Yes, Master, page 7
Tristan pushed in my chair, then circled around to his own seat. He sat, smiled. “That’s a truer statement than you could ever know. Now, eat. I won’t be responsible for your collapsing from low blood sugar.”
“My blood sugar’s fine right now.”
“We’re not talking now.” His devilish smile returned.
I had a feeling I had to go through with this or I’d regret it. I would call Tristan Master for the next thirty-six hours or so. But I was enjoying this little game of temptation Tristan was playing. No need to put an end to that yet.
8
Dinner was delicious. At least, that was what I assumed. I couldn’t be sure. I’d been too distracted to taste anything.
Tristan was an evil man.
Which was why I’d decided to put my safety, and my pleasure, into his hands. From what I knew of him, I was absolutely certain he was capable. He was also meticulous, attentive, cautious, and wicked.
I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but I had no doubt I was in for an intense weekend. Intensely erotic. Intensely mind-blowing, probably.
During the meal, Tristan did everything in his power to convince me to say yes to his proposition. He charmed me with his smile and easygoing disposition. He impressed me with interesting conversation. Yes, both of those. But it was how he seduced me that made me throw caution to the wind and finally say, “Tristan, I’ve made my decision.”
He looked a little anxious as he asked, “What have you decided, Alice?”
“I want to do this.”
His smile was so bright, I could have used Ray-Bans to cut the glare. “Let’s go.” He stood, pulled my chair, lead me out of the suite—good-bye, luxurious hotel—and back down to the lobby. The limo was waiting for us outside, and we were whisked away.
“Will we be flying to your property?” I asked.
“No, not this time. Although I enjoy the privacy of that home, I’d rather not waste any time traveling.”
Clearly, he was anxious to get things going.
He closed the screen, shutting us off from the driver. “Come here.” He pulled me toward him by my wrists. I leaned but he shook his head. “Straddle my legs.”
I was wearing a skirt, a pretty one made out of tiers of intricate lace. Straddling his legs meant my delicate skirt was going to either be torn or get scrunched up around my hips. I eased the lace tiers up my thighs, over my hips. Underneath, I was wearing a tiny thong. A triangle of lace, basically.
His eyes locked on that triangle. “Hmmm. I like that.” He hooked his finger in the top and pulled slightly. His fingernail grazed my lower stomach, just above my pubic bone. I hadn’t realized how sensitive that skin was until then. I sucked in a little gasp.
He tipped his head, and the corners of his mouth curled up. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, nothing.” I let him pull my hips forward. Then, at his direction, I eased down onto his lap, knees bent, resting on the seat on either side of his hips.
“Now, this is better.” His fingers kneaded my flesh. Just the right amount of pressure, making me dizzy. “Kiss me.”
I cupped his face in my palms and lowered my mouth to his. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I parted them on a sigh. He’d barely kissed me and already I was burning up. How would I handle all the torment of the next thirty-something hours? How?
His tongue dipped into my mouth again and again, spreading his sweet, intoxicating flavor everywhere. A deep, throbbing ache started pounding in my center, ripples of wanting pulsing out from there. He was still holding my hips, grasping them firmly enough to keep me from rocking them back and forth. How I wanted to rub away the ache between my legs.
“Tristan,” I murmured between mind-numbing kisses.
“Hmmm.” Moving one hand, he slipped it under my buttock. A fingertip grazed my labia, and I shuddered. “You’re wet for me. Wet and ready.”
“Yes, ready.”
“Patience, Alice.”
Patience wasn’t a word I associated with want, with need. No, not at all. Particularly when that hand inched lower, and that finger dipped deeper, sliding into my tight canal.
“Ohhh,” I moaned. I arched my back, desperate to have that finger deeper. A burning pleasure was building inside me, and I knew for a fact that he could make it that much better with just a few strokes.
“One of the first lessons a new submissive must learn is how to set aside her own pleasure to serve her master’s needs.”
