Master Dan

by Natalie Dae

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Master Dan

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-266-5

  ©Copyright Natalie Dae 2014

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright October 2014

  Edited by Sarah Smeaton

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Melting and a Sexometer of 2.

  Marshall Cottage

  MASTER DAN

  Natalie Dae

  Book five in the Marshall Cottage series

  People think I’m the Dominant and Dan is the sub. In reality, it’s the other way around.

  My husband, Dan, enjoyed being naked on his hands and knees, a dog leash around his neck while I paraded him about. People at Marshall Cottage undoubtedly thought I was the Dominant and that he was the sub. Who wouldn’t? Outside appearances said just that. In reality, though, he was the one telling me what to do and how to act. He called the shots. Giving out the wrong impression made Dan horny as hell, while I often wondered whether fooling people meant we were being not only dishonest with them, but with ourselves too.

  Marshall Cottage was putting on a show night, and while we waited for the main event, Dan and I somehow made it onto the stage, giving a show of our own. Would it become clear to all who watched who was really in charge? Would they believe it? Or would our attempt in showing who we really were go completely unnoticed?

  Chapter One

  “Do you like the fact that we possibly give out the wrong idea, Dan?” I stared through the floor-to-ceiling window in our penthouse living room at the shimmering lights of the city.

  There was something about this time of night, a blanket of black decorated with speckles of white, yellow, orange and red. It humbled me knowing there were others out there, in their houses or cars or walking the streets, spending the minutes of their lives in the best way they knew how. Daytime didn’t give the same impression and I likened it to our life. Two totally different sides to the same thing.

  Dan came to stand beside me. I glanced at him, as always taken aback by how wonderful he looked in a suit. Corporate living gave him an air of authority and he wore it well. He was glorious with that dark hair, dark stubble, dark eyes. He had all the hallmarks of a good Master, seeing as he knew how to be in control at work five days a week—except he didn’t want control all the time. Being a manager of a vast company took discipline, but to be like that with no respite had promised to take its toll. That was where I had come in. Where my expertise was needed—to give him the chance to relinquish all worries and let someone else do the ordering around on his behalf.

  In reality he was the one still doing the ordering. As much as people who saw us in the Domme-sub role might think the rest of our lives were governed by me, they’d be wrong. He was a Master—he dictated how things would go even while camouflaged as a sub.

  “Give out the wrong idea?” he asked. “At Marshall Cottage, you mean?”

  “Yes.” I returned my attention to outside. “Do you like knowing we’re not as people think?”

  A plane streaked along in the distance.

  “Of course I like it, but I don’t really give a damn what they think,” he said. “Time at the mansion is for me to de-stress, for you to give me what I need—for me to give you what you need. Once a week, that’s all, and I get a sense of balance back. It’s difficult being strong all the time. What we do there…well, it’s the only way for me to stay sane.”

  “Some would say we’re insane.”

  “They would—and that would be their opinion, one they’re entitled to. There are so many of them out there, opinions, but it doesn’t mean what they see in us is the truth. We know that. Does it bother you, then? What they think?”

  “Good God, no. Not what they think of me.” Had I just lied to him? “I was just thinking of you, that’s all. A client could turn up there at any time. See you with me and think—”

  “Think what, that I’m a freak?”

  “Possibly.” I smiled. Yes, Dan might appear that way to many, but not those committed to the lifestyle, those who understood it. Which made me think again. “It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything. I just had a thought which nullifies my musings. Those who go to Marshall Cottage have been vetted—they have to be serious in order to attend. If a client did see you—which, let’s face it, is highly unlikely—they’d know why you were—”

  “Naked, on my hands and knees with a collar and chain?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t care if they saw me that way. And as you say, if they were at Marshall Cottage then they have penchants they need seeing to as well. It would be rather hypocritical of them to bluster in my office during the day, raving about my Friday night sessions when they had gone there for a similar thing. And what we do, it gives me such a sense of freedom, of belonging, of being cared for, I wouldn’t trade it for someone’s opinion. I thought you realized that, understood it.”

  “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I do.” I reached out to take his hand in mine. I stroked the backs of his fingers—so soft. “I suppose, what with me looking out of the window, it got my mind wandering, me thinking about what’s normal and what isn’t. Before I became a working Domme, I wouldn’t have thought any of it was normal. None of it at all. I just knew there was something different in me. That I wanted something more. I had no idea what it was.”

  He unlinked our hands then put his arm around my waist. Curled his fingers so the tips rested on my hipbone. Kissed my cheek so gently that I barely felt it.

  “So,” he said. “Your problem is? What are we really talking about here?”

