Master Me

by Lisabet Sarai, Trina Lane, Elizabeth Coldwell, Charlotte Stein, Jane Davitt, Justine Elyot

  Before I could reach out to grab him and hold him back, he was gone.

  * * * *

  The next two hours were possibly the longest in my life. I couldn’t focus on my book. I kept hearing Geoffrey’s velvet voice saying, “If you’re ready for more…”

  I wasn’t ready. Maybe I’d never be. I knew, though, that I couldn’t, wouldn’t, let this chance slip away. My body buzzed with tension, anxiety and lust more or less indistinguishable. I tried to picture what it would be like, but my imagination was not equal to the task. What did I know about dominance and submission? Sure, I’d seen Nine 1/2 Weeks like everyone else, but I figured that was just fantasy—though the film did affect my dreams for days afterward.

  “You must give me your trust,” he had told me.

  Could I do that? Was that even wise, to surrender myself to someone who, despite my knowledge of his reputation, was basically a stranger?

  I replayed his delicious kisses over and over. My pussy grew wetter and more swollen with each passing minute. I considered pulling my vibrator out of the drawer, to cool myself down and bolster my rational capacity. I knew somehow that Geoffrey wouldn’t approve. He wanted me to wait, to build up the pressure. That was why he’d barely touched me in the foyer. He wanted me hungry.

  Lying fully clothed on the chenille bedspread, I was acutely aware of my body—aching nipples, damp thighs, pulsing clit. I circled a wrist with my finger and thumb, wondering about sensations of rope or leather. I would have sworn that I was one hundred percent alert, counting the seconds until my summons. Yet somehow I drifted off into sleep.

  I bolted upright some time later. My bedside lamp made a lonely pool of brightness. The window showed a square of solid black where there had been deepening twilight before. I snatched my alarm clock and peered at its face. Eleven oh five! Fear shot through me like an electric shock.

  Shuffling into my sandals, I raced down the hall to his door at the end. My heart felt as though it would split my chest. I sucked in a lungful of air and knocked.

  “Enter.”

  One word only. A command. An invitation. I turned the knob, my knees wobbly, feeling as if I was moving through Jell-o.

  Geoffrey had moved the armchair to the open window. He sat in profile, breathing the night air, but turned his head towards me as I crept into the room. For the briefest instant, I saw something sweet in his expression—gratitude, relief, maybe joy. Then his face transformed into a mask of arrogant superiority.

  “You’re late.” He didn’t rise to greet me.

  “I’m sorry, sir…I fell asleep.” Desperation clutched at my throat at the notion that I had displeased him.

  “Excuses will not help you escape punishment.”

  “Punishment?” A thrill rippled through me, of fear or desire, possibly both.

  “Come here, Sarah.” He patted his lap. “I hadn’t planned on spanking you so soon, but you give me no choice, do you? I need to teach you. If you are going to be mine, you must obey me completely—or face the consequences.”

  “Um—yes, sir,” I mumbled as I stretched myself across his body.

  I couldn’t believe that I was doing this, willingly it seemed. Gripping the chair arm, I leant my cheek against the upholstery. He was so much bigger than I was. My chest, belly and thighs rested on his lap. My lower legs hung awkwardly on the other side, toes just touching the floor.

  His flesh was warm under his slacks. I could feel the muscles shift as he adjusted my position. His scent tickled my nostrils, summer sweat and expensive cologne intermingled. I could smell my pussy, too, ripe and salty, announcing my brazen arousal. He flipped my skirt up over my back, exposing my panty-less bottom.

  “I do like your attempts to follow my instructions,” he commented, his voice softer and more intimate. He brushed his hand across my bare butt. Every contact between his skin and mine struck sparks. “You’ll learn better how to please me over time.” He dipped a sudden finger into my sopping cleft, gathering my juices, and chuckled. “You’re remarkably wet, Sarah. You want this, don’t you? You want to feel the sting of my palm on your ass.”

  I thought I’d die of shame. I burrowed into the cushions, hoping the question was rhetorical.

  He dabbled his fingers in my cunt, making me squirm. “Well? Answer me!” He pinched my butt hard.

