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 M
ISBN # 978-1-78430-325-9
©Copyright Natalie Dae 2014
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 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
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Burning and a Sexometer of 2.
Marshall Cottage
MASTER M
Natalie Dae
Book six in the Marshall Cottage series
Master M sometimes denied me permission—but not tonight. No, I was in charge this time…
Standing on stage with Master M, ready to perform in front of guests in Marshall Cottage, I remembered the past. How I’d met my Master came tumbling back into my mind—and why he’d created a place for BDSM lovers to play. I adored him, wanted what was best for him, as he did for me. But the question was, could I get him to obey me this time, instead of the other way around?
He told me to always keep a part of myself to myself—to never give everything. The thing was, I wanted to give him everything. Every little bit of me. While we played out a scene on stage, the past continuing to stream through my mind, things began to change. He changed—giving me, and himself, permission to fully let go.
His hands on me. His whispers in my ear. His complete trust. I wanted it all—forever.
Chapter One
Now
There I stood on stage, wearing only a white corset and panties, my feet bare, my long black hair coiled into a bun on top of my head. There he stood, beside me, dressed as though he were a man about to go into his office. All he needed was a briefcase, perhaps a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, to complete the impression that he was an accountant or a bank manager.
He was far from that.
The sea of faces in front of us didn’t worry me. Perhaps they should have. Many people found when playing before a crowd that their self-confidence took a battering. Not mine. Since being Mr. M’s sub, I had grown as a person, relaxing into my role like I never had before. Because I was safe, cared for, cocooned in a swaddle of emotions that equated to his love.
Tonight the stage was ours, and we would perform showing that love. I supposed we were a bit of an enigma to many of the newer guests—or a fascination they knew little about. I imagined if I were them, that the man who ran Marshall Cottage and his sub were special, different to everyone else. We’d adopted an air about us on purpose to keep our private life hidden, a secret stash of day-to-day living that belonged only to us. Mr. M wanted it that way and so did I. Business and pleasure were separate—until we performed on stage. We didn’t do that very often but even though we’d been together for a long time, I was still a work in progress. We were a work in progress, ever learning, ever discovering new things.
I held Mr. M’s hand tightly, giving his fingers a little squeeze to let him know I was ready to begin whenever he was. While he addressed the crowd, telling them the origins of Marshall Cottage and why he’d created a BDSM club, I turned my attention to the expectant crowd. They were already fired up. Many of them had been fondling and kissing as we’d walked to the stage, the previous show pretty hot. The couple who had performed had captured their imaginations and revved up their libido, so the air seemed to bristle and flicker with sexual tension.
And that couple stood out—always had fascinated me—except they were kneeling now. And that’s why they stood out. The woman was usually on her feet, holding a leash that was attached to a collar around her lover’s neck. He liked to act the total submissive from what I’d seen in the past, but tonight it seemed they were on equal terms. I privately thought they were already, just that no one had taken the time to look at their relationship in a different light. I must say, something had changed between them. She was more relaxed and stared at him differently than before, her adoration for him showing clearly in her eyes and gestures.
It reminded me of myself and Mr. M, the way one minute we’d been dancing on the fringes of being a couple then suddenly we were one—Master and sub. It hadn’t begun that way, though. Our meeting hadn’t been unexpected. No, back then I’d met men in BDSM clubs all the time. But what had been unexpected was to find a rare gem, one that sparkled, twinkling in such a way that it had caught my attention nestled among all the others.
He’d changed my life.
* * * *
Then
“Pardon me for intruding, but are you here to meet someone?” he asked.
He stood beside the sofa I was sitting on in the foyer of a BDSM club that bordered on being seedy. I wasn’t sure why I kept coming here when it wasn’t particularly pleasant on the eye, except that it was closer to home and I hadn’t experienced anything untoward. Yet. Not like in other places.
And I was here to meet a man, but not anyone specific. “I’m here because…to meet someone, yes, but I don’t know who he is yet.”
There. He now knew I wasn’t contracted. Could look at me as a slut if he chose to. Could offer his services for an hour or so then walk away the same as so many had before him. I studied his appearance. Gray suit, white shirt open at the neck, the promise of thick chest hair peeking out, the dark hair on his head professionally cut—the insinuation that stubble wouldn’t be long in shadowing his jaw.
He looked different to other men. Or perhaps it was the vibe he gave off. Whatever it was, I relaxed, the tension that always came with a male approach oozing away.
It was odd to feel this way so quickly.