  “People frowning on you. People getting the wrong impression. People…talking about you—and not in a good way. I don’t like the idea of that. It hurts. I couldn’t care what they think about me—at least I don’t think I do. And if I do, I shouldn’t.”

  “It’s just the idea of them thinking this way, though,” he said. “They may not think anything at all. And if I don’t care then you shouldn’t either. If it gives me what I need so I can function better, what’s the harm? You know all this. Is there something bothering you? Something else you need to talk about?”

  He drew me closer, turned me so I was pressed to his chest. He smoothed his hands up and down my back, washing away the tension there, making absolutely everything all right.

  I sighed. “No, it’s just…”

  “
Just what?”

  “Someone the other night.”

  “At the cottage?”

  “Yes.” I slid my fingers into the back of his waistband.

  “Go on.”

  “There was a woman there. She watched us for a while. From the look on her face she thought I was a hard-nosed cow who dragged you along behind me. That you were odd for allowing it. As if I kicked you, treated you like an unwanted dog.” I laughed lightly. “I mean, look at you. Hardly the willowy type, are you. And she discussed us with her Master—the nice chap—I saw her. You know the one. We’ve spoken to him about our life a few times.”

  “Ah, yes, him. Like you said, nice chap. I imagine he set her straight, then.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “You must never worry about what people think of me. Us. We like it—or have you discovered you don’t?”

  I drew back from him to stare into his brown eyes. “No! Not at all. My worry is for you. As you know, me being a supposed Domme… You found me in that sleazy little place that masquerades as an upmarket BDSM parlor and fails miserably.” I laughed. “Bondage City. Dear me, I was so desperate for a job there—anywhere so I could be myself. And you came along. Remember that?”

  “How could I forget?” He stroked my cheek. “My initial taste of being dominated was by you. People might assume I grew attached to you because of it. My teacher, someone I found I couldn’t be without, even after just the first strike. Unhealthy, I imagine some would say, for a student to fall in love with his Domme without trying other Dommes afterwards.”

  “Or for a Domme to fall in love with a client.”

  “Yet we did—and here we are, you worrying about what others think of me when I don’t give a shit. It’s lovely of you, but please, stop. It could be taken as insulting or degrading.”

  “What do you mean?” I frowned.

  “Note I said could. That you fretting could be seen as demeaning our relationship—that you agree with what they, whoever they are, might feel about us.”

  I blushed. “That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

  “I know. So will you stop this nonsense? Where has my strong faux Domme gone, mmm?”

  He kissed my cheek. Trailed his fingertips up and down my back again. Turned me the hell on by skimming over the rise of my arse.

  “Clearly, your faux Domme has been sidetracked by emotions. It won’t happen again.” At least I’ll try not to let it happen again.

  “Good. Besides, they don’t know what we know. That to outsiders I may look like a meek sub, but in reality I’m all Master.”

  I snuggled my face to his, kissed his neck above his shirt collar, the material grazing my chin. “And that you’re the one telling me what to do.”

  “And so as long as we know, what does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t. Really, it doesn’t.”

  “Then hush.”

  I hushed. Let him caress me, take me to that place where all worries and troubles vanished. Where I could think about things and they weren’t a burden.

  Bondage City and my time there filled my mind. I’d been full of trepidation when I’d found the place advertised online, that the higher realms of society would think someone of my ‘standing’ shouldn’t set foot inside there. I hadn’t even known I’d wanted that kind of thing until I’d stumbled across it. But just because I’d been born into a privileged lifestyle didn’t mean I had feelings any different to anyone else. I had an urge to dominate, and finding out there was a place where I could do that had seemed like being set free.

  Oh, I knew there were kinky parties I could go to, those in someone or other’s house—secrets well-kept by those who attended because they didn’t want anyone knowing just what they got up to. Those types of parties were miles away from what I needed, though. I had been expected to be a sub whenever I attended, but my tendencies didn’t fully lean that way. I needed to control somehow—and wasn’t that funny? I’d met Dan, and although it seemed I was the one who called the shots, I wasn’t. Perhaps the illusion of it was enough for me. I was happy—happier than I’d ever been—and I supposed, because it was ingrained in me, that my little bout of worry this evening had been brought on by something I couldn’t help. To be told all my life that I had to live by unwritten yet important rules was still buried inside me. No matter how much I wanted to be liberated from them, they were still there.

  Walking into Bondage City had been a revelation. It wasn’t the plush-carpeted, beautifully decorated place I had envisaged. Instead, bare, cream-painted walls and large, shiny gray floor tiles had been the order of the day in a reception that housed a scarred teak desk. The woman behind it—now she’d been a sight, all brassy blonde hair in a chignon, a too-tight corset that had me automatically holding my breath and a mouth so slathered in red I’d wondered how many men would go home with lipstick on their collars.