I wasn’t liking the sound of that. After all, it wasn’t my fault I was trembling and tight and desperate for his next touch. It was his. And if my response didn’t give him pleasure, what did?
“Lift your bottom,” he commanded.
Shifting sideways so my body angled to one side, and straightened at the hips, I lifted my ass off his thighs. His hand glided over the globes of my buttocks. “Soft and firm, exactly how I like them.” He audibly inhaled. “And your pussy smells so damn good.” He pulled the scrap of lace out of the way and added a second finger to the first, pushing them in and out, fingertips grazing that spot inside that made me shiver all over. “I like you like this, bare, smooth. Wet, hot.”
I liked it, myself. On hands and knees, I closed my eyes, concentrating on the glorious sensation he was stirring in me. Now that he was fucking me with two fingers, I was eager to have more. Three. Or his wide cock. Fucking me hard. Pounding in and out. “How much longer?” I whispered. “When will we be there?”
“When I say we’re there. Patience. You’re going to learn patience.”
I didn’t want to learn patience. Wasn’t there something to be said for an eager lover? A lover who fucked willingly, who participated wholeheartedly? Who enjoyed her lover’s every touch, every kiss, every stroke? That was me.
And, was that ever.
He added a third finger. I was so full. I loved it. And ohmygod, he was stroking my clit. With every stroke, every thrust, I felt my body getting tighter. I was going to come. I was going to . . . I shuddered as a flash of heat zipped through my body.
“Don’t you dare,” he snapped. His voice was sharp. “Don’t you come. Not until I tell you.” My pussy clamped tight. Another wave crashed over me. I tried to fight it. I did.
I held my breath.
Stop. Please stop.
I curled my hands into fists.
My foot cramped.
I slackened my inner muscles, but then they clamped tighter, completely out of my control. And, oh yes, that felt sooooo good.
“You will be punished. Do not come, Alice.”
“Stop,” I said. “Stop.”
He shoved his fingers deeper inside. His fingertip flicked over my clit, once, twice.
“Stop, please.” I couldn’t breathe. Every muscle in my body was tied into a knot, even the ones clamping my eyelids shut.
He didn’t stop. He added a fourth. A fourth! I was stretched to the limit. The heat grew, blossomed, exploded through me, and my pussy spasmed around those four fingers. Ah, the ecstasy. The relief. Endorphins charged through my system, making me feel high. I laughed and cried, begged for forgiveness.
“You failed, Alice.” His voice was menacing. “Now, we’re there. Now, you’ll learn what happens when I am displeased. Get down, on the floor, on your knees.”
Still dizzy and giddy, I slid to the floor, kneeling so I faced him.
“Clothes off.”
I struggled in the tight space to remove my clothes, my skin burning as his sharp gaze studied me. My pussy was dripping, slick heat dampening my inner thighs. Once I was completely nude, I knelt with my knees tight together. “I tried. You won’t hurt me too badly, right? I couldn’t help it. Not with what you were doing.”
His eyes showed no mercy. But the corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
“We’ll continue this inside. Follow me.”
When I’d taken the job, modeling for Estefan, I’d never stood in front of another human being completely nude before. Since then, I’d modeled for him twice more. And Tristan had made me undress in his backyard during our first date. I’d grown semi-comfortable with being naked in privacy. A good thing, since I was about to step out of a car completely unclothed, naked from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
But this time I would be seen by someone else.
The car swung open. The driver, I assumed, had opened it for us. He was about to get an eyeful.
Would he be the only one?
I shot a glance out the window, opposite the open door. We were parked in a U-shaped driveway, in front of a large home. I couldn’t see the street from where we sat now. Thank God. Hopefully no neighbors would see me. This was the ultimate walk of shame.
“Out, Alice.” Tristan sounded slightly impatient. Ironic, since I was being punished for the very same sin.
