Chapter Two – Day Two-2
1582 Words
Mastering me…
MasteringMy heart pounds and inside my ears, a pulse thumps.
He pauses, breathes deeply, the sunlight playing over his features, his pupils pricking with the light, then widening again as he looks at me.
His face. Fine featured. The skin taut. The bone structure defined. The steel-blue of his eyes matched by the steel drawn through his dark hair.
His muscle tone too. My Master, for all that he is older, takes care of himself. And it shows. A scattering of steel-grey hair only highlights broad chest and shoulders before trailing over a firm, flat belly in a narrowing line toward his groin.
And now, that beautiful body is all mine.
“Elizabeth?” His brow furrows.
“Master?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Us, Master.”
UsHis shaft still filling me but motionless, his smile blooms again and he stoops to peck a kiss to my lips. Flicking eyes up the bed, “Grip the headboard.”
He releases my wrists, and obediently I curl fingers tightly around the bars. His freed hand glides down over my skin, the nails skittering over, sending a frisson rippling down my length, dancing to my s*x. As his palm settles on my breast, he thumbs at the n****e, already raised, but hardening and crinkling under his attentions. It nubs and he takes it between finger and thumb, rolling and squeezing.
The sensation frisks down my length, setting p***y throbbing about him, gripping and clenching. My Master must feel it, inhaling sharply, eyes crinkling, then showing his teeth in a white and laughing smile. His hold on my n****e tightens, a nip turning to a pinch, then a twist. “I think this evening, I’m going to have you properly restrained and these, clamped. I want to hear you scream a little. Or maybe, a lot.”
properly theseAs his grip increases, my breath draws in, but p***y pulses hot and fluid. His belly pressed to mine, the s*x flush heats our joined flesh and I moan.
“Aren’t we the juicy one, Mrs Haswell…” The pinch tightens and I’m panting against the pressure when abruptly, snapping away his hand, dropping his face, he replaces fingers with mouth and lips.
Drawing the single n****e between tongue-tip and teeth, the sharp enamel edge razors over already sensitised skin. Pain gambols to my overheated core, frisking over my breasts and chest and neck, setting my skin afire and wringing a shudder from my throat.
My Master raises his face. “That’s better,” he comments, as though remarking on the weather. “I was beginning to wonder when I would get some real sound out of you. Let’s try that again.” And dropping his face once more, now to the other breast, he resumes his gentle torment of my other n****e.
But now, he’s moving inside me, angling himself, winding himself inside me. The torture of my n****e is electric, lightning slashing through me, and all the while he thrusts. Gently at first, but with increasing strength. I’m trying to move with him, to match his strokes, but my pelvis shudders, all out of my control. I’m gushing, spilling and…
Bbbbzzzz….
The landline buzzes a demand at us.
“f**k!” My Master jerks up from his n****e-torment, slamming a palm sidelong, banging down onto the Reject button, and the thing falls silent.
RejectHe throws a look full of apology at me then, once more, drops his mouth to my breast.
Fifteen seconds later, the phone rings again.
He jolts upright, “Who the hell is that?” Withdrawing from me with a short, slick, sucking sound, he rolls out of the bed and, yanking at the power cable, tugs it free of the socket.
hell“Rhetorical question, Master?”
He snaps me a look, then huffs a laugh. “Yes. Purely rhetorical, Elizabeth. Whoever it was, I don’t give a flying f**k about hearing what they have to say. Now…” c**k still at attention, he perches a hip beside me… “Where were we…?”
look,And his mobile trumpets a call.
His eyes roll upward and, stamping across the room, he snatches up the phone. “Yes?” he snarls then, his tone milder, “My apologies, Francis, I didn’t mean to bite your head off, but as you well know...”
Yes?The line gabbles at him. I pick up the tone and cadence of Francis, my Master’s PA speaking, but can’t make out the words…
My Master speaks in measured tones, each word very deliberate. “Francis, tell Vandervoort I"m on my honeymoon. Not that he doesn’t already know it, since he attended the wedding yesterday. What the hell does he…?”
honeymoonThe voice gabbles again…
He sighs, pressing a hand to the back of his head. “Alright, Francis. Pass him through… Jack? What is it that means I have to be disturbed right now? You know that…”
right now?A new voice, deeper and gruffer, jabbers on. He covers the microphone with a hand, swinging to face me. “My Love, forgive me. I gave strict instructions I was not to be disturbed for the next several days. Unfortunately, this is the mayor, and I have to…”
“I understand, Master. Don’t worry. Just deal with whatever it is.”
He lowers lids at me then listens with poor patience, all the while radiating apology toward me. “… I’m aware of it, yes…Yes, I’ve already told him that…”
YesFinally, he snaps. “Jack, I understand your annoyance but, spelling it out, I am on my honeymoon. I’ll handle it next week when I’m back in the office. And that’s the end of it.” With a tap, he disconnects, giving me an exasperated look.
honeymoonthat’s Barely has he set his phone down, when it rings again. Face redding, he checks the screen. “Now it’s that damn wife of his.” And he taps the reject button again.
“Master, if they"re going to keep pestering you, might it be easier for you to go, sort out whatever the problem is, then come back, but tell them you"re turning off your phone for the week?”
He sits by me on the bed again, stroking a knuckle over my cheek. “Would you be alright with that?”
“Yes, I would. As I say, I know things have to be different, and I understand who and what I have married.”
He droops. “That’s very good of you, Elizabeth, but…”
And the f*****g phone, f*****g rings again.
fucking fuckingagainBarely has he picked it up when a female voice, shrill and demanding, starts harping on at him. He cuts it short. “Alright,” he barks. “I’ll come in. But make it clear that whatever he has to say, it gets done today!”
today!He slams his phone down on the side, then heaves air. “Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I have to go. But I"ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“Is there a problem at work?”
He rocks his hand. “Not exactly. The mayor is involved in some dispute with the police commissioner. I"ve been asked to mediate.” He grimaces. “This is the downside of wealth.”
?
“Um… Not with you. How d’you mean?”
He inhales, scraping a hand through his hair. “I own a sizeable proportion of the City. I often get dragged into these affairs. Too many people think that being wealthy is the same as being important.”
“Including the mayor and the police commissioner?”
He chuckles. “In fact, just the mayor. Vandervoort is too easily impressed by money. His wife more so. The police commissioner, however, is a man of great common sense. Besides which, I don"t fool him. He’s an old friend. Will Stanton and I were at school together. He knows me far too well to be impressed by my bank balance.” He gives me a sharp look. “You’re sure you’re alright me leaving you for a few hours?”
I smile. “Master, it’s fine.”
fineI ponder how to put my thoughts into words. “It was a few years ago, but there was something I read once, a piece of advice from a mother to her daughter, and it stuck. It was from an old magazine, a 19th Century ladies’ magazine would you believe…” He arches brows, lips quirking… “…but I still think it’s good advice. She said, if you marry a doctor, you can’t complain that he doesn"t work the hours of a shoe clerk. But, if you marry a shoe clerk, you can’t complain that he doesn"t earn the money of a doctor…”
ButThe pucker on his lips turns to a true smile, eyes crinkling. “And from that, what do you read into our situation?”
“I married you, Master. And I’ve married everything that goes with you.”
He sweeps arms around me, squeezing hard. “Thank you, Elizabeth.” He kisses my forehead, holds my shoulders, looks me in the eye. “I promise I’ll return as soon as I can.”
And with that, he dresses and is gone.
*****
The Story Continues In
The Master’s Gift
- Writer
