The Master's Child - Complete Series

Target-8

What passes between us? I don't have a name for it. But as the smile unfolds from his eyes, his kiss is hot and dark and deep, and after a moment, my Master relinquishes his hold on my hair, releasing me to him.

Under me, Michael grunts, his fingers sinking into my flesh. His head presses back and his mouth flings wide… “Christ…”

Behind me, my Master’s shaft rubs against my spine: firm, yet yielding; hard but smooth, as he slides higher then lower, and up against me, slick and warm as he works himself against me…

And higher, his chest pressed against my shoulders, the thump of his heartbeat quickens, thundering against my body: faster, harder…

More…

He stiffens, groaning, and wet heat splashes behind me.

And that’s enough: the Rush takes me, my own flesh pulsating, my sight going blind, my awareness turning inside as wave after pleasurable wave ripples through my s*x and my thighs, making heart and head pound. Even the tips of my fingers tingle…

Until, sated, my p***y hums to a stop, purring in satisfaction.

God, but that was good…

My Master presses against me; his hard body to my spine, his face to the crook of my neck and shoulder, his breathing deep, heavy, gradually easing…

Richard looks to Beth, turns briefly to me, caressing my face, then returns to his wife. Arms outstretched, “My Love…”

I drop to my hands, and a grinning, though softening, Michael reaches for my swinging t**s with his mouth and hands

His voice is muffled. “Thank you very much…”

Stars behind my eyes, my heartbeat pounds downhill, slowing bit by bit. Getting my breathing back to a handleable level, I unhitch from Michael and then, with a bit of help from my Master, lower myself onto the next lounger.

Michael hauls himself upright. “I think that calls for cold drinks all round.” And tugging on a pair of shorts, he vanishes inside.

I lie back, still descending from the heavens. “Oh, that was great. But it’s going to wear me to a sliver.”

My Master eyes me slant-wise, his mouth twitching. “So, you’re not enjoying having three husbands?”

There’s a twinkle in his eye, but the question sobers me. “Is that really what’s happening? I know we talked… Michael and Beth… but…”

My Master, my husband de facto, sits by me, stroking my hand. “I’d say that is what is happening, yes. The reality of the situation.” His brow creases. “Does that bother you?”

Does it?

“It seems terribly… greedy… of me to have three husbands.”

“Why?” He swings an arm, gesturing to Richard and Beth, locked in a close embrace, murmuring to each other. “You have always liked and respected Richard...” Richard notices, nodding but returns his attention to Beth. “… And you were attracted to him the moment you met.”

And on that, I’m still uncertain of what to say.

My Master pauses, then seems to feel the need to fill the silence. “None of us will be left bereft. Lost. Abandoned. Whatever children our group produces will be protected, loved… cherished…. Alright, so the first child is, biologically speaking, yours and mine. The second will be Beth’s and Richard’s. And you have promised the next to Michael. But the biological relationships are beside the point. Children need a loving family. Ours will always have that. So long as they are nurtured and raised by adults who love them, what does the exact parentage matter?”

“I’m… never sure what to make of Richard.”

My Master tilts his head, brow wrinkling. “In what way?”

“How he feels about me… No… What he thinks of me. I mean… he… seems attracted to me, but he loves Beth so much. I don’t know…”

My Master shrugs. “You could say the same for Michael. He loves you deeply, but nonetheless is also attracted to Beth. I would say it is both the similarities and the contrasts between the pair of you that is the attraction. Physically so alike. Emotionally so unalike. And…” He mulls for a moment… “I suspect it is the same for Richard. In his case he is, um…” He rocks his hand back and forth… “He is coming from the other end, as it were.” His lips twitch again.

Devilment stirs in me. “And you, Master?”

He leans close, slipping his hand behind my head and looping my ponytail into his fingers. Steering my face to his, “I am yours. And I have been since the days I saw a pair of green eyes in an auction catalogue.”

And his mouth falls over mine.

*****

Michael – Twenty Weeks

I’m enjoying the view. Looking over the sea, the sand and the dunes is pretty good. Watching Beth and Charlotte sitting together exchanging pregnancy notes and gossip is even better.

Then the peace is broken…

Raised voices…

No… not exactly raised… but determined… Angry even…

And without a hint that either party intends to back down.

Who is it?

I c**k an ear…

James and… Ross??

What on earth would they be arguing about?

The girls both turn, Charlotte’s eyes wary, Beth’s worried.

Putting my drink down, “I’ll see what’s happening. You two stay here.”

I follow the palaver back inside, meeting Richard en-route, who looks as baffled as I feel. “What the hell would those two argue about?”

“Not a clue. We’d better see what’s going on.”

And together we track the racket to the kitchen where James and Ross are manoeuvring for position around the table like a pair of bull elephants with toothache.

Ross slams an onion down onto a chopping board. “I cook for Mr and Mrs Haswell.”

James brandishes a cheese grater like Zeus threatening the impious with thunder-bolts. “I’ve been cooking for them for months, whenever they’ve visited my home.”

“Exactly. Your home, Mr Alexanders. Your home. This is Mr Haswell’s property…”

“But this dinner is for extra guests. And I invited them…”

“Give me strength…” I mutter.

Next to me, Richard grunts agreement.

