4 comments/ 71714 views/ 31 favorites The Accidental Master Ch. 01 By: Sir Galahad Note: This is a work of fiction/fantasy. But who knows? Someday the gods may be kind… I’ve never been a lady-killer. As far back as high school, I was one of the straight-arrow good guys that almost always got the fatal, “I like you as a friend, but…“ brush-off from the girls, which I am sure most of us - the males, anyway - remember receiving at one time or another from someone they wanted to date. At the maritime academy where I went to college, my nickname was “Sir Galahad.” You’ll remember from Malory’s Morte d’Arthur and Monty Python that Galahad was the true and perfect knight who never got any. After I graduated and went to sea as an officer, I had a relationship for awhile with a frigid bitch that wanted the status of fiancée and eventually wife without the inconvenience of sex. When I finally figured this out, after a nasty shouting match I broke the engagement, threw her out, and tossed her clothes after her. Shortly thereafter, what with the collapse of American shipping companies, I moved to an old rural farm I’d bought and went into the on-line antiques business. This means traveling a lot to find stock at auctions and estate sales. It also limits the chances of meeting available women. I had to make do with “escorts” whenever one of my trips took me near a city and I had a chance to satisfy my urges. I hated the fact I had to pay for sex; but it was better than nothing, though not by much. Up to then, my closest approach to BDSM had been at the academy. Once, during my plebe cruise, a sadistic upperclassman tortured me. There’s always harassment of the newbies by the upper classes and you expect that, but this went past hazing all the way to violation of the Geneva Convention. First he coldcocked me, then he cut my shirt off and tied my hands to an overhead valve in the engine room and sprayed seawater on me from a hose continuously for an hour and a half. At the same time, he whipped me with an electrical cord and screamed questions at me. The only reason I didn’t die of hypothermia (the sea temperature was 64 degrees that night) was that one of the officers pulled a snap inspection. An upperclassman who did not approve of what the first bastard was doing cut me loose and got me out of the engine room, bleeding from the gashes on my back and chilled so badly that I couldn’t even shiver. I still have the scars. I swore then that no one would ever do that to me again or to anyone else without their consent, if I could help it. I was on my way home from a successful buying trip one Saturday night when I decided to stop in at a strip club for a drink and to watch the girls for awhile. From the bar, not Perverts’ Row fronting the stage. While I appreciated their beauty and sensuality, given my lack of success with women I didn’t think it was worth trying to approach any of the dancers. Even if they didn’t already have boyfriends or significant others, I doubted girls this sexy would settle for anything less than a rich lawyer, so why even try to start something? One of the strippers caught my attention as she came onstage. Nordic features, blonde hair in a ponytail, wasp-waisted, about 5’7” or so with legs that went all the way up. She came strutting out in a schoolgirl outfit of book bag, blue blazer, tight white blouse filled to bursting by at least D-cup breasts, gray pleated miniskirt six inches shorter than any schoolgirl would wear, white fishnet knee stockings, and black patent leather pumps with stiletto heels that enhanced those already exquisite legs. She went into her routine, shedding first the book bag, then the blazer, her blue eyes and pouty red lips teasing the audience. Gyrating to the beat of her music, she slowly unbuttoned the blouse and worked the sides of the stage, the men seated there caressing her thighs as they stuffed bills into the fishnets– a switch from the usual garter, I noted. The last button came undone, and she danced backwards almost out of the spotlight. She whipped off the blouse, spun it over her head and threw it backwards. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She high-stepped forward into the light again, shimmying, those magnificent tits with their deep cleavage completely exposed, the pink, erect nipples poking proudly forward, inviting kisses and caresses. Dropping into a crouch, she crawled her way across the front of the stage, presenting herself for the attentions of the lust-filled males in Perverts’ Row, tormenting them by keeping just out of reach until they stuffed money into the stockings, then permitting them to squeeze her boobs and kiss them. That surprised me; usually, it’s “look but don’t touch.” I saw one black-haired, balding man, bolder than the rest, catch her pebble-hard right nipple between his teeth and bite down while cruelly pinching the left. I expected a scream from the blonde and a slap to the perv’s face followed by the bouncer giving him the bum’s rush. Instead, she threw her head back, moaned dramatically and moved on to the next creep, his hands already up and waiting eagerly. Very odd, that the manager would permit this to go on. The audience hadn’t acted like this with any of the other dancers. When she got to the end of the line of groping men, she came back to her feet and swayed for a moment as the music changed from driving rock to a sensual samba. Picking up the tempo, she swayed back to center stage, slipped most of the bills crammed into her stockings into the book bag and began to move to the samba beat. Every man in the room had their eyes glued to her as, ever so slowly, she toyed with the waistband of her miniskirt, easing it up, down, running her fingers beneath it, her hips bucking and churning. Without warning, she ripped it off and tossed it behind her. She wore no panties. Without missing a beat, this marvelous female animal glided to the edge of the stage where waving hands clutching greenbacks awaited. Even from the bar, I could glimpse the juices that glistened on her pussy lips as she worked the line, the eager hands fondling and probing her pubis, coming back wet. Her head thrashed on the slender column of her white neck without ever dislodging the choker she wore, apart from the heels and fishnets her only adornment. This girl was a real exhibitionist and looked like she enjoyed her work. At last, the greedy apes sated for the moment, she moved to the pole that some of the other dancers used in their routines. The samba beat faded as the lights darkened to a single spotlight on the pole. The dancer bent to her book bag, swiftly shedding her stockings and their loot, then stepping back into the pumps while withdrawing two objects. One she left on the floor; the other she held in her right hand as Donna Summers’ “Love to Love Ya, Baby” began pulsing from the speakers. Standing with her back to the audience, her legs spread wide, she grabbed the pole, then brought the limber cane she held in her right hand down onto her small, round buttocks, lashing them to the beat and throwing her head back in time to Summers’ moaning. By the end of the song, her perfect ass glowed red in the spotlight. A new number came on, the generic fuck-music you find in a well made porno video. The spot irised out to take in the object she had placed on the floor. A dildo, a big, realistically molded rubber one. Without hesitating, the wench began fellating it on hands and knees, her ass elevated, her head bobbing to the