Master Stephen by Natalie Dae Page A

She jolted, came alive, and raised her head to stare at everyone watching, although her eyes were glazed. Master Stephen sucked on and lifted one hand to touch her other nipple. He tugged more than fondled, twisted rather than caressed, and my nipples reacted as though he were doing it to me.
    I wished he was.
    Her Master shoved in and out of her pussy at quite a speed—with force, too, and I knew that must be how she liked it. Rough and ready, a good old finger fuck and nipple suck. Both Masters played with her until she whimpered and tried to drop her head back, the action stopped by the cross behind her. She wiggled her fingers, clenched then unclenched her hands into fists, and I guessed she was on the edge or had the urge to be involved somehow, to touch the men back. Or perhaps her hands had gone numb, her bindings a little too tight. Either way, the fact that she could hardly move turned me on.
    “Come,” her Master said, his voice loud, like he’d intended for everyone in the room to hear him, so that those who hadn’t been watching rushed over to do so. He looked proud of her—it seemed he wanted everyone to witness her orgasm.
    He pushed his fingers—all four of them—in and out so quickly, so hard that if she could have bucked she would have. She was hungry for him—something about the way she panted gave me that idea—and I longed for some of the same, to have a Master I craved, a real one, not just one in my fantasies or one I possibly couldn’t have, like Master Stephen .
    The man in question reared back, taking her nipple with him. I groaned, wide-eyed and completely lost in the visuals. I wanted to touch my tits, to give them a treat similar to what this sub’s were having, yet it wouldn’t have been the same. I wouldn’t have had that wet heat, those teeth nipping, that painful pull that threatened to put me on that knife edge it always seemed I sat on when my nipples were yanked like that.
    The sub let out a long wail, closed her eyes, her teeth bared and her hair sticking to the sides of her face. Sweat drenched her as she held off, yet she’d been told to come.
    “Step away from her now,” her Master said.
    Master Stephen did as he’d been asked, letting her nipples go and melting back into the crowd. Then she came, and I understood why she’d denied herself an orgasm. She didn’t want to come from someone else handling her—that was saved for her Master alone. I was fascinated by her. She came immediately, a woman who couldn’t move anything but her hands, feet and head, who screamed out as if she were being tortured. But I knew better. She was loving this, loving her release, her Master pumping his hand in and out of her like she was just something to be used.
    I understood how that felt, because I enjoyed it myself. I’d told someone about it once, and she’d said I gave subs a bad name, that it gave credence to the crap that flew around about BDSM in general. How it was abusive. How the message that subs liked being treated in certain ways created the wrong impression. I’d been confused—and a little upset. Wasn’t a sub allowed other emotions? If I wanted to be used, wasn’t that my right? I’d wandered away from her, into a corner where I’d thought about it all evening. I’d gone home, thought about it some more, and it hadn’t been until the early hours of the morning that I’d decided I could feel how I wanted to feel, want what I wanted without experiencing any guilt for it.
    And here was another sub who apparently felt the same way.
    I wasn’t alone.
    I glanced across to see if I could spot Master Stephen. He’d gone to stand against the right-hand wall, his back to it, face flushed, attention on the sub as she continued to come and come and come. Going by his facial expression, I would say he was amazed by her, perhaps pleased that he’d had a hand—and mouth—in making her go off like a firecracker. Yet something else lurked on the edges of his features.