“I understand,” he said, backing away a little. “A pre-arranged blind date?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
He stopped reversing then stepped closer again.
How did I tell him I was here to be picked up without sounding as seedy as my surroundings? That I didn’t belong to anyone and at times needed the release that being a sub gave me? That it had ceased to matter who I played with, so long as they were kind. I’d accepted long ago that meeting Mr. Right wasn’t going to happen for me anytime soon.
“Would you like to talk?” he asked.
I blinked. That was a first. Someone who actually wanted to talk.
I nodded, unsure what to say.
He sat beside me, keeping a respectful distance between us, although his body heat reached me.
“It’s lovely to finall
y meet you,” he said.
I stared at him, convinced he was joking. Finally? Lovely to meet me? I was no one special, no one at all compared to every other woman around us.
“It’s lovely to meet you too.” What else could I have said?
“Please, may I buy you a drink while we talk?”
He smiled, and I went with my instincts. This wasn’t a man who would do me harm. His brown eyes held sincerity, his features soft, telling me he was relaxed. A man on edge tended to have narrowed eyes and hard brackets around his mouth.
“You may.”
“Your name?” He tilted his head.
“Shareena.”
“Lovely. And I’m Mr. M—or Master M, depending on whether I’m playing. And again, it’s lovely to meet you.”
I liked the way he’d let me know he was a Dom—confirmed it, but he needn’t have. He had an aura about him that spoke of masculinity, of command and authority. His Dom status had already screamed its presence long before he’d walked up to me. I hadn’t seen him here before, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been among the many men who prowled for subs. Our paths may just never have crossed, that was all. I could have been busy in one of the private rooms—he could have been busy.
The thought of him with another woman gave me a slap of curiosity. What would it be like to be dominated by him? He seemed the caring sort, a man who would be attentive to a sub’s needs. None of that harsh treatment. Treatment I’d experienced a time or two.
We stood, and he took my hand, placing my arm in the crook of his.
“Are you comfortable with that?” he asked.
“Yes.” The contact had me flustered, unaccustomed as I was to being handled so delicately. To having a man actually checking to see if his actions were welcome.
He led me toward the bar. “What would you like?”
“Water. Just fizzy water, please.”
He ordered then let my arm go. He turned to me, propping his elbow on the bar. “You intend to play tonight, then?” He raised his eyebrows, his mouth lifting into another gentle smile.
A gentle smile from a gentleman?
“I’m not sure.” And I wasn’t. I’d come here to mingle with people I felt comfortable with. Perhaps playing had been in the back of my mind when I’d set off earlier—I needed some form of release so badly—but once I’d arrived and had seen how everyone here seemed different than usual—again—I’d changed my mind.
Until I’d been approached by him.
“I see.” He handed me a tall, slim glass of water, the bubbles popping on the surface, giving off a little spray. “Any reason why you wouldn’t?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say it was none of his business, but his calm expression erased my words. I found myself wanting to talk to him, to open up.
“This place.” I shrugged. “It isn’t what it used to be.”
“How so?” He sipped his drink—water too—the gold cufflink in the shape of a whip on his shirt sleeve glinting in the overhead light.
“I don’t feel as safe as I should.” I smiled tightly.
“Is that anything to do with me?” He put his glass down. “I could leave you be. Really, it isn’t a problem.”
I wish it was a problem. I wish you didn’t want to leave me.
“No.” I stopped him walking away by covering his wrist with my hand. “No. It isn’t you.” I patted his arm then took my hand off, embarrassed I’d touched him so readily. I glanced around. “Can’t you see? There’s no one keeping an eye on things these days. People are just…doing whatever they want. It isn’t comfortable anymore. I no longer like playing here. I set off earlier thinking I would—you know, play—but…”
I turned back to look at him, reading his face as best I could. He frowned, glancing about, tucking his lower lip between his teeth. He was studying the people, I assumed, then he raised his eyes to the four corners of the room.
“I see,” he said again. “I’ve seen for a while now. There are no cameras here. No staff keeping watch. It’s the same with other places. No policing, for want of a better word. No rules—and if there are any, they’re not being followed, as far as I can tell. It seems one can just walk in off the street and join in. No contracts—at least I didn’t have to sign one on my first visit. Did you?”
“No. I should have asked for one, I know, but… Putting myself at risk…”
“Indeed.”
He studied my face, seeming to come to some kind of conclusion about me.
I wanted to ask him what he’d seen.
“What do you want from a place like this?” he asked.