  “Ow! Um—I can’t…”

  His gentle fingers stroked my hair, working out the tangles. “Tell me, little one,” he practically whispered. “Don’t be afraid. You can tell me the truth. Do you want me to spank you?”

  That hint of tenderness broke me. “Yes,” I moaned, as he plunged deeper into my pussy. “Yes, please…”

  “Good girl.”

  Without warning, he withdrew his fingers from my sex. I didn’t have time to cry out at the loss of contact.

  I heard the smack an instant before I felt the sting of his palm meeting my ass.

  “Ow!”

  He slapped me again, on the other cheek. The site of the first blow pulsed as the sharp pain morphed into something quite different. Tendrils of sensation blossomed, travelled, twined their way around my clit. His hand landed again, near the first spot, amplifying both the pain and the pleasure.

  “Ouch! Ow! Oh—ow!”

  He spanked me harder and faster. Each slap hurt more than the one before. Each brought the seething cauldron in my pussy closer to a boil.

  “Ah! Ow! Ow, ow…argh!” My bottom was on fire. I jerked each time his hand connected.

  He paused. “Should I stop?” The mocking knowledge in his voice made my face burn as hot as my bum.

  “Um—no—well, it’s up to you, sir.”

  “I suggest that you not cry out so loudly, then. The walls in these old buildings tend to be thin. Maybe I should gag you. Would you like that?”

  I had a terrifying vision of my mouth stuffed with one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs, unable to cry, scarcely able to breathe. My pussy clenched and flooded at the image. I shook my head, stripped of every remaining shred of pride.

  Fortunately my gesture was enough to satisfy him. He resumed his assault on my ravaged buttocks, each smack more vicious than the one before. I writhed in his lap, my mouth pressed against the cushions to muffle my yells, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I raised myself on tiptoe, trying to escape his inescapable blows. I couldn’t help myself. He forced me back down without breaking his rhythm.

  It seemed to go on and on. After a while, I found myself floating in a throbbing crimson haze. The bite of his blows seemed far away. My cunt felt heavy, swollen, ready to burst, but there was no urgency. I was willing to lie there forever and be punished, for as long as he thought necessary.

  “Sarah!” The edge in his voice cut through my blissful fog. “Are you all right?”

  I realised the spanking had stopped. I craned my neck to look back at him. His radiant smile burned away the remains of my trance, though I still felt oddly relaxed. Delicate fingers wiped the tears from my cheeks.

  “Yes, sir. I’m fine. Thank you, sir.”

  Geoffrey’s laugh was full and genuine, without a trace of ridicule. “Very good, little one! I’m proud of you for taking your punishment so well.”

  I glowed. He helped me to stand. As I wriggled my way out of his lap, I felt the hard bulk in his groin. He wanted me! Mousy inexperienced little Sarah Gladstone! My lust flooded back in a molten tide. More than anything—at that moment, even more than my own success—I wanted to feel that solid cock inside me.

  “I think you’ve earned a reward,” he commented. “Arms up.”

  I obeyed without thinking. He dragged my shirt over my head and tossed it on the chair.

  “Turn around.” In an instant my skirt was unzipped and puddled around my ankles.

  He paced a slow circle around my naked body. “Very nice,” he murmured. “Very nice indeed.”

  My nipples peaked and my juices trickled down the inside of my thighs. I didn’t blush, though. I was beyond modesty.<
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  “Your ass is the colour of Maine lobster,” he chuckled. “Does it hurt?”

  “Some.” In truth, it felt hot and sore, pulsing like some scarlet lighthouse. Each pang, though, woke echoes in my cunt that balanced the pain.

  Geoffrey continued to survey his handiwork, close enough that I could feel the heat from his body, but he didn’t make contact with my hungry skin. Touch me, please! I felt like screaming. But already I knew enough to remain silent.

  “I expect that from now on you will be on time.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll try.” Please, please, please—the mantra rang in my mind. But I knew he was once again teaching me patience.

  Suddenly he scooped me up in his arms, carried me into the other room and settled me on the bed. I hardly had a moment to appreciate his strength before he released me. I moaned in disappointment.

