diabetes medicine out of her purse and gulped it down with some tea.

  He took a sip of water and sat back even as she leaned forward with her arms crossed on the table. The shift in their relationship dynamic was swift and had her tilting her head at a hard right. Add hunger to the mix and you had a less-than-giddy Solie.

  “I thought we were going to talk tonight.” Oooh, she hadn’t meant to snarl, but she was hungry, damn it.

  Like some people were unpleasant drunks, Solie was an unhappy hungry person. In her head, she was like the little old lady she’d seen in a movie. The woman sat waiting for her lunch while her waiter talked on the phone, laughed and cracked jokes with whoever was on the other end. Meanwhile the lady, who was also diabetic, sat and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally she’d tossed aside the entire table, yelled, “Where is my food?!”, and then chased the waiter around the restaurant and finally out the front door.

  “And we will talk. After we eat.” He gave her a moment of silence and simply watched. Too closely. “Are you having second thoughts about being with me? As a friend, I know I can be somewhat bossy.”

  She almost choked and snarfed water through her nose. Somewhat bossy? Really?

  “As a lover,” he continued, “I am even more demanding. But it will work for you.”

  “Really? And why is that?” she asked. A bit of growl still laced the words though she was trying hard to get her hunger-induced annoyance under control.

  “Because what you really crave is to be in service to someone. Don’t interrupt, Solie.” She snapped her mouth shut and reached for the tea pot as if that’s what she’d meant to do all along. She poured quickly and then lifted the small traditional cup to her lips.

  It was so hot she almost burned her mouth off, but no way she’d let him know by yowling.

  “As I was saying, you wish to be in service to someone. But to someone who not only appreciates all that you do, but who gives you a reason to continue doing it. For example, that time when Marcais needed work done on his truck, but the dumbass had no idea how to handle it. You did the research and took care of it. Not because you’re a control freak, but because that’s what he needed.”

  Truth. And nothing but.

  “However, he hadn’t appreciated it. Gave you no reason to continue serving him. I remember that you saved his grown ass several times because of his own stupidity. Bottom line is Solie, he lost your respect a long time ago. He may have known his way around a spanking, but he didn’t know you, the woman.”

  She had nothing to say to that. Couldn’t find a single thing to dispute…and she was trying really, really hard to think of something redeeming about that whole situation. Other than Marcais delivering some really good sex, nothing came to mind.

  How depressing.

  Thankfully she didn’t have to reply because dinner arrived quickly, just as Burton promised.

  And he’d ordered her favorites. All of them.

  By the time she was done stuffing her face, she’d inhaled what must have surely been a bucket-full of fresh Ahi, salmon, yellow tail and prawns, a trough of wakame seaweed salad, and enough pickled mango, wasabi and ginger for ten people. She wasn’t one of those women who didn’t eat when out on a date. In fact, she still had a bit of room and would have kept right on going if Burton hadn’t reminded her that dessert was still forthcoming.

  As soon as the dishes were cleared, Mina returned.

  “Where would you like your dessert served, Master Burton? There are open seats on floor one off to the right of the ankle stocks, and another on the small loveseat near the spanking bench.”

  “Which spanking bench?” Solie asked.

  “The burgundy leather one, ma’am. If you prefer some privacy, the bamb
oo room is also free.”

  Her stomach did a free fall at the thought of being alone with Burt in the bamboo room. There was absolutely nothing in there but a huge beanbag-like chair big enough for literally five people. The reason it was called the bamboo room was because the door that led inside was made of bamboo poles and you could see right inside.

  She’d never taken advantage of that particular space before, other than when invited to watch others indulge. She pictured herself laying in Burt’s arms in a cuddle puddle and felt her cheeks heat. But not because she was embarrassed at all, but because the thought of all that solid flesh pressed against her set a fire down south that might require an extinguisher.

  Suddenly an image of Burton dressed like a firefighter popped into her head.

  Pulling her mind out of the proverbial gutter, Solie turned to Burt.

  He was looking at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her breathing hitched. Burt’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees. A subtle, but very there smile tilted up one side of his mouth. Guess she hadn’t been successful in hiding her reaction over such a little thing as picking a spot for dessert.

  She cleared her throat and asked, “Do you have a preference as to where we have dessert?”

  His words and tone were totally smooth when he replied, “Not really. You choose.”

  And just like that his gaze had her pinned in place. Did he really want her to choose, or was he waiting to see if she would defer to him? It wasn’t something she typically worried about with Burton, but it was a game Marcais played. Often.

  Burt tilted his head. “Solie, you okay, hon?”

  Ripping her gaze away from his deep blues, she simply said, “Yes, I’m fine. Up to you. Lead the way please.”

  And she refused to look at him again until they were seated next to each other near one of the stations where an expert flogger was using a Florentine double-handed technique. He was very smooth and practiced, almost like a martial artist demonstrating how to use a staff or bo. The result of his flogging was even stripes on the back of the women who held onto a pair of large thick rings.