I sighed. What I wanted wasn’t here or anywhere else—except maybe him. The type of club I wanted to be a part of possibly didn’t exist. Or if it did, I hadn’t heard about it.
I closed my eyes for a second, then, “I wish—”
“There was a safer place to go?”
* * * *
Now
I smiled at the memory and squeezed Mr. M’s hand tighter. Soon after that, he would become Master M, the man I’d given my complete trust to.
“And so,” he said, smiling at the crowd, “we’d like to perform for you. Some of you are new to this and will perhaps have found a few shows more risqué than you’d expected—more painful, more intense. You may well reach that level at some point, but if you don’t, it doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. Everyone who has a penchant for our way of life is welcome, however deep you go into it. Maybe you’ll be content with just dipping a toe into the water, and maybe you won’t. It’s your journey, your choice, and above all, you must know that you’re safe here. At no time must you feel threatened, frightened or unsure.” He paused. “If you do, come and see me. I’m always at the front door. Unless, of course, I’m on stage—which isn’t often—or speaking to guests in another part of the cottage. Again, that isn’t often. The man who stands in for me during those times is a newcomer to my staff, an old and trusted friend you will know as Master Harry. But people here are respectful, therefore there’s no need for me to leave my post at the door except for the two things I mentioned.” He scoured the gathering with his gaze. “And I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”
People looked at him with something close to adoration—and relief. I knew how some clubs could be, where deviants stalked. Some people weren’t really interested in rules and respect—weren’t really interested in the lifestyle at all.
They came to find someone to hurt.
Mr. M covered our joined hands with his other. Patted mine then brushed his thumb back and forth over my skin. He knew what I might be thinking, what memory might sneak back into my mind because of what he’d said. His goal in maintaining a safe environment was his primary one. Under no circumstances was a man or woman to endure anything other than consensual pleasure-pain here.
“I’d like to touch on rules,” he said. “But not the rules in the contract you signed that enables you to stand here right now. Those are a given. What I want to remind you of is the respect angle. Your sub may have given you permission to do whatever you want, but I fear that some—and I’m sure it doesn’t apply to any of you—forget that the sub is the one who calls the shots.” He rubbed my skin harder. “Do you hold true to the contract that binds you? Do you give them exactly what they ask for? Do you always make sure your sub is happy at all times? Or do you just assume they are?” He stared hard into the middle distance. “Because assuming isn’t the same as knowing. Assuming can be dangerous.”
Everyone either nodded or looked grave—maybe they had experienced what I had. I scanned the subs for inklings of emotion, finding some on the face of a petite red-headed woman who stood beside her broad and tall Master. She’d only frowned the slightest bit, but it was enough. A tell.
“My beautiful woman,” Mr. M said, “has experienced an assuming Master or two—and yes, I have her permission to talk about this. There are some things that are not acceptable here or anywhere. Do you ever wonder why our lifest
yle gets such a bad name? My aim with opening Marshall Cottage was not only to provide a happy, safe place to go, but to educate. Our welcome booklet is packed with information so that no guest of mine has to endure what Shareena did.”
He took a deep breath. “So on that note, and before I get all maudlin, our show tonight is to demonstrate respect. Do you have signals? A safe word isn’t enough, in my opinion. You’ll note that I’ll touch Shareena’s shoulder at times or whisper in her ear. Always check your sub is happy. Always. For without their respect and trust, your union is worth nothing.”
* * * *
Then
“Yes,” I said. “A safe place to go. Somewhere I can call for help if I need to. Here?” I looked around. “Who would I call? There’s no one.”
He nodded. “And that’s a disturbing factor in many of the clubs I’ve visited. I’ve known for quite some time that I want to open my own place. To have rules, contracts, but most of all, a haven for people to run to.”
For some reason that didn’t surprise me. Intrigued, I went to ask a thousand questions but decided on just one. “And would you indulge in lifestyle activities while running such a place?”
My face heated. Why had I chosen that question? I’d only just met the man and there I was, asking something private. But there was a quest for knowledge inside me that poked, insisting I find out more.
In short, I didn’t want him to walk away after this drink and I’d never see him again. He drew me in with his easy manner. I needed him to stay for a while, to continue speaking to me—to make me…forget certain things.
“I wouldn’t, no,” he said. “If I’m to run a place, how could I do that efficiently while taking pleasure?”
“But you could employ someone to steer the ship while you took cabin rest.” Where had that stupid comment come from? I blushed harder.