Master Stephen (4 page)

He moved back a bit then took out two more clamps. I had never had three on at once before—the pain was usually enough on one region or the other. But this was a challenge, him asking me if I could take him for the Master he really was, one who liked to push limits pretty damn far and then some. I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek, and prepared myself for what was to come.

These clips were larger, covered in gold-colored glitter, the type I could wear here as decoration rather than just a pleasure tool. He held them over my nipples then swiftly attached them, rushing forward to take my chin in his hand and kiss me hard. I whimpered through the pain, glad to have his kiss as a distraction. He was good at this—too good, and I supposed that he’d had plenty of practice to gain experience from watching everyone else each time he’d been here.

He wrenched his mouth away to settle it beside my ear. “You like that kind of pain, sub?” he whispered.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tell me your safe word again.”

“Fennel.”

“And what do you want that other little sub to be doing while I lick your cunt and her Master slaps you with the rope?”

“To finger-fuck herself, Sir. To have pleasure.”

“Very well.” He turned to Master Clive. “My sub would like your sub to touch herself. To stand beside you and come. My sub wants to watch her doing it.”

My cunt spasmed at the idea of that, of being a voyeur myself while others watched us.

“Get up,” Master Clive said. “Do as he asked. And yes, you may come at any time.”

She stood, wearing only a black leather bra with shiny metal studs all over it, holes cut out for her nipples to poke through. She spread her legs, revealing no covering on her cunt except a fine smattering of dark hairs. She opened her lower lips using two fingers and held them there, showing off her wetness. Her pussy glistened under the lighting, looked beautiful and was something I wanted to taste, to lick, to feel beneath my tongue. I’d never had that desire before and I blushed, realizing I wasn’t as sure of my sexuality as I’d thought.

Master Stephen slid down to his knees, curled his hands around my calves—his palms were warm and felt so good—then lunged forward onto my cunt. He worked his tongue up and down my folds then slid it inside my opening. The movement from that served to nudge the clip. My clit pulsed, throbbed and threatened to explode beneath it. I drowned in the sensations he was creating, and just as I thought I could take no more, he reached up to tug at the clamps on my nipples. Pain surged from my breasts and cunt into my belly, coalescing there, turning into raw, sharp pleasure that streaked back out again and filled my entire body. He’d recreated the scene with the woman in the orange dress so damn well.

I looked down at what he was doing, taking in the sight of him bobbing his head, frantically moving his fingers on my nipples. Along with that was the other Dom beside him, watching what my Master was doing, absently rubbing his cock through his trousers. Then there was his sub, massaging her cunt with her eyes closed, her hips rising. She breathed heavily, and I matched my inhales and exhales to hers. She opened her eyes, saw me looking then averted her gaze, a heavy blush infusing her cheeks.

Master Clive struck me. He’d stepped very close, holding the rope halfway up its length, tapping with the slightest swing. It was enough for me to feel the rough burn, to know that if he kept tapping my muscle would numb. He hit me again and again then I realized exactly why Master Stephen had requested this. The constant dull thud of the rope on my thigh took the edge of the shrieking pain in my clit and nipples away, making it bearable.

Soon, the pain there changed, morphed into some much more pleasurable. The rope wielder lifted the rope to the side, in front of the masturbating sub, and brought it down with more force. Now the whipping was how I’d thought it would be from the start. How had these men known without exchanging words that this pattern was what was best for me?

Because they were Masters. Pure, wonderful Masters.

Chapter Four

My orgasm came on swiftly, carrying me away on a fluffy cloud. I closed my eyes and enjoyed Master Stephen’s tongue, the broad sweep of it as he licked from the base of my sex to just beneath my clit. I convulsed, seeing the little sub in my mind’s eye, hearing her soft gasps of pleasure and twinning them in my head with visions of her coming.

“Fucking beautiful,” her Master said.

I assumed he was talking about his sub and smiled.

“Both so fucking beautiful,” he said, “coming together.”

