Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 4: My Master, Page 2

  I’d been afraid of losing complete control of me. To escape into a “scene” with him, or even a weekend of being his submissive, was one thing. To live it day and night felt like quite another.

  And so he’d done what he always does: He found a way to seduce me into doing what he wanted. He sent me roses; twelve dozen in different colors. They were gorgeous buds that hadn’t blossomed yet. The card is what had really gotten to me, though. It read:“They are delicate and ready to bloom, like you are, little one.”

  It had started with a scene.

  I remember the two nights before the roses so very clearly. Those two nights that had led to his sending them to me.

  Night one had been at the club.

  I was in the center of the playroom (that’s what he called the round room in his private quarters) on my knees, my hands bound behind my back, my spine erect as he’d instructed, my breasts thrust high in the air. He stood above me, naked and powerfully male. I was aroused; passionately, intensely aroused. I could feel him in every inch of my body. It was amazing how easily he drew me into a whirlwind of lust and need where nothing else existed. It is this overwhelming feeling that is addictive, the escape from the rest of the world. The submergence of reality in a cloud of hot sensuality.

  He walked to stand in front of me, staring down at me, his long lashes low over his eyes, a flogger in his hand. “It’s time to play a new game.”

  A moment of nerves rippled through me. I never know where he’ll take me, only that he’s slowly been pushing me to darker and more intense places, places I go to please him, even when they frighten me.

  He used the tassels of the flogger to tease my nipples in a gentle flicker over one and then the other. They tightened into hard little knots and I was aroused. He bent down in front of me and tugged them with his fingers, watching my face as he did. I moaned and my lashes fluttered.

  He brushed his lips over mine. “You are so beautiful when you’re aroused. I want to show you off to the world.” His tongue snaked out to lick against mine again. “I’m going to open the curtain and show you off.”

  I stiffened. “No, Master. Please.” He kissed me again.

  “You can do this.”

  • • •

  A

  nd I had. I’d done it though I hadn’t wanted to, yet somehow it had aroused me. It was one of the first times I’d been truly scared of what was happening to me. There have been many more in the past few months, since our games have become different . . . darker. So much darker. But that was the first time.

  Or maybe the first time was with Master Two. Yes. I was freaked out then, too; confused by how aroused I’d been by his sharing me when I’d also felt so unimportant because he’d wanted to share me. I’m always confused by Master’s need to share me. And more and more, he seems to need to. Is that his way of avoiding intimacy? Avoiding allowing us to go to those places I want to go?

  After the scene, he’d known I was upset. He’d taken me to his bed and kissed me from head to toe, in that way he does that always pulls me deep under his spell.

  • • •

  N

  ight two had been a dinner date at Louie’s, a restaurant we’d both come to love and with a private room and entrance; there is no fear of our relationship going public. Sharing things we enjoy, like food and conversation about the art we both love, always makes me feel more like we are a real couple. And yes, Master/sub is a real couple for some, a deeply committed and intimate relationship. For us, I felt like it was his wall to keep us from being more. Still, I broke through that at times, on nights like these, when we enjoyed meals. Not that all of our tastes are quite the same in food, but I’ve done my fair share of luring him to Oreo and French fry land, as much as he’s lured me to finer dining.

  The waiter took away our plates. “Your normal desserts?”

  “Two crème brûlées,” Master confirmed. “A caramel macchiato for the lady and plain coffee for me.”

  The waiter bowed his head and departed, pulling the private door closed behind him. I sighed with satisfaction. These moments when we simply relaxed, when we weren’t on the edge of something intense, were too few and too far between.

  “You seem content,” he said, studying me.

  “I enjoy this place.”

  His eyes had warmed. “I’m glad you do.” He had reached inside his jacket and pulled out several folded sheets of paper. “It’s time to renew our contract. I thought we’d go over the details.”

  Renewing our contract is a topic of mixed emotions for me. I’d hoped we’d be more than this by now, and the confirmation that we are not tightened my belly. “You want changes?”

  “I want you to agree we stop hiding in a closet.”

  “No. I can’t do that. That would affect my career.”

  He studied me a long moment. “What if I said I want you to move in with me?”

  Hope filled me. “Move in with you?”

  His voice lowered. “You’re the only sub I’ve ever asked to do this.”

  The only sub—I’m still in that box. So living with him was just another way of controlling me. In fact, it was his way of controlling me around the clock, instead of only during the weekends that our last contract had dictated I be his.

  “I’ll pay your rent for the contract term,” he added. “Then you have the security of knowing that if we don’t renew again, you have a place to go.”

  “No,” I said immediately and stood up. It was clear I was never going to be to him what he was to me, and I just wanted to go home.

  He was on his feet in an instant, pulling me close. “Why?” The waiter came in and my Master gave him a sharp look that sent him into retreat. Once the door shut, he stared down at me. “Why, Rebecca?”

  Why didn’t matter. It changed nothing.