  “Hush! I’ll be with you shortly.” He began to unbutton his shirt.

  I watched, holding my breath, as he revealed a muscled chest and flat belly scattered with black curls. Next he unbuckled his belt. It whooshed as he drew it out of his belt loops. From out of nowhere came the thought of that belt laying stinging trails of pain across my bottom.

  He heard my gasp and grinned at me. “Not tonight, sweet. Your ass already looks like raw hamburger.” He unzipped his trousers and pushed them down over his lean hips. His cock arched up from his groin, straining towards the ceiling.

  Oh, God! Saliva gathered in my mouth. I stared at the fat rod of flesh bobbing up and down each time he moved. I was dying to run my tongue along the veined shaft and across the rosy bulb. He came to stand beside the bed, that sumptuous cock inches from my fingers. I wanted to grab him, squeeze him, stroke him until he showered me with his sticky jism. His eyes stopped me.

  “Don’t forget, girl. I’m in charge here.”

  “Yes, sir. I know.”

  “Good. Now put your hands over your head and grab hold of the bars.” The headboard of the colonial style maple bed featured ranks of vertical wooden spindles.

  “Are you going to tie me up?” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Everything was happening so fast. I was driving on the freeway without brakes, my own perverse desires looming up and rushing by as I sped along.

  I knew he read the naked desire in my face. He chose not to mock me.

  “No. I want to see if you can be still, without being bound. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, wondering if I really could.

  “Tonight I just want to use you, to fuck you. To see just what kind of a slut you are.”

  He climbed on the bed and nudged my thighs apart with his own. His cock gleamed like a rod of steel. He rubbed the knob back and forth in the slick groove of my pussy. I arched and ground myself against him, the movements waking echoes of his spanking.

  “No!” He clamped his nails around my nipple.

  “Ow!”

  “I want you to lie still, as if you were bound, or drugged. No squirming around. No trying to come. You’ll come, I promise—I said you deserved a reward—but only when I want you to do so. Do you agree?”

  Strange emotion welled up, tightening my chest. I could only nod.

  “Trust me, little one. I won’t hurt you. Well, not much. Not more than you can bear. In return, I’ll lead you into a whole new world of pleasure.”

  I gripped the wooden bars, watching him smooth a condom over the rampant length of that gorgeous cock. My pussy twitched and wept. I wanted him so badly I was ready to cry. Even more, though, I wanted to show him that I could obey.

  Geoffrey positioned himself between my splayed thighs. “Remember, Sarah,” he said. “Be still.” Then he rammed his cock all the way into my cunt in one fierce stroke.

  The force drove the breath from my lungs. The fullness made me suck the air back in. If I hadn’t been so wet, he would have torn me apart, but as it was my flesh parted for him as though sliced open.

  My pussy clenched reflexively around his invading bulk, but otherwise I managed to avoid moving. His eyes, locked with mine, told me he approved. His hardness pressed against my engorged clit. A climax loomed, then faded away as he kept me there, motionless, pinned to the bed.

  He pulled mostly out. My hungry cunt fluttered, empty for an instant. He drove back into me, harder than before. I strained against the bars, struggling not to jerk and writhe as his cock plunged in and out of my cunt like a pile-driver.

  God, it felt good! His roughness somehow heightened the pleasure. I was his, to use and abuse. His fuck toy, as he had said. At that moment, that was all I wanted to be.

  Each stroke grazed my cervix, adding a twinge of pain to the rich stew of sensations his cock stirred. His thrusts grew faster and wilder, but he never stopped watching me. His sweat-drenched hair tumbled into his eyes and still he pounded me with his cock, again and again and again until I was raw and sore. I didn’t care. I was crying but I didn’t want him to stop fucking me, not ever.

  I relaxed. I didn’t need to work any more to satisfy his injunction of stillness. He held me with the force of his will. I lay beneath him in a submissive trance, cunt gaping, inviting him to ravage me.

  His lips curved into a demonic grin, full of triumph. “Mine!” I heard him say, perhaps out loud, perhaps only in my mind. Yours, I agreed, too shattered to speak but knowing that he understood.