music. No man in that club could have taken their eyes off her even if they’d wanted to. As the tempo sped up, so did her strokes. When the piece reached its climax, her head came up and liquid spurted from the tip of the dildo, splattering her face as she screamed in 'orgasm.' The watching crowd split the air with applause, whistles and howls as the stripper, white fluid dripping down her face, stood up, made a slow, hip-swinging circuit of the stage to collect still more money, smiling at the audience, then grabbed her costume and props and disappeared through the same door by which she’d entered. I shook my head to restart my brain and beckoned the bartender over, laying a couple of fifties from my money clip on the bar. “Another one for me, a double; and I’d like to ask if you can do something for me,” I said, tapping the bills on the bar. “If I can,” said the bartender, noticing that these weren’t tens as he’d first thought. “Will this cover your sending a bottle of champagne to that dancer who just finished? With my compliments?” I asked. (I knew he’d probably send her a bottle of ginger ale at champagne prices and split the difference 50-50 with her, but what the hell – it had been a very successful trip.) The bartender disappeared. I sipped my drink and looked at the stage. The oiled, sleekly toned body of the black stripper working the crowd should have commanded my undivided attention, but after that blonde’s schoolgirl-slut act she just didn’t attract me. I turned away and contemplated my snifter. A gentle touch on my arm turned my head to the right. The luscious dancer who had changed a clubful of men into a mob of would-be rapists was standing at my elbow. Up close, in a low-cut, short white silk dress that looked as if the silkworms had spun it onto her, she was even more stunning than she’d been onstage. Somehow I knew that she was the only thing under the dress. She’d changed into a pair of white stiletto heels, not as extreme as the pair she’d worn onstage A black leather belt emphasized the narrow span of her waist and her flaring hips. Her beautifully shaped legs were tanned and bare. At this range, I could see that the choker I had noticed onstage wasn’t a piece of jewelry. About half an inch wide, it featured a pattern of steel lozenges, with four letters centered on the front: “SLUT.” She held a tray with a pair of glasses and a bottle of champagne. I became aware that she was looking at me, her light blue eyes wary as she studied me with the same intensity I apparently was focusing on her. I groaned inwardly, knowing what she was seeing: an average-looking guy six feet tall with light brown hair cut short, a carefully trimmed mustache, in good shape but no bodybuilder god, casually dressed in khaki slacks, sport shirt and plain, spit-shined black cowboy boots, my one concession to vanity. And doubtless goggling like an idiot with drool dripping off his chin. Off to a great start, aren’t we? I untangled my tongue and spoke. “Please forgive me for staring, but it is seldom that a woman as beautiful as you materializes next to me like a genie.” She relaxed slightly. “May I join you, sir?” She made no move to do so. I stood and motioned to an empty table behind us, walking to it and holding a chair for her. She followed and sat gracefully, as she did all things, I guessed. I sat and reached for the bottle, but she forestalled me by picking it up. “Permit me, sir,” she said, working the cork free with a pop, and expertly filling our two glasses without spilling a drop. She set the bottle down and handed me my glass, but made no move to pick up her own. “What is this?” I thought, my brain intoxicated with her beauty and nearness. Then I realized if that collar was what I thought it was, she might not drink or even talk unless I told her to. Well, if that’s how she liked to play, I could play along. “Please join me in a glass… I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name. And please feel free to speak.” “My name is Susan, sir,” the blonde said, picking up her glass. I clinked mine to hers. “To all the ones who weren’t as lucky,” I said, offering my all-purpose toast. To my surprise, those lovely eyes filled with tears. I covered my concern by drinking half the glass, giving her a chance to recover. She gulped down the whole thing and poured herself more, her hand trembling. “Matt isn’t going to like this at all,” I thought I heard her say. “He’s not here,” I replied. “Everyone is entitled to an occasional night out, even me. Even you. It will be all right.” “You really think so, sir?” she asked, her eyes shining, though whether with excitement or fear I couldn’t tell. I reached over and stroked her hand. “I’m sure of it,” I said. We sat there, drinking the champagne and talking as two people newly met in a bar do. I saw the bartender eyeing us and frowning, but thought nothing of it. After we’d worked most of our way down the bottle, Susan looked up at me with half-lidded eyes. “Would you care to dance with me, sir?” (Although we had exchanged names, I had not been able to get her to use mine.) Dance with her? I’m not much of a dancer, but for a chance like this I’d have walked a mile in bare feet on broken glass. “Yes,” I said, standing up and helping her with one hand from her chair, which action earned me a startled glance, swiftly concealed, from Susan. She indicated a small side room, to which I led her. Just as we were about to pass the threshold, a slight pressure from her fingers stopped me. Although in those heels she was only an inch or two shorter than I was, she still looked up at me. “Sir, I am afraid I must explain to you the rule of the house for this room. Men must pay to play, as it were…" She hesitated, not meaningfully, but out of fear. Of me? Then I saw the direction in which she was looking and followed her gaze. The bartender was looking at us, disapproval in every line of his face. “Fuck him and the horse he rode in on,” I thought. I located the money clip in my front pocket by feel and extracted a couple of bills. “Will this be sufficient, pet?” I asked, showing her what I held. She nodded, replying, “Kindly place your deposit in the First Valley Bank, sir. Nothing but the best for our customers,” thrusting her chest forward to bring her bounties into even greater prominence. “She has a sense of humor,” I thought with an inward smile, gently sliding the folded bills into the cleavage of those awesome breasts, stopping when my hand just grazed her flesh. Susan reached up with her free hand and pressed mine firmly to her, guiding it down across her exposed boob to rest on the hardened pebble that was her left nipple beneath the dress. I instinctively squeezed gently; she sighed and pushed forward, tightening her hand over mine, tipping her head back, eyes closed, clearly enjoying the sensations my hand was evoking. With a shiver of pleasure, I led her into the room and onto the dance floor. She flowed into my arms. From things I had heard, I knew that if a dancer chose to dance with a customer, she was likely to close-dance; but Susan was much closer than I expected. She pressed tight against me, swaying her hips and rubbing her crotch against mine. Well, it was obvious that I was interested. The heat from her suffused me. I could just feel her nipples through the clothing separating us, and as her breathing quickened I could feel her nails as she dropped her hand to my butt to pull me closer. I responded by sliding my hands down to her ass. As I tightened my grip, I took a chance based on what I suspected and whispered in her ear, “Cum for me, pet.” Susan’s back arched. I felt her shuddering against my body as she dropped her head to my shoulder, muffling her cries in my neck as I daringly slipped my hand under her dress and inserted a finger into her. As her shudders slacked off, I brought the finger to her lips. Without prompting, she took it into her mouth, her tongue flicking sensuously over it as she sucked it clean. I guided her to a loveseat in a dark corner of the room and we sat down. Her legs weren’t the only ones that were shaky. She huddled against my chest as I stroked her hair and back. “Oh, he’s definitely not going to like this,” she whispered. I tipped her head back with the same finger she had just cleaned. