maybe treat ourselves to a fuck under the moon and stars.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, catching sight of Master M as he strode, undressed, past the open bedroom door then out of sight. His shadow followed behind him on the carpet, long, like an accusing finger. It paused, then the shape of it changed, the direction of it shifted, and the man himself reappeared in the doorway.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming into the room. He walked over to a wine fridge that we kept bottled water in. Taking one out, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyebrows met, his frown making me feel guilty.
“Whole,” I said, voice croaky.
He shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t given yourself over. Completely.”
“I wanted to. Needed to.”
He came to the side of the bed then handed me some water. I rolled the bottle across my forehead first, then down over my belly to cool the still-warm skin. I smiled at him, hoping to get one in return, but all he gave me was another look of worry. To stave off further guilt that I’d put that look there, I drank greedily, my throat parched and sore from so much screaming.
“It went well, didn’t it?” I asked, hoping for a positive answer. Anything negative might break off a piece of my heart. But my instincts had been to push for what I’d wanted. I’d trusted them since I’d met him and everything had turned out all right so far.
He nodded. “It couldn’t have gone better.”
I smiled, our words an echo of the past.
He cleared his throat. “I…lost myself for a moment too.”
I knew he had. Could tell by the way he’d whipped me. The sweat, the determination on his face.
“How did that feel, Sir?”
“Good. Strange. Scary. Liberating. I thought it was wrong but then it felt too right. I should learn to let you have your way more often.”
“I know what you mean—about it being scary yet liberating. Do you hate me just a little bit for pushing you?” Please don’t say you do…
“Of course not. I could never hate you.”
Relief made itself at home inside me. “Was I selfish?”
“Perhaps a bit, but I understand why.”
“Does it make a difference? To us?”
He sat beside me, reaching out to stroke my hair off my forehead.
“Yes—but I think it will make us stronger. Sometimes I have tunnel vision, that something becomes so important to me that I fail to see it any other way. And you were right, getting me to express myself in public, letting you do what you did in public… There’s no doubt now that we’re a strong couple—no one will try to come between us. Not that they would have anyway. Unless they’re mad.” He smiled that gentle smile of his.
My stomach rolled over. I took his hand, tracing a fingertip over the back of it.
“How do you feel? I mean really feel?” he asked.
“Sore but content. Will you help me up?”
I shifted to get out of bed, rising with his aid, somewhat unsteady on my feet for a few seconds. I glanced at the bedside clock on my way to the bathroom, Master M by my side. The red numbers showed eleven-thirty. So I had slept for a good hour. He left me to it in the bathroom, keeping the door open in case I needed him. I brushed my teeth, the aching throb between my legs returning as I remembered my release hadn’t been fully realized.
His speech returned then, filling my head. The waiting. The coming later. How it could be more intense.
I returned to bed, resting beside him there. The ache grew, making itself known in such a way that I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to. I skated my hands down my hot stomach to the patch of hair between my legs. Contemplated touching myself—my clit, a finger inside my cunt—then thought better of it. He would want to bring me to completion.
I looked across at him, to say with my eyes that I needed him.
“Not yet. You need more time,” he said.
* * * *
Then
The opening night had been a complete success. Staff had mingled while keeping an eye on the
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, catching sight of Master M as he strode, undressed, past the open bedroom door then out of sight. His shadow followed behind him on the carpet, long, like an accusing finger. It paused, then the shape of it changed, the direction of it shifted, and the man himself reappeared in the doorway.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming into the room. He walked over to a wine fridge that we kept bottled water in. Taking one out, he glanced over his shoulder. His eyebrows met, his frown making me feel guilty.
“Whole,” I said, voice croaky.
He shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t given yourself over. Completely.”
“I wanted to. Needed to.”
He came to the side of the bed then handed me some water. I rolled the bottle across my forehead first, then down over my belly to cool the still-warm skin. I smiled at him, hoping to get one in return, but all he gave me was another look of worry. To stave off further guilt that I’d put that look there, I drank greedily, my throat parched and sore from so much screaming.
“It went well, didn’t it?” I asked, hoping for a positive answer. Anything negative might break off a piece of my heart. But my instincts had been to push for what I’d wanted. I’d trusted them since I’d met him and everything had turned out all right so far.
He nodded. “It couldn’t have gone better.”
I smiled, our words an echo of the past.
He cleared his throat. “I…lost myself for a moment too.”
I knew he had. Could tell by the way he’d whipped me. The sweat, the determination on his face.
“How did that feel, Sir?”
“Good. Strange. Scary. Liberating. I thought it was wrong but then it felt too right. I should learn to let you have your way more often.”
“I know what you mean—about it being scary yet liberating. Do you hate me just a little bit for pushing you?” Please don’t say you do…
“Of course not. I could never hate you.”
Relief made itself at home inside me. “Was I selfish?”
“Perhaps a bit, but I understand why.”
“Does it make a difference? To us?”
He sat beside me, reaching out to stroke my hair off my forehead.
“Yes—but I think it will make us stronger. Sometimes I have tunnel vision, that something becomes so important to me that I fail to see it any other way. And you were right, getting me to express myself in public, letting you do what you did in public… There’s no doubt now that we’re a strong couple—no one will try to come between us. Not that they would have anyway. Unless they’re mad.” He smiled that gentle smile of his.
My stomach rolled over. I took his hand, tracing a fingertip over the back of it.
“How do you feel? I mean really feel?” he asked.
“Sore but content. Will you help me up?”
I shifted to get out of bed, rising with his aid, somewhat unsteady on my feet for a few seconds. I glanced at the bedside clock on my way to the bathroom, Master M by my side. The red numbers showed eleven-thirty. So I had slept for a good hour. He left me to it in the bathroom, keeping the door open in case I needed him. I brushed my teeth, the aching throb between my legs returning as I remembered my release hadn’t been fully realized.
His speech returned then, filling my head. The waiting. The coming later. How it could be more intense.
I returned to bed, resting beside him there. The ache grew, making itself known in such a way that I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to. I skated my hands down my hot stomach to the patch of hair between my legs. Contemplated touching myself—my clit, a finger inside my cunt—then thought better of it. He would want to bring me to completion.
I looked across at him, to say with my eyes that I needed him.
“Not yet. You need more time,” he said.
* * * *
Then
The opening night had been a complete success. Staff had mingled while keeping an eye on the
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