Chapter One
I couldn’t wait for what Master Red had in store for me tonight. I was at Marshall Cottage again—the place I loved visiting, where every desire was met, providing it was consensual. I couldn’t think of anything I wouldn’t consent to so long as Master Red was the one administering the pleasure-pain. Thoughts of him ruled my life.
I wished he would rule my life.
I stood in the room and stared around at the other guests. My orange PVC dress was sticking to me—the heat in here seemed to have been cranked up. The bodies, the amount of people—that’s what was creating it, everyone panting, breathing heavily. I was in one of the voyeur rooms, waiting for my Master. We played a game every week, him arriving after me, going through Marshall Cottage until he found me. He usually saw some pretty raw sights upstairs if the doors were ajar and, of course, sights in the voyeur areas, that got him more than ready to scene with me. Some nights I chose a private room—it depended on my mood—but tonight I wanted to watch.
My gold-colored shoes sparkled from the light of the chandelier, covered as they were in sequins. I loved them—they reminded me of the first time I’d come here looking for a new Master.
* * * *
“Wear them every week, Charlotte, so I can spot you right away. And always wear a brightly colored dress for the same reason.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He lifts a hand to stroke my cheek, trailing the back of one finger down my skin. “I don’t want to have to search for you among all the black outfits or naked bodies. I want you to stand out. You’re too beautiful to merge into the background.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He kisses me, the touch light, brief, and I wonder how I got so lucky. We talk all night instead of entering a scene. I’m comfortable with him, enough to agree to be his sub, to share my body with him, to go out on dates. Give him my trust. And his contract is fair, easy to interpret, no fuzzy small print.
“Next week we’ll begin,” he says, brushing his fingertip over my lips. “From the beginning, as though you’ve never scened before. I need to learn your limits, and you need to learn how I behave. We might not be compatible.”
“That’s very good of you, Sir.”
“It’s how it should be, pet.”
* * * *
And I’d returned, once a week for three months in a row so far, with the intention of coming back time and time again. I was addicted to him as much as he seemed to be addicted to me. I’d become so wrapped up in him I could barely recall what my life had been like without him in it. Odd when that happened. Odd but good.
How easily he had become a big part of my life. How easily I’d become used to him. I met him in my dreams, too, which gave me the sense I knew him better than I actually did. It had helped me to grow emotionally attached. Did he dream about me? Did he have those same feelings of knowing me in a deeper way? Perhaps I could ask him one day. Maybe, if we ended up a proper couple, we’d stare at the bedroom ceiling after a good fuck and spill the emotions we’d been experiencing so far. Would we laugh at our dreams and desires, bonding even more?
I hoped that would happen. To have him in my life permanently was something I wished for but so far hadn’t pushed the issue. Putting pressure on him might mean I’d lose him—and I couldn’t stand that.
I sighed, dragging myself from my internal thoughts and concentrating on what was going on around me. Voyeur room five contained two St. Andrew’s Crosses, one in each far corner. I stood to the right of the door, taking in the sights, the people, the toys, the moans and gasps. Several people lounged on black leather settees, fingers in cunts, hands wrapped tightly around dicks, breasts exposed, nipples hard. I was wet—how could I not be?—and turned on, anxious for my Master to appear. He must be checking upstairs first—I’d been here for five minutes
I couldn’t wait for what Master Red had in store for me tonight. I was at Marshall Cottage again—the place I loved visiting, where every desire was met, providing it was consensual. I couldn’t think of anything I wouldn’t consent to so long as Master Red was the one administering the pleasure-pain. Thoughts of him ruled my life.
I wished he would rule my life.
I stood in the room and stared around at the other guests. My orange PVC dress was sticking to me—the heat in here seemed to have been cranked up. The bodies, the amount of people—that’s what was creating it, everyone panting, breathing heavily. I was in one of the voyeur rooms, waiting for my Master. We played a game every week, him arriving after me, going through Marshall Cottage until he found me. He usually saw some pretty raw sights upstairs if the doors were ajar and, of course, sights in the voyeur areas, that got him more than ready to scene with me. Some nights I chose a private room—it depended on my mood—but tonight I wanted to watch.
My gold-colored shoes sparkled from the light of the chandelier, covered as they were in sequins. I loved them—they reminded me of the first time I’d come here looking for a new Master.
* * * *
“Wear them every week, Charlotte, so I can spot you right away. And always wear a brightly colored dress for the same reason.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He lifts a hand to stroke my cheek, trailing the back of one finger down my skin. “I don’t want to have to search for you among all the black outfits or naked bodies. I want you to stand out. You’re too beautiful to merge into the background.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He kisses me, the touch light, brief, and I wonder how I got so lucky. We talk all night instead of entering a scene. I’m comfortable with him, enough to agree to be his sub, to share my body with him, to go out on dates. Give him my trust. And his contract is fair, easy to interpret, no fuzzy small print.
“Next week we’ll begin,” he says, brushing his fingertip over my lips. “From the beginning, as though you’ve never scened before. I need to learn your limits, and you need to learn how I behave. We might not be compatible.”
“That’s very good of you, Sir.”
“It’s how it should be, pet.”
* * * *
And I’d returned, once a week for three months in a row so far, with the intention of coming back time and time again. I was addicted to him as much as he seemed to be addicted to me. I’d become so wrapped up in him I could barely recall what my life had been like without him in it. Odd when that happened. Odd but good.
How easily he had become a big part of my life. How easily I’d become used to him. I met him in my dreams, too, which gave me the sense I knew him better than I actually did. It had helped me to grow emotionally attached. Did he dream about me? Did he have those same feelings of knowing me in a deeper way? Perhaps I could ask him one day. Maybe, if we ended up a proper couple, we’d stare at the bedroom ceiling after a good fuck and spill the emotions we’d been experiencing so far. Would we laugh at our dreams and desires, bonding even more?
I hoped that would happen. To have him in my life permanently was something I wished for but so far hadn’t pushed the issue. Putting pressure on him might mean I’d lose him—and I couldn’t stand that.
I sighed, dragging myself from my internal thoughts and concentrating on what was going on around me. Voyeur room five contained two St. Andrew’s Crosses, one in each far corner. I stood to the right of the door, taking in the sights, the people, the toys, the moans and gasps. Several people lounged on black leather settees, fingers in cunts, hands wrapped tightly around dicks, breasts exposed, nipples hard. I was wet—how could I not be?—and turned on, anxious for my Master to appear. He must be checking upstairs first—I’d been here for five minutes
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