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. I took her chin gently between thumb and finger and forced her to look at me. “Susan, you are a marvelous, giving, sensuous woman. How could anyone not like anything you do?” I was surprised to see tears in the corner of her eyes. “He will be displeased when I get home tonight, sir,” she whispered. Was that fear I heard? She didn’t say anything more but was content to rest next to me, not displaying herself as she had onstage, but still open for inspection to my eyes. My caresses seemed to soothe her and she did not object to my eyes devouring her beauty like a desert plant sucking up rain after a drought. After one of those indeterminate periods had passed where time seems to have no meaning, she at last stirred, rubbing against me like a friendly cat. “Sir, you are kind, to be gentle with one such as I,” she said softly. “I hope your lady appreciates you.” She pulled herself up to lean against the arm of the loveseat, stretched across my lap, those tremendous melons of hers with their lustful nips inches from my yearning mouth. “No lady,” I managed to croak. Susan paused, and settled back on me, pinning me where I sat and holding herself in that position with her right arm behind my back. “No man ever has a woman in his life when he’s in a place like this,” she said, sounding hurt. Obviously she had heard this line before and had expected better of me. I could see disappointment and reproach on her face. One thing guaranteed to piss off an officer, even one that no longer wears the uniform, is to imply that he is lying. “Susan, I’m telling the truth,” I said, insulted. “I’m not in any kind of relationship at the moment. Nor have I been, for longer than I care to remember.” I looked away, feeling a combination of self-loathing for my inability to attract women and anger at this wench for rubbing my nose in the fact that females would only spend time with me if they were paid for it. She shifted on my lap, and a tentative hand on my cheek brought my attention back to her. She met my eyes. “I’m sorry, sir, I did not mean to hurt you. Please forgive me.” During her shifting, she had popped her breasts out of the dress’s confinement. She took my hand and squeezed it tight on her nipple, as if seeking atonement through pain. I caught the nipple in my fingers and twisted, offering what she wanted. A mixture of pain and pleasure washed over her face, followed by remorse as I changed my grip to a gentle squeezing of her stupendous tits, teasing the erect nipples with my thumb. When I spoke, it was gentle firmness. “Susan, in this job you probably hear all sorts of rude comments and come-ons from the men that come to watch you dance, especially the wannabe studs that sit down front. But there are those like me that come to admire your beauty and wanton sexuality, wishing they had a magnificent woman like you, thankful for your merciful calling that offers us the illusion of hope.” We stayed like that a little longer, Susan watching me, her breathing ragged, my hand teasing her to arousal. The feeling of her buttocks grinding against my leg was pleasant. At last she said, “I have to dress for the finale.” She caught my hand, brought it to her lips and kissed the palm lingeringly before using me as a fulcrum to get to her feet and rearrange her clothes. I stood as well, noticing that we were alone in the room. She stood very close, head tilted down, then without warning threw her arms around my neck, kissed my cheek and whispered, “I wish I deserved someone as nice as you.” With a final pressure of pubes against my aching cock, she was gone. The bartender gave me a hard look as I left the dance room. I was sure he could see the smear of lipstick on my face, but just what was his problem? Not wanting to overlay my memories of Susan with one of her dancing with the other strippers, I walked out the door and climbed into the truck I used for my business trips. Getting behind the wheel, I locked the door and settled in for a nap to sleep off the alcohol I'd consumed. Tapping on my window interrupted my very pleasant dreams some time later. The Accidental Master Ch. 01 “Oh, great,” I thought without opening my eyes. “Bet it’s a cop telling me to move along.” I opened my eyes and sat up, looking out the driver’s window. To my surprise, Susan was standing there in the same white dress she’d worn dancing with me. She shivered, although the night wasn’t cold. I opened the door and got out. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, Susan, but what are you doing here?” I asked. She stepped closer to me, as if seeking protection. “Sir, it’s the car. All the tires are slashed, and I have no way to get home. He won’t be happy if I’m late,” she said jerkily. I looked at the only other car left in the parking lot. Even from here, the two tires I could see were flat, and nobody carries more than one spare. I looked down at her. “This isn’t the golden coach you deserve, Cinderella, but I would be happy to take you wherever you like.” I led her around to the passenger door, unlocked it, and handed her in as if she was a queen I got back behind the wheel and started up. Susan slid across the bench seat and wrapped both hands around my right arm, sitting very close and whispering directions to me as we went. We ended up on a country road where the houses were not very close together, a mixture of postwar construction and ticky-tacky 1980s developments. When I gently detached her hands and put my arm around her to draw her close, she didn’t resist. She leaned into the embrace and laid her head on my shoulder, seeming to draw comfort from the contact. I could feel her trembling; why, I didn’t know. A twenty minute drive brought us to a 1950s house on a couple of acres set well back from the road, a gravel driveway leading up to it, with no neighbors within 150 feet and a dilapidated pole fence defining the property. I turned off the road and went up the driveway, the crunch of the gravel announcing our approach. As we neared the house, Susan said softly, “Please stop here, sir. He’ll be angry at my late return as it is. No need for you to be part of it.” She took my hand, squeezed it tightly for a moment, and then kissed my palm as she had done before, sending a thrill straight to my groin. She opened the door and got out. I could see her clearly in the headlights. Every step she took was filled with apprehension. Waiting as any good taxi driver would to see her safely enter the house, I cranked down the window to better observe. Something didn’t feel right here. As Susan opened the front door, I saw a man’s hand flash out and grab her by the vee of her neckline. A fist punched