James slaps a garlic bulb onto his own chopping board, then comes down on it hard with the flat of a knife. The bulb shatters, cloves shoot off in all directions and I duck smartly to avoid the shrapnel.

Richard thunders in. “Oh, give it a rest, the pair of you.” They freeze. “James, you do the starter and the dessert. Ross, you do the main. That way we all get a bit of peace and quiet.”

The wisdom of Solomon…

“But…”

“I was just…”

“That’s the end of it. As you both just agreed, my house. So, it’s my rules.”

*****

I look over the place settings. “Seven? So, who’s the company we’re expecting?”

James sets napkins by each place, still chuntering under his breath. “We're celebrating Kirstie leaving hospital. I invited her and Ryan along. Help them get back into the social scene again.”

“Great idea. Do we know if they're actually a couple again?”

James straightens up. “Not sure. The last I saw she still wasn’t wearing his collar. But I think some normal interaction with friends may help smooth that one along.”

“You are playing matchmaker?”

“Yes, I am. I like Kirstie. She's been a good friend. More than a friend, considering what she's suffered. And... I've not forgotten that I f****d things up when she first asked me to help her with Ryan.”

“That wasn't your fault. Ryan was being a pig-headed moron, not accepting what it takes to be someone's Dom.”

“Well, maybe. Maybe not. I still feel responsible.”

*****

The sound of a car outside. Scruffy barks, running in excited circles by the door, his runty tail a-quiver.

Richard eyes him, sucking in his cheeks. “You know, if this house was ever going to host a dog, I'd have envisaged something rather more elegant than that. A setter perhaps, or maybe a deerhound. Something with a bit of style and aristocracy.”

“You mean you didn’t want something that looks like it was built from the bits all the other dogs didn't want?”

He gives me a dry look then make his way down the hall to the door. Somewhere along the route he paints on his best ‘Host’ face.

“Kirstie. Ryan. Do come in, the pair of you.”

Kirstie, tall and elegant as ever, not pretty, not exactly beautiful either, but striking, with her strong features and aquiline nose. In a loose summer dress, her dark hair long and free, she's linked arm in arm with Ryan and with just a hint of leaning on him for support.

But her long swan neck is bare of ornament.

I shake hands with Ryan then lean close to kiss Kirstie on the cheek. “Wonderful to see you back on your feet, Kirstie.”

*****

The meal is exquisite. The first course, French onion soup, arrives hot and fragrant straight from the oven. The cheese crust, bubbling and golden, floats atop a dark broth which is somehow savoury and sweet at the same time.

“Great soup,” says Kirstie.

James beams. “Glad you think so.”

The main course is rack of lamb. Crisp and succulent, there’s rosemary and… I chew, analysing the flavour… Normally I would simply ask James, but not today…

Charlotte pipes up to Ross, standing in the wings as waiter. “Lovely roast, Ross. What’s that fruity flavour?”

“It’s plum and clove, Mrs Summerford. I basted the lamb with preserve made from the fruit I picked in Mr and Mrs Haswell’s garden last year.”

She smacks her lips, marking out her words with an upraised fork. “It’s really good. Michael, I’ll have to plant some fruit trees in our garden too. Sally would love that for the restaurant kitchen.”

Thunder rolls over James’ face.

I bite into another succulent mouthful. “Great idea, eh James?”

Ross smirks, pointedly looking anywhere but at James.

Kirstie leans in, her head close to mine. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just James and Ross indulging in a little edge play.”

“Ah…” She hides a smile behind a glass of cava. “Oh, by the way, Charlotte. Did that doctor find you?”

Charlotte looks blank. “Doctor? What doctor?”

“Um, Ramora, I think he said. Yes, Doctor Ramora. He came by last week asking after you, just before I was signed out for the last time. I told him you'd moved out weeks ago.”

“Ramora?” Charlotte swings her head. “Doesn’t mean a thing to me. What did he look like?”

“Tallish, heavily built. Looked more like a bouncer then a doctor actually.”

Charlotte laughs. “Doesn't ring a bell. Maybe he was looking for my records and they’d got the departments mixed up.” She shrugs, dismissing it.

*****

“So… Charlotte… What’s in the future for your mother?” asks Ryan. “Happily single? Or is she looking for a man in her life?”

Charlotte chews slowly. “I don’t think so. I think she’s enjoying taking control of her own life again. She spent so long, so many years, having no control… Events spinning around her. One man or another telling her what she had to do, or manipulating her into it… Whether she liked it or not… Stephen, my father, Frank…”

Ryan pushes food around his plate. “It’s about understanding the limits isn’t it,” he says after a while. “About what’s agreed between people. What is consented to. ‘No’ means ‘No’. Would you agree, James?”

James’ expression is solemn, but his words are smooth. “I would agree, yes. ‘No’ does mean ‘No’.”

“Yes… consent is the key to the bond between a couple…” Ryan appears to be replying to James, but his eyes are on Kirstie.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Consent is the key.” And a smile whispers over her lips.

*****

Dessert when it arrives, is a fairyland confection of fruit and spun sugar with enough whipped cream to lay a ski slope.

Ryan huffs and leans back, abandoning his spoon to hold his middle. “Absolutely delicious. Superb.”

“There’s plenty more,” says James.

“Couldn’t eat another thing. You’ve surpassed yourself, James.” He twists around. “You too, Ross. Amazing.”