  “Please take me home, and consider anything you start tonight, or for the next two weeks, to come with the word ‘red’ on repeat.” I’d never used my safe word before but I was using it then. I didn’t want to be under his control. Not then, and maybe not ever again.

  “Rebecca.” He leaned in to kiss me.

  “Red,” I hissed. He hesitated and I added, “You said you would stop whatever you were doing if I used it.”

  His jaw flexed and flexed again, but he pulled back. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  The trip to my apartment was short but felt eternal, the silence unbearably thick. He parked in the lot behind my building and killed the engine. We sat there in the darkness. “Why?” he asked again.

  Was that all he could do? Ask me why? I gave him so much of me, and he couldn’t even tell me how he felt about my refusal?

  I reached for the door. He caught my arm. I cut him a hard look and said, “Re—”

  He cut me off with his mouth, shoving his fingers into my hair and slanting his mouth over mine, kissing me, claiming me in a way he’d never done before.

  I tried to resist him, but I tasted more than need in him. I tasted his fear of losing me.

  I barely remember how, but suddenly his seatback was down and I was on top of him, forgetting that I was in my apartment parking lot. In seconds he was inside me and I was riding him, grinding my hips against his, reveling in him filling me, touching me. In the way he couldn’t seem to get enough of me.

  When I finally collapsed on top of him, I lay there and listened to his heartbeat, fighting a wave of emotion very unlike me.

  “Move in with me, Rebecca,” he ordered softly.

  “Why?” I asked this time.

  “Because I want more than we have now.”

  “But not the same kind of ‘more’ that I want,” I whispered. “And I’m not sure how I let that happen.”

  He slid his hands to my face and forced my gaze to his. “It’s the only kind of ‘more’ I know how t
o give.”

  “Maybe that isn’t enough for me.”

  “How do you know if you don’t try?”

  “I just . . . do.”

  “You are more to me than any other sub has—”

  “Don’t,” I said, rolling off him and struggling into my seat. “Don’t finish that sentence!” By the time I was sitting where I belonged again, he’d raised his seatback.

  “You’re upset. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

  “No.” I managed to awkwardly deal with the mess we’d made of my clothing and my emotions. “I don’t want to talk tomorrow. I want to go to work and love my job and not think about this at all.” I got out of the car and he followed. I knew he would. The Master must protect—right? But who was going to protect me from him?

  At my apartment, I turned to him. “Goodnight.” I opened the door to go inside.

  He gently shackled my arm. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I’m done. This isn’t me. It never was.”

  His eyes glinted hard. “I’m going to change your mind.”

  I didn’t answer and he let me go.

  I quickly went inside, before I did something stupid like telling him to change it right now. I rested against the other side of the door and I could feel him doing the same on the outside.

  He is an addiction, and addictions are never good for you. He’s taking me deeper into his world, deeper into his dark desires, but I’m never able to get behind the physical aspect of our relationship. I just lose more of who I am.

  • • •

  A

  nd then came the roses . . .

  They arrived at my door the next morning, and I was seduced by the romantic gesture. And later, when we talked, he assured me that these new, darker places I could feel him taking us was just another part of discovering us, and delving into a deeper level of trust.

  I was scared. I knew it meant that calling him “Master” would take on a new meaning. But I convinced myself that if I wanted more from him, maybe he still needed more from me first.

  And so I gave up what was left of my life outside of being his. I thought I wanted my life to be his life but somehow, by letting him control more of me, he gave me less of him. The things I have done to please him . . . well, let’s just say I’d never do them for anyone else. I’ve gone everywhere he’s asked me to go. I’ve gone places I never thought I could go. Done things that shredded me inside and out. Now, I need more from him.

  9:30 a.m.

  At my desk . . .

  I

  have work to do, important details for a big event we are hosting off-site Sunday night. A local artist who paints food is showing at a new bakery owned by the renowned chef Michael Adams. I set up the event after a visit to the bakery, managing to arrange for the chef and the artist to attend. It’s like nothing the gallery has ever hosted, and Mark actually complimented me. Even after all of this time, a compliment from “Bossman,” as Ralph calls him, is hard to get. But then, he put me in charge of the Riptide auctions. I’d say that is a pretty big compliment.

  And I should be thinking about the event, calling customers to confirm they are attending, rather than focusing on the fact that “he” hasn’t called me, and what that means. I should go get coffee and clear my head. Yes. I’m going to get coffee, and not next door. I’m sticking to the kitchen and the gallery.

  3:00 p.m.

  C

  ontrol. He has it. I do not. I want it back. He thinks I already have it back, and now he’s punishing me for it. He still hasn’t called me. He’s reminding me that he has the power to make me need him, to crave the sound of his voice. And I do. Damn it, I do. I never doubted his power over me, though I keep reminding myself that his actions say he is doubting it. He’s the one trying to prove something that I already know: I need him. And he’s worried that I don’t. That has to mean something. Staying at my apartment has been the smart thing to do. And I’m off tomorrow, with lots of time to myself to think. It’s not only given me space to think but also spawned some in him. Maybe, just maybe, it can be a catalyst for something different for us.