her squarely between the eyes. She screamed as she was dragged inside. The door slammed. I was out of the car and at the door in an instant. I could hear the high, thin whistle of a whip and the sickening crack as it landed. Susan was screaming, “Pickles!” I had no idea what that was all about, but I didn’t hesitate. The door wasn’t locked. I twisted the knob and stepped in. “What the hell is going on here!” I shouted as I took in the sight before me. Susan was lying face down on the rug, sobbing in pain. The back of her dress wasn’t white now. It was striped, red, wet, split and torn. The cause was instantly clear. A black-haired, balding man with a satanic beard, the same one I’d noticed down front while Susan was dancing at the club. He was dressed in the white silk jabot shirt, skintight trousers and black riding boots of a Regency dandy... and he was holding a bullwhip. His dark eyes glittered nastily, the pupils contracted to pinpoints. From my days at sea, I remembered the symptoms of drug use. This guy certainly had them. I stepped between Susan and the dandy with the whip. “Don’t hurt him, Master!” pleaded Susan from the floor through her tears. Part of my mind rewound and replayed an earlier comment of hers. It hadn’t been, “Matt isn’t going to like this at all;” it had been, “MASTER isn’t going to like this at all.” I looked at her master with the steady look of warning that sometimes calms some that is high so you can speak rationally to them. “Hit her with that whip again, and you will regret it,” I said in a tone that brooked no argument. He grinned evilly and threw the whip, the tip cracking an inch from my head. I noted with detached analysis that this whip was no toy for someone with delusions of Indiana Jones-hood. It had a metal tip and at intervals down its length barbs were knitted into the leather. It was a weapon for inflicting maximum pain and physical damage in minimum time. “Get out of my way,” he snarled. “I’ll discipline my slave as I see fit!” “I don’t think so.” The whip lashed out and hit my face. Red exploded across my sight, and time ceased to have meaning. My memory went on hiatus. When I came back to myself, the whip was clenched in my right hand. Susan’s master lay on the floor, curled around himself, gasping for breath. His dandy’s outfit was in shredded ruins, the cuts and welts inflicted by that torturer’s implement visible through the torn cloth trying to absorb the blood oozing from them. Clearly he was no threat just now. I looked over to where Susan was up on hands and knees. Her sobs had stopped, and she was looking at me with something like wonder on her bruised face. “Susan, do you want to continue to be with this… animal?” I asked, my words harsh in a dry throat. She looked up at me from underneath disheveled hair wet with painsweat, tears and drops of blood. She shook her head and mumbled, “…no.” “Say it again, louder!” I demanded, the authority learned in years as an officer returning to my voice. She looked me square in the face for the first time. I don’t know what she read there, but she repeated, clearly, “No. No, sir, I don’t.” “Good. You have one minute to gather anything you absolutely can’t live without and get back here. Move!” She staggered to her feet and went up the stairs that came down into the living room where we were. The monster at my feet groaned and started to get up. Without a thought my boot slammed into his gut, knocking the wind out of him again. “Move without my permission, you miserable sack of shit, and I’ll cut your cock off with this whip!” I snapped. I seemed to be standing behind and to the right of my body. Part of me knew this for dissociation. The rest, enraged, simply didn’t care. Susan came back down the stairs clutching a lumpy pillowcase and an athletic bag trailing a couple of sleeves from its unzipped top. Plainly, she had taken me at my word about one minute. She was moving better now but still painfully. “Set that stuff down and come here,” I commanded. Obediently, Susan set the bag and the pillowcase by the front door and came to stand next to me, head down, hands clasped neatly in front of her. I looked at her beautiful face, disfigured by raccoon-eyes from the punch she’d taken, then down at the man who had done it to her. I tossed the whip behind me and slid the fingers of my left hand under her collar. My right fished in my back pocket and came out with my pocketknife. Its razor-sharp, serrated blade is tough enough to cut through a car door. I flicked it open with my thumb, and carefully slipped the knife between her neck and the collar. Ignoring the lock set into the collar at the back, I picked a spot between two of the steel diamonds. The blade cut through the leather like soft butter. I folded the knife and put it back into my pocket. Drawing the collar from Susan’s neck with my right hand, I reached down with my left, hauling her master up by the throat and holding him against the wall with his feet off the floor. He seemed weightless. I glared at him and spoke, my voice cold and distant in my ears, trying to keep my rage under control. “Listen very carefully. As of now, Susan is free of you. This is by her own choice. She is lost to you, now and forever. You abused the most precious thing a woman can offer, her trust. When you broke that trust you broke the bond that bound her to you. Do not try to find her. Do not try to speak to her if you ever see her. She no longer exists for you. Do you understand me?” He said nothing. I slashed the broken collar across his face, rocking his head, the raised letters gouging his cheek. “Answer, you bastard!” “Yes,” he croaked through the windpipe that I had started to choke shut. I let go of him and he fell to the floor. “Let’s go,” I said to Susan. Without a second look, she started for the door. I took a look around the room, for the first time taking in the glass table in front of the couch. I could see a pill bottle on its side, a couple of capsules lying loose on the tabletop, a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a glass. I looked down at the man who until moments before had been Susan’s master. “I don’t know what your scene is, but pills and booze sure as hell don’t mix with it. Get some help before you kill yourself or someone else.” He’d managed to get up onto his hands and knees. I didn’t want him trying to reopen the issue so I dropkicked him square in the balls, lifting him and dropping him back to the floor in a fetal position, hands clutching his groin and eyes squeezed shut in agony. Partial repayment for what he’d done to Susan. I walked over to the door, picking up the whip as I passed, motioned for her to open it and went through. She closed it behind us. We went to the truck, its motor still running, got in, backed out of the driveway, and headed down the road. I was running on autopilot, adrenaline still flooding my system, heterodyning with the anger I felt over what he’d done to Susan to produce a towering rage. I was peripherally aware she was in the cab with me, sitting close, her legs almost but not quite touching mine as we reached the highway and got up to speed. For fifteen minutes or so, time seemed to move at a crawl. As the anger and the adrenaline bled off along with the endorphins they produced, the world seemed to speed back up and return to normal. I became aware of my throbbing hands with their white-knuckled grasp on the steering wheel. I had to consciously ease my grip, letting the right go from the