I stared down at the ground as I reluctantly exited the vehicle. With my arms wrapped protectively around myself, I passed a pair of shiny black shoes on the way to the sidewalk. I said nothing as I padded up to the front door and waited for it to be opened. Tristan was next to me.
“Drop your hands,” he demanded.
I didn’t want to. A breeze blew over me, and goose bumps erupted over my shoulders, down my arms.
“Drop them, or you won’t go inside.”
This man was cruel. If it weren’t for the fact that my pussy was throbbing with sensual heat, I would have told him what he could do with this domination and submission stuff. But dammit, I felt so alive and alert and excited. Maybe he was right. Maybe this stuff was for me.
With great reluctance, I unclenched my hands and eased them down to my sides. As I did it, I stared straight ahead, at the door in front of us. The closed door that I prayed would be opened soon.
“Better.” Tristan cupped my ass cheek, the touch startling me slightly. It also made a fresh wave of heat simmer across my face. If anyone was watching this . . . oh God.
The door opened. At last! I wasted no time stepping inside. The floor under my feet was cold. Slick polished stone. Marble. I was standing in a grand entryway, with massively high ceilings and a stairway arching around in a soft curve.
“We’ll head upstairs,” Tristan instructed.
I set my hand on the railing. It was smooth to the touch too, and cool. As I ascended the stairs, I couldn’t help thinking about how all the slick, hard surfaces in the house reminded me of Tristan. This home was incredibly gorgeous. Immaculate. Just as he was. And there were a lot of hard edges, sculpted lines, just like his personality. But, as I looked down at the foyer below, catching little surprises here and there—the colorful flower arrangement on the table, the fascinating artwork—again, I felt like I was looking at an expression of the man who owned the home.
I wanted to say something, to compliment the décor, the choices of flooring, the beautiful painting at the top of the staircase, but I remembered what he’d said. I couldn’t speak without being spoken to first. That rule was going to be a rough one to follow. Not as difficult as the no-orgasm-until-I-say one, though. That one was impossible.
I waited for Tristan to tell me where to go next. He stepped up very close to me, so close I felt the heat of his body. The goose bumps came back.
“The last room on the right,” he said softly, his mouth mere inches from my ear.
I nodded and kept going. Up here, a thick, plush carpet padded my footsteps. I’d never felt such soft carpet. It was heavenly.
The last door on the right was closed. I stopped, waited for him to open it. He reached around me, and all my nerve endings tingled. It still shocked me, how strongly I reacted to Tristan. He didn’t even have to touch me. All he had to do was be near.
The door slowly swung open.
Another dungeon.
This dungeon was a little different from the first. It was smaller. And a little less scary. The décor was chic. The walls were painted a soft gray. And charcoal draperies flanked two wide windows. The wall-to-wall carpet was the same shade as the walls. But, like in the first, in the center of the ceiling hung a crystal chandelier dripping with sparkling crystals.
The hugest bed I’d ever seen sat beneath the chandelier. Four massive, towering posts reached up at least ten feet at all four corners. Centered against one wall was a wide dresser. On the dresser’s top was an arrangement of candles. They were lit. Someone had come in and prepared the room for us.
“Kneel there.” Tristan pointed at a spot next to the bed. I did as he told me to, watching as he left the room through a door to my right. He returned a few minutes later, carrying a few things in his hands. He was still mostly dressed—his unknotted tie hung around his neck, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. He set down his load on the dresser and turned to me. “Now, what to do with you?”
You could start by fucking me until I can’t see straight.
“You have some problems being unclothed in public, I see. That’s an issue we’ll have to address . . .” My heart stopped. “Someday,” he added. “Not this weekend. I need to focus on the basics, first.”
Relief.
I sucked in a deep breath, held it for a second, then slowly let it out. Wow, was I tense. Not knowing what would happen next was killing me.