  He stretched and filled me as no one else ever had. Now, as I surrendered, I felt him swell further. I have the power, I heard in my head. I am in control.

  Yes, sir. Later I wondered if I imagined it, that conversation without words. At the time, I never doubted. This man knew me, all of me, even the parts that I’d hidden from myself. He could make me shiver and melt, scream and cry. He could make me come.

  The command was as clear as if he’d uttered it aloud. I’d been coasting on a plateau of sensation but all at once he yanked me up to a pinnacle of pleasure and tossed me off into a whirling climax.

  I jerked and shuddered under him, released from his command of stillness. His eyes were burning embers searing my soul as I convulsed and then came again. Inside me, he grew, stretched me to the point of tearing, then exploded. His heat drove me into another frenzied orgasm.

  I never closed my eyes, never looked away. I was there to the very last, savouring the final delicious tremors. So was he.

  He unclasped my cramped fingers from the headboard and kissed each one. “Sarah,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck and curling his wonderful hard body around mine. “You really do trust me, don’t you?”

  I knew that this time I didn’t have to answer.

  Chapter Three

  It was fortunate that my part in Fiddler was so small. The next day I had difficulty walking. The mirror revealed that my ass was unmarked except for a few rosy streaks, but the slightest brush of my fingers anywhere on the skin sent twinges racing across the surface—and then down to my pussy. As for my sex, it was tender and sensitive. My biceps ached from gripping the bed and my inner thighs felt as though I had spent half a day on the StairMaster.

  It was fortunate, too, that the demands of my work kept me from thinking too much about the previous night and its revelations. Fiddler was opening that evening and there were a million details to be managed—final adjustments to costumes, installation of the set, a last minute trip to the mall in Pittsfield to search for suddenly required props. In summer stock, everyone is expected to pitch in, to do whatever it takes to mount the show.

  Every now and again, though, a little stab of pain would remind me. A strange joy bubbled like champagne in my veins. I felt lighter than air. Adele noticed my secret smile.

  “What’s up, Sarah? You look like the cat that swallowed the canary!”

  “Oh, nothing—I’m just excited about the opening…”

  My friend appeared sceptical but didn’t have the opportunity to press me for more information since Arthur sent her back to the inn on an errand.

  Our final dress rehearsal began right aft
er lunch and lasted until nearly five. Arthur kept changing the blocking and Reuven, the choreographer, was even more of a perfectionist than usual, taking us through the steps so many times that I think I could have executed them in my sleep.

  Although he’d been working with the troupe for only twenty-four hours, Geoffrey was fantastic in the part of Tevye. His transformation from tall, elegant, arrogant celebrity to the humble, dumpy, philosophical milkman was nothing short of miraculous. In addition, he somehow inspired the cast. Every player—even Jack who had been so bitter the previous day—seemed to sparkle under his leadership.

  I tried to catch his eye, desperate for a bit of recognition. He was too much of a professional to slip out of character. During the break between acts, though, I looked up from a conversation with Adele and Clarissa, a local girl working as an extra, to find his dark gaze focused on me.

  He was at least twenty feet away, but I felt as though he was beside me whispering in my ear. Instant heat claimed my body. Sweat pooled in my armpits under my homespun shift. My nipples leapt to attention and my pussy turned molten. I had an overwhelming urge to run over and kneel at his feet. His lips curled into a self-satisfied smile and he gave me the barest of nods before returning to his discussion with Arthur.

  “He’s staring at you.” Adele interrupted Clarissa’s chatter.

  “What?” I started out of my submissive reverie.

  “Our leading man. He was staring at you like he wanted to eat you up.”

  My cheeks burned. “Oh come on, you’re imagining things. Look, he’s talking to the director.”

  “Now he is, maybe. But just a moment ago, he was looking at you, and it wasn’t a casual look, either,” Adele insisted. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

  “Not a thing!” I hated to lie to my friend, but I knew that I had to keep quiet about the previous night. “He just enjoys making us girls squirm.” An image streaked through my mind—my body splayed naked on his bed, hammered by his cock, struggling to keep still. “He’s so full of himself—he’s sure that he’s God’s gift to women.”