wheel and shaking it to get the blood flowing again. Susan caught it in both of her hands. She looked at me with bowed head and said, “If you’ll permit me, sir?” and began to massage it. Working her way outward with her thumbs from the middle of the palm, she took the pain away, leaving a feeling of ease behind. She turned my hand over and worked on the tendons for a bit, flexing the fingers and watching my face for signs of discomfort. She replaced my hand on the wheel and wordlessly reached for my left. She slid closer and repeated the process. Soon I was able to hold the wheel without pain. She made no move to pull away from me. I lifted my right arm to hold her as she seemed to want. As I laid my arm across her shoulders, she whimpered. I released her at once. “It’s nothing,” she said, trying to smile. I wasn’t buying. “Turn and let me see your back,” I ordered. Susan slid away on the bench seat as I switched on the cab light. I winced at what I saw. There were four bloody rips in the back of her dress, and I had put my arm down right on one of them. The pain must have been agonizing. I turned the light off. “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed at what I had done. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She slid back next to me so our thighs touched again and leaned on my shoulder, holding my right arm gently in both hands, leaning forward so her back didn’t touch the back of the seat. I could feel her warmth through the reaction chills that always accompany the end of an adrenaline rush. “Don’t be sorry, sir,” she said. “I know you’d never hurt me unless I deserved it. You’ll be a good master, not a bad one.” She reached out, took my right hand, and continued to massage, starting up my forearm, apparently content just to be next to me. Say what? I couldn’t have heard right. In any case, the first thing to do was to treat her injuries. From past trips over this highway I knew of a small picnic area with permanent bathrooms and running water. At this hour of the night, it would probably be deserted. When we reached it no one was there, for which I was grateful. I pulled in so that the headlights lit one of the picnic tables. I turned to Susan. “Take off your belt and go lie across that table. I’m going to take care of you.” She obediently did so. I opened the rear doors and took my medic’s kit, a souvenir of my seagoing days, and went into the bathroom to get water. I carried everything out to the table where my beautiful patient waited. Setting up to do what had to be done, I selected what I’d need and laid everything out on the bench, the instruments soaking in antiseptic. As I prepared, I talked to Susan, explaining what I was about to do. “Brandy or morphine would make this easier, but you’ll just have to endure it. We have to get that dress off you and treat those cuts before they get infected. Bite on this if it gets too bad.” I put a bitestick, normally used for epileptic seizures, into her mouth. “Scream if you must, but don’t let go of that stick. Are you ready?” She looked at me trustfully and nodded. I reached out and gently brushed her eyelids, indicating that she should close them. Then I gritted my teeth and began. The blood had clotted and stuck the silk to the wounds. I took the antique pitcher I had filled and soaked the back of the dress. Susan’s head came up, her jaw clenching on the bitestick. I gently pressed her head back down and stroked her hair to soothe her. After a minute, I poured on some more water, took the dress at the hem and eased it up over her hips, past that narrow waist and up to the gashes. She lifted herself cooperatively. Knowing what this was going to feel like, I took a deep breath, grasped the fabric and yanked sharply. The dress tore free of her back, up over her head and onto her arms. Susan reared up, eyes wide with pain, the cry she made muffled by the bitestick. I finished skinning the dress off her as tears trickled down her bruised face from the pain I was inflicting. It tore at me, so I said harshly, “Lie flat on the table and spread your legs and arms out. I still have things to do.” She obediently assumed the position. I caressed her for a moment to reassure her. I went back to the truck and brought out the digital camera I carried in my ‘just in case’ box. I shot half a dozen pictures from various angles and set it aside. Insurance for later, but there was work to do now. I got to it. I had to pick bits of cloth out of all four gashes. Fortunately, the cuts those horrible barbs had made were ragged and likely to knit without leaving scars on her silken skin. From time to time she whimpered as I probed deeply to make sure everything was out but I ignored it, as I had to. When I was satisfied the wounds were clean I swabbed them out with antiseptic. Susan groaned at the antiseptic’s bite and squirmed. To take her mind off her back, I slapped her buttocks sharply and growled, “Hold still, wench!” Her head went down again and the groan that she made wasn’t one of pain. I squeezed antibiotic ointment into the cuts and used butterfly closures on the worst ones, following up with a topical anesthetic to dull the pain before applying adhesive gauze pads and bandaids. Finally, it was done. I reached around and took the bitestick out of her mouth. “Are you all right?” I asked. “Please, sir, I was disobedient, moving when you wanted me to lie still. Please punish me. I deserve it. Please…” her voice trailed off as her buttocks wriggled enticingly. I had some inkling of what she was about. The trick of overlying pain with something pleasant is an old animal training trick. If this was her idea of pleasure, I’d oblige her. I hauled off and spanked her, gently at first, then up to strokes that stung my palm. Susan cried out in pleasure, her hips bucking. With one last slap, I stepped in behind her, reached around and pinched her clitoris gently. She pressed back against me, her climax wetting my hand as she collapsed onto the table, moaning sensuously. As her breathing returned to normal, I said, “Now clean up every bit of paper trash. I don’t want anyone to know we were here.” She went to work, naked except for her high heels. I went back to the truck and brought out my leather car coat. It came to mid-thigh on me; on her, it would do for a mini-dress. Ordering her over, I told her to put the trash in the back of the truck and come to me. When she returned, I held the coat out for her and helped her into it, tying it tightly at the waist. She took my hand, kissed the palm, and said timidly, “Sir, may I serve you by tending your own wound?” and gently touched my left cheek. It was the first time I remembered the lash I had taken in her defense, despite the blood that had dribbled down my face and ruined my shirt. The bolt of pain that shot through my head wiped out any endorphins that might have been left in my bloodstream. I reeled away from her. When I could talk again, I said, “I think you’ll have to. But before you start, take a couple of pictures of it.” I walked with her to our impromptu operating room and sat down, closing my eyes against the glare of the headlights. Obediently, Susan snapped three pics. I took the bitestick and bit down, anticipating the pain and not welcoming it. What happened next didn’t qualify as agony only because I expected worse. Susan didn’t help by flinching away each time she had to touch the welted slash. I took out the stick and snapped, “Dammit, don’t try to be gentle! Just do what