His words urged another wave of bliss out of hiding. It swamped me, and I bucked as much as I was able, shoving my cunt into Master Stephen’s face to get more friction there. He tugged on the nipple clamps—
so good, so bloody good
—and Master Clive smacked the rope harder against my thigh. I shrieked, opened my eyes and stared straight at the little sub. She shuddered from head to toe, working her fingers maniacally over her cunt, her clit fat, bulging with her desire.

“Oh, Sir,” she said.

As my ecstasy waned, Master Stephen let go of the nipple clamps then removed the one from my clit. He sucked there, swirling his tongue around it, soothing the intensity. Master Clive stopped using the rope. He stepped back then took his sub into his arms. He carried her to the other cross. She allowed him to tie her to it, and I looked away, knowing if I watched them I’d come again and I couldn’t take that at the moment. Aftershocks still buzzed through me, my clit and nipples more sensitive than they’d ever been. I was alive, so very alive. The other voyeurs had a decision to make—to watch us or them. I didn’t care what they did, I just wanted to be freed from this cross so I could give my Master what I’d promised earlier.

He released me, and I stumbled forward into his arms. He rested his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down to my knees, making sure I was side on to the audience.

“And now it’s my turn,” he said, looking down at me. “Now you’re going to suck my cock.”

He smiled and I wondered what the hell he’d done to me. I hadn’t thought I could do anything like this in front of people, yet what he’d just said, what he expected of me… Yes, I could do it. Having people watching wasn’t anything to be afraid of, I realized that now. They ceased to exist after a few moments, when pleasure and pain erased their presence.

Master Stephen undid the button on his trousers then drew down the zip, tugging until the material rested mid-thigh. He pulled his dick from the slit in the front of his boxers, presenting me with a good glimpse of it. A beauty—long, sleek, with a rose-hued head, fat and wide, something I definitely wanted filling my cunt the next time we got together—or later if he wanted to stay here a while longer. I groaned, my mouth watering.

He took a fistful of my hair and yanked me closer.

I looked up at him, parted my lips, and waited for him to surge inside.

He didn’t.

“In my pocket,” he said. “Condom.”

I looked for it, found it, then held it up.

“Open it. Roll it onto my cock.”

I obeyed, quickly, wanting nothing more than to sink that dick of his right to the back of my throat. Still holding my hair, he jerked me forward again. I opened my mouth and he plunged in. A thrill of possession went through me, that his cock belonged to me, that for this scene I would get to feel the weight of it on my tongue. Heavy. Throbbing. Thick. If I had my way, those watching us would never feel this, would never know him as I planned to.

“That’s it, sub.” He withdrew, only the tip inside. “You take all of it, every last bit.” He pushed back in. “And do what you said you wanted to. Now.”

I reached up and slid a finger beneath the leg of his boxers then up, higher to his arse crack. He opened his legs wider, all the while fucking my mouth with rigid, delicious thrusts. I circled his arse pucker, found resistance there, then pushed until it gave way and allowed me entry. He groaned, canted his hips, and I eased in farther to the first knuckle. He lowered his arse, seeming to want to impale himself on my finger, and I obliged by inching in some more so he still had the benefit of my mouth surrounding his dick.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “You see what my sub’s doing to me?” he asked the crowd. “Fingering my arse—
fingering my fucking arse
. And she knows exactly what she has to do next.”

He drove in and out, making me gag—
I love it, love, love, love it
—gripping my hair so tight it brought tears to my eyes. I reached up with my free hand, just about able to slip my hand into the other side of his boxers. I felt for his balls—and twisted a nip of loose skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, shoving into me harder. “You can’t see it but she’s pinching my sac. And it’s…” He shuddered, his cock thickening, pulsating on my tongue. “Sublime,” he managed, body jerking.

I had him right where I wanted him. I poked into his arse, brushed my fingertip over the nub there, then twisted his sac harder—and he was undone. He sped up in my mouth for several pumps then stilled, and I felt every spurt of his ejaculation via the
tick-tick-tick
of his vein. He groaned, as did several other people, and I looked up at him as he stared down at me. He closed his eyes, another jet barreling out of him, and I shifted my attention to what I could see of the crowd. Tits, cunts and cocks were exposed, hands and fingers on them. Arses were being spanked, the sound of the slaps ringing around the room. Grunts and gasps seemed to fill the air, battling for supremacy. Everything was just one mass of sound, weaving together, gyrating much like the voyeurs were. And
we
had done this,
we
had created this orgy.

