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Authors: K.L. Silver

MASTERED: (The Novel)

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Written by K.L. Silver


© 2013 K.L. Silver


All rights reserved under international and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the
publisher/author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales
is entirely coincidental.



Written/ Published
K.L. Silver

Cover Art by
Richard Savage
([email protected])

[email protected]




To my paternal grandmother, may she rest in
Bubby would be utterly scandalized by the subject
However, her support would be
proud and unwavering.
As always.




Please bear with me while
I thank some truly amazing, intelligent, and generous people.

Thank you to Richard Savage, a truly
incredible cover artist and angel - not necessarily in that order.

To my brutally honesty
focus group: Maria Jordan, Carol Stanley, Christopher Partridge, and Debra
- thank you all.

Mike Pugh is a YouTube
Maestro, and Alexandra Lucas’s ‘web’ skills makes Spiderman look lame! Your
respective expertise was/is invaluable.

Thanks to Peter, for
backing me all the way!

Bonnie Laurens has been a
trusted confidante and staunch supporter from the age of five. She never
wavered in her conviction that K.L.
write a book before, well - before the inevitable. (Phew, made it!)

There are many other
contributors, by way of encouragement, support, and patience. You know who you
are and I thank you, thank you,

As always, I love you M.


MASTERED, the Poem


Weary of
, Of shame and denying
A lifetime of stories,
, and lying.
Dark nights lying awake, Frightened and
eyes judgmental and prying.
Existing in limbo, No peace in her
Just shadow and smoke, And a vast gaping
by nature, Now taking its toll
Shan't ever confess, Yearns a






She was late.

Without a modicum of grace, Missy Weaver threw a
pound of ground beef, an onion, and a container of lemonade into a re-usable
bag at the checkout counter. After three consecutive ten hour workdays, she
felt heavy with fatigue. She could easily pass as the poster child for
'disheveled mess'.

Nonetheless, the cupboards were bare, the hour
was late, and her son would be starving.

Her mind, as usual, was skipping three steps
ahead of her actions. The to-do list which defined her existence was a
demanding taskmaster, indeed. On the up side, it left precious little time for
troublesome pursuits such as soul-searching and introspection.

Grimacing in acknowledgement of this sad truth,
Missy became suddenly and intensely aware of eyes boring into her. In fact, she
began to feel like some rare and exotic butterfly pinned beneath a high-powered
microscope and examined minutely.

There was no denying the irresistible curiosity
that held her firmly within its clutches. Missy was compelled to slow her
frenzied movements. There was simply no choice. She decided to steal a subtle
glimpse of the man whose presence she sensed so strongly. As it turned out, she
made a complete fool of herself.

He was standing innocuously enough behind her;
simply awaiting his turn in line. Yet, there was a mysterious slant to a
dangerously sensual pair of lips. Missy could not stop staring! The aura of
competence and authority emanating from this man acted as a vacuum. It sucked
the air from her lungs and the usual inhibitions from her behavior.

Time seemed to stand still right along with her.
In slowed motion, she dragged her eyes upwards to his. Upon impact, everything
tumbled perfectly into place. Comprehension dawned clear as a mountain morning.
Apprehension was close on its heels.

He knows!!
The quiet yet perceptive
intensity in his eyes caused exactly the opposite effect in Missy. Her ears
began to ring and her chest to visibly heave. She saw no alternative but to
glance down before him.

Only the strident voice of the impatient cashier
brought her back. Back to the reality of her life which included a teenage son.
At that very moment, Christopher was home, hungry, and awaiting his mother and
his dinner.
Not necessarily in that
order, considering the hour.

Missy's trembling fingers could not pay fast
enough. She failed miserably at disguising what could most generously be
described as slack-jawed gawping. Blushing furiously, she gathered groceries in
one hand, purse in the other, and fled with what little dignity remained her.

She was having some difficulty locating her
vehicle. Struggling to regain balance and bearings, she raced in what she hoped
was the general direction. Confusion and clarity flooded her consciousness and
battled for supremacy.

Confusion triumphed. Fragmented emotions
ping-ponged through her body as disjointed thoughts assaulted her brain.

While she had no idea
he was, she
instinctively knew
he was. No matter that she wasn't able to assign
it a word. She was flabbergasted at the sensation of her soul beckoning for him
in that moment of suspended time. In truth, it had wantonly exposed itself for
his leisurely perusal!

Indignant at the preposterous notion that she
might 'wantonly' expose anything for
pointedly focused on the benign. Yet, as she resolutely rummaged her purse for
car keys, Missy sensed a singularly distinctive aura.

All searching ceased. Resolution crumbled.