  “Why did you choose Bondage City?” I asked, pushing closer into Dan’s embrace. “We know there are better places out there.”

  “Why did you choose it?”

  I smiled, my cheek bunching against his chest. “You’ve got me. Because I was new to the game and didn’t know there were nicer places. I just thought…well, someone like you would have known.”

  “As opposed to someone like you?” He chuckled. “We’re both from the same backgrounds. If you want to psychoanalyze it, I’d hazard a guess that going ‘downmarket’, for want of a better term, meant we’d reduce the risk of being seen, of people in our circles finding out our desires. People who wouldn’t understand them—because ours are different to theirs, I think. Plus, we have parents to consider, brothers, sisters… Bringing shame on them—which is how it would be perceived—possibly wasn’t something we would be comfortable doing. Visiting somewhere your family or peers wouldn’t—it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Hmm.”

  “And now there’s Marshall Cottage, we don’t have to worry about any of that. Mr M makes sure no one from our immediate circles would be allowed there. No one we know can go there when we’re there. He does thorough searches, you know that. We can relax. And don’t you find it hideous that we have to consider such things? Who would see us, what they’d think? I’m almost past it, Victoria. Really.”

  “So if your parents…?”

  He laughed, the sound rumbling into my ear. “All right. I’m not past it. But you know what I mean.”

  “I do.” And I did.

  We’d found a safe haven in Marshall Cottage, where everyone accepted everyone for who they were. Or so I’d thought until that woman had stared at us. How could a glance—all right, a long stare—bring about such uneasiness? I’d been on edge since then, wondering if I was supposed to know her, whether our paths had crossed at some point. Whether Mr M hadn’t checked well enough and someone had slipped through the proverbial net. My mind had gone into overdrive, me imagining she could be a friend of a friend of a friend, someone I’d met but hadn’t taken much notice of at the time. But that she’d recognized me and knew exactly who I was…

  “That woman,” I said. “I’ve been so silly.”

  “How so?”

  “Wondering if I’d been acquainted with her, if she’d tell someone I know what we get up to there. Yet she’s there. She might not want anyone knowing she attends.” I sighed, annoyed that I’d let this consume me, that I’d let it filter into our happiness. Tainting it. Making it seem wrong.

  “Exactly. Listen, I know we’re not the customary couple there. I know we stand out as unusual. But we’re not. Why is it different for a woman to be naked on her hands and knees, guided around by a Master? It’s the same thing as what we do, except the roles are reversed, but because we’re the only couple at the cottage who behave that way round… Please, forget it. Forget her. If you like, I can speak to her Master. Ask him why she was staring. Request that she stop. But I really don’t think I need to. He’ll have put her straight. Perhaps she’s new to the lifestyle. Maybe he’s teaching her the wonders of our worl
d.”

  I decided to put her out of my head. This had taken up far too much thinking time and had bled into our idyllic life. To allow her to affect me was going against everything I’d promised myself when I’d begun my relationship with Dan.

  We were as we were. We suited one another.

  If we earned curious glances, so be it.

  I wasn’t going to let a novice sub, if that’s what she was, put a dampener on our fire.

  “It’s time for you to get ready,” I said, pulling away from Dan to walk across the open-plan living room to a door that presented onto a short hallway. I paused, leaning on the jamb. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to worry about her anymore.”

  “That’s my girl,” he said, joining me.

  He kissed me, pushing me against the wall, holding my wrists at my sides. When he was like this I was swept away, in awe of how he had me feeling. Desperate for him with a longing that went so deep I could never see the end of it if I lived a thousand years.

  I snatched my mouth away, turned my head to the side, gasping for breath. “God, Dan. You’re no sub.”

  “No,” he said. “Just like you’re no Domme.”

  Chapter Two

  Dan was naked—except for a pair of PVC boxers, a black leather studded dog collar and a long silver chain that hung from it. The end almost touched the floor. The chain wasn’t the heavy type, more just for show than anything else, yet it gave the right impression. That I was the Dominant and he the sub. The fact that it was actually the other way around was something I found warming. A secret we shared.

  “I see you’re ready,” I said.

  I slipped into my black raincoat and belted it at the waist. Beneath, my light-pink leather corset was comfortable. I never tied the laces too tight. And pink—there was a reason for that, yet another secret that had come about, but only in the past week. I’d previously always worn black. It had given me a severe look, perhaps of a Domme that was too harsh, and it hadn’t sat well with me. Not since that woman—