I’d never felt so powerful in my life.

I took my hands out from his boxers and rested them in my lap. He pulled out of my mouth, and after disposing of the condom, tucked his cock away. He zipped up his trousers. I waited for him to tell me to stand, but instead he got down on the stage and sat, his legs out, encouraging me to turn so I sat between them and against him. The closeness was unexpected, the intimacy something I’d wanted for so long that now I’d actually got it, I couldn’t see straight. I blinked, swallowed.

“We’re a perfect fit,” he said in my ear, draping his arms around me and covering my hands with his. “And I want to see you again—every night, if I have my way.”

“That would be lovely, Sir,” I managed, staring at the little sub and her Master on the other stage so I didn’t let my emotions run away with me.

She had been tied to the cross with her back to the audience, her face pressed to the varnished wood. He struck her arse with a paddle, and I thought of what I’d said earlier to Master Stephen, about him striking me while I sucked his cock. Something to look forward to on another occasion.

“They love to play in public,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever known them take a private room.”

“How would you know, Sir, without asking them?”

“He’s a friend of mine. They live together, which is probably why they don’t play privately here—they get enough chances to do that at home.”

I smiled at the thought that this must be like a night out for them. Where one couple might visit the pub for a few drinks, these two, and many others, visited Marshall Cottage. I’d had my eyes opened since I’d been coming here, and now that I sat leaning against a Master of my own, I’d never felt more grateful to be among like-minded people who didn’t raise an eyebrow at what was going on around them, to not be judged… We were blessed.

“I love it here, Sir,” I said. “More so because I met you.”

He hugged me tighter, squeezed my hands, laced his fingers with mine. “It’s certainly made a difference to my life.
You’ve
made a difference, and in only one night too. Imagine what you could do given a month, a year.”

“I’d love the chance to show you, Sir.”

I rested my head back, unperturbed as a couple stepped over us and began a scene on the cross. It was as though no one else was around—they were there, but not. I could see them, could watch them if I wanted to, but they weren’t in our personal space. I wondered if Master Stephen felt the same way.

“Would you like to visit the bathroom?” he asked. “Or perhaps take a shower—let me soap your body?”

I smiled—he seemed to be a romantic at heart. I nodded, and he stood, picked up my clothing, moved to stand in front of me then helped me to my feet. I followed him from the room, up the stairs, then along the landing to the end of the corridor. He pushed a door open to reveal more, but only one was open. Thankfully, no one occupied the room, and we went inside. A claw-foot tub sat in the center, and in the left corner was a large shower that could easily fit up to six people. Fresh, folded towels were on a white chest of drawers beneath the window behind the bath, and miniature bottles of shower gels, shampoos and conditioners were arranged in a basket weaved from some kind of yellow-colored reed.

He closed the door, leaned against it and dropped my clothing. “Come here.”

I went to him, let him cocoon me in his arms. Enjoyed our closeness. Nestled into him, feeling as though I belonged, that I’d found the person who had been hand-picked by fate just for me.

“Bath or shower?” he asked.

“Shower, Sir. I can wash you too, then.”

He stroked my hair, dragging his hand down the length of it, fingertips tickling my back. “You know, I can hardly believe this.” He gestured around the room. “This place, you. How I feel.”

I knew what he meant, how he felt. It was the same for me. We’d been lucky to get places here, lucky to have found one another among so many permanent couples.

“I’m sure Mr M knows exactly what he’s doing. I wonder if he’s been waiting all this time for us to get together, shaking his head every week when we’ve both gone home alone.”

I smiled at how crazy we’d been not to gravitate toward one another sooner. If I’d known it would be this easy, that we’d have got along so quickly, I’d have approached him the second I’d first laid eyes on him. “I should imagine he has. I heard he takes his job very seriously. Do you know if he has a sub, Sir?”