Long seconds ticked by before she was able to
scoff at the antics of an overwrought imagination. Locating the keys, she
dismissed her foolishness - along with an unexpected pang of regret.

It was then he appeared, stepping out from
between the rows of parked cars. She knew she ought to be terrified. Common
sense told her to run, to scream. At the very least, she should attempt to poke
his eyes out with her car keys! The sudden appearance of a strange man in a
dimly-lit parking lot rarely boded well. One heard of such tragedies more and
more often, it seemed.

And yet, weak-kneed and goggle-eyed, she stood
silent and immobile. Missy was the proverbial deer, paralyzed in the hypnotic
headlights which were his eyes. Without a word, he gazed down at her; i
her. She was utterly powerless to
look away.

she had no choice…


Chapter 2


"Eyes down, little one." Finally,
after what seemed an eternity locked spellbound within his gaze; he spoke.

His voice was no less mesmerizing than his eyes.
Although it wasn't possible, its resonance seemed oddly familiar to Missy. Deep
and firm, it possessed the quiet non-urgency of a man used to being listened
to. Used to being heard. And, most pertinently - used to being obeyed.

Without hesitation and with no fear, that's
exactly what she did. She obeyed. Thoughts of time and work and dinner and
stress diminished to the status of inconsequential. Lists took a distant back
seat to this stranger who definitely wasn't a stranger.

She recognized this man on a cellular level deep
within her soul.
And, deep within her psyche.

is insanity
Vaguely, Missy acknowledged the warning ricocheting
sluggishly around an otherwise emptied skull. It was stemming from the ‘WTF Are
You Doing?’ sector of her brain. The sage advice went unheard and unheeded. She
made a mental note to look into the odd cognitive disconnect as soon as

However, 'possible' was entirely
possible at the moment!

The woman standing utterly still at this
formidable man's behest, breathing gently with eyes cast down, was
unrecognizable to Missy. The woman she knew herself to be was independent,
fiercely private, and supremely cautious. While it seemed like just yesterday
that she entered her thirties, she was racing through them at a flat-out
gallop. Along the way, she managed to raise the most incredible son.

"I can smell you, little one." The
sheer audacity of his words stunned her. Nonetheless, she remained rooted to
the spot. The niggling portion of her brain urging caution conceded defeat and
crashed in resounding failure.

Every ounce of her attention was focused on him
and him alone. Not through downcast eyes, but ostensibly - through her very
pores. Everything else was just white noise.

she had no choice…

Conversationally, he spoke, "I recognized
you the instant I inhaled your scent, my dear. The very essence of your being
spoke directly to me. You exhibited the most intoxicating combination of desire
and distress.”

This riveting man wasn't quite done. Smiling
benignly into the face of Missy's apoplexy, he continued. “Most enchanting,
however, was the scent of your submission as you turned toward me - your

She bridled at the
unfamiliar terms, innately recognizing the forbidden truth of them. She opened
her mouth in a weak attempt to object.

As if reading her mind, he gently pressed three
fingers to her parted, panting lips." Do not speak. There will be time for
that later. As well, I do not recall giving you permission to do so?"
While there was a teasing note to his words, she was only too aware of the
steel enforcing them.

Her squirming desisted at once. Her eyes
remained compliantly downcast. Missy’s head was in the process of exploding
with the reality that once again, she was obeying. Without so much as a murmur,
she was submitting.

"There's a good girl." She heard his
words distinctly, in spite of the ringing in her ears. Missy was positive that
the fingers resting insolently against her lips were, in fact, aflame. Their
intensity was scalding.

Then again, the burn did nothing to distract
from his next directive. "Now, please open your mouth, my dear.”

As if observing from outside of her own body,
she was aghast when her lips began to part at the outrageous request. Before
she could defend against it, he took full advantage of the invitation. All
three digits slid confidently, and deeply, within.

Repeatedly, her gag reflex was triggered. Still,
Missy did not move.
not move.
She tried to convince herself this was all just an
incredibly bizarre daydream. Shortly, she would awaken unscathed to carry on
with the predictable monotony of her day and her life.

soon as he gives me permission, that is!

She felt his fingers pressing impatiently
against both lips. Heeding the silent command, she opened wider still.
Exploring leisurely, they stroked and
massaged teeth, cheeks, and tongue. Her mascara began to run and her eyes to
water, and still, she hung on his every syllable.

"You will come to me tonight, little one.
Eight o'clock precisely.
I suggest that you not be
late." With those words, he removed the three dripping digits from between
her lips. Both were mesmerized by the glistening threads of saliva which now
stretched between them.

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