you have to and get this over with!” Biting down again, I held still while she cleaned and bandaged the cut. Cleaning up the debris without being told, she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Finally, I caught her arm and pulled her into an embrace, tipping her head up to look at me. “You did fine,” I said gently. She huddled against my chest apparently reassured by my words. We finished up quickly. I handed her a coldpack to hold against her face to slow the bruising and ease the pain. A minute later, we were back on the road to what I hoped was safety. There in the darkness, I wondered what might come next. With a throbbing gash on my face that would probably leave a scar, a drop-dead-gorgeous blonde snuggled into my arm on the seat next to me that I didn’t even know, whom I had rescued from an abusive bastard and a relationship I couldn’t even begin to guess about, whose history was a mystery, my life had surely taken a strange turn. Next stop, the Twilight Zone? Worry about it later. First, I had to get Susan to a safe place. The Accidental Master Ch. 02 Susan set the cold pack down on the seat. I stole a look at her. The black eyes didn’t show in the low dashboard lighting. She had to be in even more discomfort than I was. Home was still a ways away. “How do you feel?” I asked. “Safe, sir,” the beauty next to me replied. “For the first time in a long while, I feel safe. "If I may be so bold, sir, don’t concern yourself with Mas- … him. He dares not call the police. He has beaten me badly enough to send me to the hospital before. Three times in the last fourteen weeks, with his fists twice and a paddle once – that was the time he cracked two ribs. And I think that – what he takes is illegal. With those photos you took, he would not come off well in court. Knights in shining armor who rescue the maiden from danger are respected.” Her smile was reassuring; she at least believed it. I wasn’t so sure. “Even so, when we get home here is what we will do. Your dress, my clothes, that whip and your old collar will be put in plastic bags and sealed with tape, which we will sign and date to show we put them there. After I print out copies of the photos, the chip with the data on it goes into another bag. You'll make a tape telling the story, a verbal affidavit. I’ll do the same. We put everything into a box and have my lawyer lock it up. If that swine does try anything, he’ll get it right in the neck.” The venom in my voice when I thought about what he’d done to her startled me. In that moment, I would have strangled him and enjoyed his trip to hell. Susan must have felt my anger. “Please, sir, even if he were to try, you’d defeat him. I know it. I can tell you take care of what is yours.” She untied the belt on the car coat, allowing it to fall open. She reached into my lap, feeling me through my slacks. “Let me ease your mind, sir,” she whispered throatily, fingers on the zipper. Hating to do it, I took my left hand off the wheel for a moment and removed her hand from my lap. “Pet, not just now. We’d end up in the ditch. What are you thinking?” Alarm flared in Susan’s face at this rebuke. I tempered it with a squeeze of my right arm around her and dropped my hand to her breast. Finding a nipple, I tickled it to erection. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the sensation, realizing I was neither upset nor offended. Allowing my hand to slide down her body, I began to gently finger her. Her breathing quickened and her hips began to flex under my tormenting ministrations. I could feel her clitoris swelling as my hand dampened with her juices. Little moans of pleasure, nipples hard as pink marble and panting breath indicated an approaching orgasm. I was in unknown territory here. My best guess was that she was trying to bond with me. I didn’t object, but after the emotional fucking-over that I had received at the hands of my ex-fiancée and the disdain with which my romantic overtures had been received in the past, any bond with a woman would be on my terms or not at all. I pulled my fingers back and lightly grasped her clit. Susan cried out. “You may not climax until I permit it, wench,” I said calmly. She beat her heels against the floor. Instantly I withdrew my hand and snapped my fingers sharply against her nipples. She groaned in a combination of frustration and pain. Putting my hand back on her mound, I said, “Susan, you must learn the pleasure of anticipation.” She started to move her hand over mine, but stopped as I shot her a look of warning. “I want you to caress your boobs, pet. Flaunt yourself for me. Tease yourself, especially your nipples.” Her hands rose obediently to those spectacular breasts, stroking them, squeezing, pulling and twisting the nipples. As she began to whimper with lust and the pleasurable pain produced by her nipples being pinched between her long nails, I again began to stroke her clitoris, first with a fingertip, then, as her whimpers began to turn to little squeals of pleasure, with the sharp corner of my thumbnail. She gasped at the exquisite agony, hanging on the very cusp of climax but unable to finish without permission. I alternated looks between the road and her face contorted in the dashboard lights, head back, eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, tortured whines coming from her throat. “Please, sir… please… ohhh… ohh sir, please… let me… please… “ she pleaded, so wet, so hot, her nipples, clit and pussy swollen with lust and her need. Outwardly, I paid no heed to her, while inwardly I smiled in satisfaction at her obedience to orders. I looked into the mirrors and saw we were alone on the road. I thrust two fingers into her, cruelly pinching her clitoral shaft between fingers and thumb and pubic bone. I said into her ear, “Cum for me, girl.” Her orgasm brought her off the seat. Her hands tightened on her breasts mercilessly as she gasped joyously. I could see the tendons in her neck outlined against the skin. Her pussy clamped down hard on my fingers and a flood inundated my hand. Involuntarily I pinched harder and she came again, a small scream escaping her as her hand came down on mine, trying to drive it deeper. The pain in my hand forced me to pull over and stop. I half-turned her to face me. Susan cried out as I pulled my right hand free. Then I was holding her close, enjoying her panting sobs with satisfaction. I stroked her as she fell down the far side of her climax. When she was back, I sat back from her and caressed her face, careful of the swelling there. I gently kissed her cheek. “You will find one way to please me is to respond to me like that,” I said softly. “Pain and delight is a wonderful mixture.” Susan brought my right hand to her lips and kissed it, then without being told began to sensuously tongue-wash it clean, sipping her own juices. After a bit, she shed the car coat completely and nestled into me. I understood her wordless offer. Holding her tightly, we set off down the road again. I moved my hand over her sumptuous body, caressing, feather-stroking, lightly pinching, softly probing. Eyes closed, a smile on her face, she accepted my ministrations humbly, reading in them a tacit acceptance of her. I knew we had much to settle; but for the moment, her complaisance was enough. We arrived at my place just before morning twilight, when the day is darkest. I backed the truck into the garage and brought Susan out of her semi-doze with a firm cupping of her breast and a gentle pinch of a lovely