Tristan picked up a long, thin stick with little leather straps on one end. I didn’t know the name for it, but it looked kind of like the things horse jockeys used to make their horses run faster. Riding crop. That was what it was called. He strolled closer. My heart rate jumped a few hundred beats per minute. And a warm rush of wet heat pulsed between my legs.
He placed the top of the stick under my chin and forced it up until my neck was bent back and I was looking up at the ceiling. “Up, off your heels.”
I straightened my thighs, kneeling upright, my hands hanging at my sides.
“Better. Now, those hands. Behind your back.”
I clasped them together behind my butt.
“Shoulders relaxed. Chest up. Buttocks tucked in.”
I made the corrections, flashing back to ballet class. Yes, this was very much like ballet. And I wouldn’t be surprised to learn my teacher did a little domination on the side.
“Much better. Very pretty, Alice.” Circling around to my back, Tristan let the tip of that whip thing tickle me, dragging lightly across my skin. He stopped directly behind me, placed the little straps on my shoulder and slowly teased me with them. The touch was soft. Barely perceptible. But what it did to my body.
Within minutes, I was trembling. I was hot. I was tense. And I wanted Tristan to touch me for real.
Actually, what I wanted was for Tristan to say to hell with all this teasing and throw me down, climb on top of me, and shove his big cock into my pussy.
Why couldn’t he do that? Why?
“This is the way I want you to present yourself to me whenever we come into this room. Tomorrow morning, when you are woken, you are to eat first then shower and prepare yourself for me. You will be in this room, in this position, no later than eight o’clock.”
“Okay,” I said.
The little whip thing smacked me on the top of my ass, and I jerked. It didn’t hurt; it startled me.
“The proper response is ‘Yes, Sir.’ ”
“Yes, Sir,” I echoed as a little wave of nervous energy buzzed through me. I’d been corrected, and it hadn’t been too bad. No, in fact, it made this whole experience that much more thrilling. Anticipation was a powerful aphrodisiac. Who would have thought?
He continued, “You will do as I say at all times. Both when we are in this room and when we are not. You will eat when I tell you to. Sleep when I tell you to.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Coming around to stop in front of me, he dragged the whip down the center of my chest. I sucked in a little gasp.
He said, “You are not permitted at any time to masturbate. Your orgasms are mine.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And I repeat, if I push too hard or do something you cannot handle, you will say the word Red.”
“Red,” I echoed.
“Do you have any questions?”
I knew I should, but my brain wasn’t working very well at the moment. I was kneeling in front of a man who made my blood burn, and I didn’t know what to expect. It was a lot to take in.
“No?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not right now, I guess.”
“All right.” He motioned me up with the whip. “Stand.”
I stood.
“The bed. Lie on your back.”
At last, we were getting to the fun stuff. Yay! I climbed up on the bed, crawled to roughly the center, my head at pillow level. I eased down onto my back and watched as he grabbed some leather cuffs from the stash he’d carried in and joined me.
My heart banged against my breastbone as I watched him buckle the cuffs around my wrists. Then he pulled some chains from somewhere and snapped them on the cuffs so my arms were spread in a wide vee, up and out to the sides.
“Legs.” He made a parting motion with his hands.
Leaving them flat on the bed, I slid them apart.
I felt so helpless, powerless. I loved it already.
I was ready. Ready to face whatever my master would do to me next.
9
I hadn’t spent very much time in Tristan Stark’s adult playroom, and already I knew he was the master of erotic torture.
I wanted him so badly, my teeth ached. So did every other part of my body. Since he’d told me to lie down, he’d used that little whip to make me sweat and squirm and beg for mercy. He’d tapped me here and smacked me there, and ohmygod, I hadn’t known that pain could amplify erotic need so much.
I had no idea how much time had passed since we’d come in here. But all I could focus on, as he ran the tip of that whip over my labia, was the almost unbearable need slamming through me with every heartbeat. I wanted relief. I wanted to come. But he would not let me.
I blinked back tears.
“You’re doing much better, Alice. Good girl.”