  Oh, God. Amanda just told me I have company. Master Two is here, claiming he wants to talk about a painting I’ve been helping him with. But I know that’s not why he’s here.

  10:00 p.m.

  My apartment

  I

  ’m on my couch with a pizza box open on my coffee table. I ate half of a large cheese, plus one extra slice. And some double-stuffed Oreos, though I mostly licked the cream out of them. Funny how stress makes me eat one minute and the opposite the next. Apparently tonight was “feed the problem” night. Does the fact that it was all junk food have any meaning? Oh, yeah. You betcha.

  But now that I am stuffed, I have no more excuses left for not writing this entry. Tonight it is clear to me why I’ve withdrawn from my writing in my journals. Creating the entries really does force me to face feelings I’d rather not face. The same reason I’ve ignored my Master’s calls. I’m not ready to face where things are going, or not going, between us.

  So, let’s see. Where should I start writing? This afternoon, which I consider the beginning of the end with my Master. I need to think of the event I’m about to describe that way. I need to remember that this relationship I am in is not the one I want, nor is it what I ever set out to develop. I have to remember this when I see my Master again.

  No, when I see “him” again—when I ensure he is no longer my Master. Because today was unacceptable. Today was the final straw that broke the camel’s back, as my mother would have said.

  Master Two came into my office, dressed in a suit and looking his usual handsome, debonair self, his eyes hot with an intent that told me I was right to be worried. The laptop in his hand, free of a case, was the next indicator.

  He shut the door. I stood up, my spine stiffening. “We don’t meet when he’s not here.” My heart was thundering like a hard, heavy drum and I thought it might break my breastbone.

  “He wants me here,” he assured me, stalking forward, and coming behind the desk before flipping open the screen and watching the system boot up. He hit a few keys and began to dial up a video program that I knew better than I wanted to.

  Master Two stared down at me with so much primal heat, I cut my gaze to the computer. “He” appeared on the screen and my thundering heart sputtered a moment. “You know how I feel about my job and personal life being mixed,” I hissed at Master.

  “This does nothing to hurt your job,” Master assured me. “You are simply meeting with a legitimate customer.”

  Master Two wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against his hard body. “I’ll make sure no one suspects anything but business happened when I leave.” His hand glided over my backside and he turned to pull me flush to him, letting me feel his hard cock against my stomach.

  “No,” I panted at him and, damn it, I was aroused. My body (or maybe it’s my mind) is programmed by my Master, with the help of Master Two (far too often for my happiness), to react automatically to them.

  But I was at work, and that had me clinging to sanity. My fingers dug into his arms. “Not here. Later. When I’m home.”

  “Right now,” Master said softly. “Here. Do it because it pleases me.” He paused. “Or don’t. This is your decision. It’s always your decision.”

  I hated how aroused I was, how easily I could say “yes” and forget the important barrier I’d put in place. And once I forgot it, he’d forget it. I’d be headed down a path I didn’t want to go. In some corner of my mind, I knew that’s how I’d ended up here. I had let myself go places just to please him, places I wasn’t comfortable going that led to darker and darker places.

  Master Two leaned in and whispered in my ear. “I’d like to set you down in that chair, spread you wide, and lick you into oblivion. Just say the word.”

  I squeeze
d my eyes shut and my thighs together. This was part of the power play. This was my Master proving to me he still had this kind of power over me. Or maybe he was proving it to himself.

  I fought to remember the journal entries, and the reasons why I should or shouldn’t do this. He needed this. He needed to feel he still had this hold on me. Didn’t loving him mean giving that to him?

  “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes. Okay.”

  Master Two yanked my slim-cut teal dress to my hips and turned me so that my backside was on display for my Master. I could feel his hot stare on my body and my skin heated, my breasts growing heavy, my thighs tight. Master Two cupped my backside and squeezed, his eyes finding mine, his breath warm as it tickled my lips.

  “It’s all about you, baby. Moan for me. That’s all I want.” He turned me and set me in the chair and before I could blink, he was on his knees in front of me, spreading my legs. But then the roses flashed in my mind. I’d thought giving him more meant he’d give me more. Maybe . . . maybe I needed to give him less.

  “Red,” I said, murmuring my safe word. And then louder. “Red.”

  Master Two immediately dropped his hands from my legs. I stood up and pulled my dress down and turned to the computer screen, shaking. “I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

  I saw a flash of something in his eyes that I want to believe was pain. Knowing we are falling apart is destroying me, and I need to know he feels something, too. I gave him the power to hurt me, and I gave him my heart. He never promised me his. He never promised me anything he didn’t give me.

  The computer screen went dead and I had to walk Master Two out, making small talk and pretending that his hands had not just been on my backside, that my thighs were not slick from how near his tongue had been to licking me.

  When I returned to my desk, my cell phone immediately rang and I knew it was my Master.

  I didn’t answer. I can’t talk to him. And it’s not even because I’m angry. It’s because I’m weak. I’m always so damn weak with him.