pink nipple. “Wake up, pet. We’re home.” She stretched sensuously, smiled sleepily and reached for the car coat. I stopped her. “No. Leave it off. Take off your shoes, too. Leave your bag and the pillowcase here,” I ordered. “I will bring them in later. Come with me.” I got out of the truck, went around to her side and helped her down onto the concrete floor. Nude, she stood there, a vision of loveliness. I took her by the hand and led her across the stone yard as the overhead door ground closed behind us. Isolated and set back from the road as the farmhouse was we could have done this at high noon on the Fourth of July without anyone noticing, but I was still glad of the darkness. Sensors switched the door light on as we stepped onto the wraparound porch. Susan found herself facing an oak door with black iron hardware that would have not been out of place in a castle. I unlocked it with its remote, shut down the security system, swung it partly open and stepped into the gap, turning to face her. She looked at me. Even with the dark bruises around her eyes, a man could lose himself in their depths. “Susan, we don’t know really each other. You may be having second thoughts about how we’ve been thrown together and what happened this night just past. If you are, all you have to do is walk past me, turn left and go into the first room on the right at the top of the stairs. You can be my houseguest while you heal and arrange to get well away from that abusive bastard, and I will remember you as that glorious blonde who made me happy for a little while. “However, if you meant what you said as we drove here, cross the threshold, close the door behind you and come to me because you wish to. The choice is yours.” I stepped backward into the foyer and waited. I hoped she understood symbolism as well as I. Susan looked at me through the open door, backlit by the light. She raised her head, stepped through the door and pushed it shut. She walked to me, head up, reached out and took my left hand. She laid it over her heart, holding it there with her right hand. I could feel it rapidly beating under my palm. “I come to you freely, Sir, of my own will. I offer myself to you in perfect trust. Take or leave me, as you wish.” She bowed her head and would have knelt, but I stopped her. Taking her hand, I kissed her palm, enjoying the thrill that ran through her. I drew her into my arms where I had longed to have her. Tilting her face up, there in the darkness I kissed her for the first time. Her lips opened under mine like a rare flower. Our tongues touched. She pressed herself fully against me as our embrace tightened, her hands hooking under my arms to lock into my shoulders, flattening her fabulous breasts against my chest as my hands found her buttocks and pulled her hard against my erection. She moaned in her throat and I thrust my tongue deep into her mouth, symbolically taking her. She accepted me eagerly, lightly sucking my tongue and rocking her hips against me as I dug my fingers into her ass. We were both ready, but this wasn’t the place. I broke our kiss and pulled her head to my shoulder, stroking her hair. She sighed in mixed frustration and contentment as we eased apart. I looked down at her. “Pet, I want our first coupling to be perfect. That means we should be rested, bathed, and settled in our minds. We have things to do before we can sleep. Shall we get started?” “Yes, Mas –“ I stopped her lips with my finger. “Don’t call me that, Susan. That is not just a title. It is an accolade that must be earned. I assume the beast that whipped you called you his ‘slave,’ didn’t he?” She nodded, head down. “If my slave is what you want to be, you will have to earn it. When we are ready to take on those roles, it will seem perfectly natural to both of us. Would you have it any other way?” She shook her head and whispered, “No, Sir. I feel so lucky, to be with you now.” “As do I, to have you," I replied, continuing to stroke her hair. “Come with me and I will show you your new home.” Keeping hold of her hand, I walked to a switch panel and turned on the lights in the room beyond. Susan gasped in surprise. An irreverent friend once described my house as being decorated in Early Terran Arsenal. I began collecting bayonets and daggers as a kid, and graduated to swords, armor and unusual weapons, many of them souvenirs of my voyaging around the world. The collection covers much of the wall space in the house. Couple that with furnishings in the Renaissance Revival style and a gadgeteer owner, and the result is a Stately Home of Olde England with electronics by Darth Vader. I led Susan through the parlor, across the hall to the dining room, and through the serving pantry into a country kitchen. We passed through another door into a sunroom I had redone as a gym. Turning left and crossing another hall, I opened the door into my study. Inspired by Henry Higgins’ sanctum in My Fair Lady, it is a huge double level room lined with bookcases. The second level has a glass floor laid in an iron frame, with wrought iron and brass rails bordering the open space, with a spiral staircase salvaged from a demolished library in one corner. My online business was run from here. Velvet curtains opened to show the outside or insulate me from it as I wished. Going up the spiral stairs, we came out in the upstairs hall. I pointed to the next door across the hall on the right, by the stairs from the foyer. “Had you not chosen to give yourself to me, that guest room is where you would have stayed. As you have chosen to serve me, you will sleep elsewhere.” I crossed the hall, passed a bathroom and opened the door beyond it. “This is your room, Susan. We will return to it.” I explained that the rooms opposite hers were unused at present. The door next to hers led into my bedroom, over the exercise room. We entered. There was a fireplace on one inner wall. It backed onto the one in her room. A large mirror spanned it. Opposite the mirror was a large mahogany Renaissance Revival carved four-poster bed, complete with flat canopy and velvet bedcurtains. With the curtains drawn, the bed was a self-enclosed universe. A walk-in closet was to the left of it, a highboy next to it and a bureau opposite. Two leather wing chairs and footstools were in front of the fireplace. Thick silk Persian carpets covered the floor. I led her to the door to the left of the fireplace. It led into the master bath, walled and floored in white marble with black accents. The bath contained a shower and a tub big enough for four that doubled as a Jacuzzi. I led her back to her room. Susan’s room was furnished with a brass double bed, a bureau, a vanity, a nightstand with a reading light, a leather club chair and ottoman. I showed her the closet near the window. It contained a selection of bathrobes and slippers. “Choose the ones which please you. Tomorrow you will store the rest. The bath is through here,” I said, pointing to the far corner. Its most prominent feature was a huge clawfooted bathtub. A cabinet behind the shower head held towels and terrycloth bathrobes. An Oriental rug covered the floor of the bedroom from wall to wall. Susan let go of my hand and turned, taking it all in. She turned back to me. “Sir, all this is too good for the likes of me. Do you not have servants’ quarters and simple clothing for one like me?” I looked at her. Putting a touch of mock-severity in my voice, I said,“What is it to you, slut, if I choose to dress you in silks and fine leather? It pleases me to house you here and dress you as I like a woman to look.” She reacted by quickly crossing the room to kneel at my feet, forehead touching the floor. “Sir, I meant no disrespect. I am yours to use as you like. Please punish my insolence, Sir.” I looked down at her. “Rest assured that when you have been insolent, I know what to do about it.” I helped her up and led her to the bed, sweeping the covers back with one hand while sitting her on the sheets with the other. I actually wasn’t sure what to do, but knew I urgently needed to find out what she wanted. “Wait here. I will bring you a tape recorder and you will make that tape we spoke of.” Leaving her there, I trotted down to the study and brought a recorder back. I showed her how it worked. “Pet, I will be in the study. Put on a robe and slippers and come to me when you are done.” I closed the door as I left. Going back to my desk, I turned my swivel chair to look out the windows. The sun was just beginning to rise. A new day indeed was dawning for me… no, for us, I corrected. Having responded as a true knight would to danger posed to a woman, I was going to have to accept the consequences. I recalled the old saw about adopting a stray kitten, but on second thought realized it was not on point. Maybe Susan was not normal as the average citizen thought of such things; but I had never identified with the great unwashed and cared not what they thought about anything. To me, she was everything I had ever dreamed of in a woman: beautiful, willing, responsive, sensuous, eager to please. She also seemed perceptive. I remembered a study that showed beautiful women were often more intelligent than their plainer sisters. The ‘gorgeous ditz’ is a cultural phenomenon, not a genetic one. But what about love? queried relentless logic. You don’t know a thing about her and you’re letting her into your life? Have you lost your mind or has it just been so long since a chick paid attention to you that you’ll grasp at any straw? Well, what about love? Heaven knows I had little enough experience with the emotion. I had never felt anything like the attraction Susan had for me. If she was missing emotional pieces, well, so was I, an adult male with a record of exactly zero successful relationships with females. I realized that she was offering me everything I wanted, and it was clear she thought I could give her what she needed. I concluded that I would do whatever it took to forge a bond so complete that no other male would be able to take her from me. Having settled that in my mind, I turned the computer on and began typing my record of how this newfound female had come into my life. I was just finishing when I heard the second floor door open. I looked up and watched Susan descend the spiral stairs, those long legs flashing in and out of the cream silk Jean Harlow-type robe she had selected, her feet in the bedroom pumps that complemented them. I raised my eyebrows in approval and was warmed by the dazzling smile I received in return. She came to the desk where I was working and gracefully knelt there, settling back on her heels like a geisha, content to wait until I should deign to notice her. Satisfied with my account, I copied the file to the CD burner and waited for it to finish. Done, I took the disk and labeled it. I looked at Susan and noticed that she held a tape in one slim hand. “Your account?” I asked. She nodded. “Put it here,” I said, handing her an envelope and a pen. She sealed the tape inside and wrote her name across the flap. I did the same with my CD and locked both records in the desk. I turned to her, simply enjoying looking at her. With her head bowed and her blonde hair partly forward, her black eyes were concealed. The silk clung to her curves, stimulating my imagination even though I had already seen what lay under the robe. I reached over and helped her to her feet as I stood. Keeping her hand, I led her to the stairs and motioned her to precede me so I could enjoy the flexing of her buttocks under the silk. At the top of the stairs I reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. She stopped instantly. Stepping close, I reached around her and cupped her breasts through the silk. I pressed hard against her, my rigid erection nestling between her buttocks while I fondled her boobs. Susan tipped her head back against my shoulder, eyes closed, little noises indicating her enjoyment. I took her by the hand again and led her to her bed. “Disrobe,” I ordered. The robe slithered to the floor in a whisper of silk. I motioned her to me. Lips parted, she kissed me softly but eagerly. “Lie on the bed, face down,” I ordered. Susan pouted, seeing that sex was not the immediate goal. I instantly sat on the bed, seized her, pulled her across my knees and spanked her hard as rapidly as I could, ten fast whacks. She cried out in surprise and pain. I sat her back up and held her by the shoulders. “I want you as much as you want me, wench, but there is much I have to do before I will be free to give you my undivided attention. You aren’t some cheap beer to be swilled for drunkenness. You are like fine brandy. You intoxicate my senses with sensual pleasure. "Like that brandy, I intend to present you properly, with my hands heating you so I may savor you before I taste your glowing charms. Don’t ever behave like a cheap whore unless I order you to, Susan. Do you understand?” “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “Whatever you wish, I will be for you. I want you to be proud of me.” “For the moment, this is what I wish. Get some sleep. I must go into town to deliver our evidence to my lawyer. You may go anywhere in the house you like, but don’t open the doors or windows. I will be setting the alarms before I go. Setting one off will bring the police in short order. Some doors and cabinets are locked. Respect them. Otherwise, you may do as you like. Eat if you feel like eating; drink if you wish, but don’t get drunk. I don’t like drunken sluts. Any questions, pet?” The Accidental Master Ch. 02 “Yes, Sir. Would it be presumptuous of your pet to offer to dress you before you go to town? I would serve you ill if I let you leave in the same clothes you’ve worn since we met at the club, stained with the blood of the blow you took for me. Please, Sir?” She was right. I had been so concerned for her needs I hadn’t taken the time to change. I stood up, picked up her robe and held it for her. She slipped into it, and followed me to the master bedroom. I opened the closet door and motioned for her to choose, curious to see what her taste was. While she studied my wardrobe, I took underwear from the highboy and laid it on the bed. Susan selected a silky blue shirt, pale sand slacks, black ankle boots and a black blazer for me. I sat on the bed and allowed her to undress me. As she helped me out of my shirt, I saw her kiss the bloodstains on the collar and shoulder. She expertly skinned me out of pants and underwear so I stood there naked before her. Looking at me unclothed for the first time, she said huskily, “Sir, you have a beautiful body. So smooth, with its strength hidden.” She stepped closer and ran her hand over my chest, feeling my nipples stiffen at her touch. She continued, “May your pet ask that you take the edge off her before you leave?” I replied by reaching out and pulling the tie on her robe loose. She shrugged out of it and knelt before me, taking my penis in her hand and kissing the head. I reached down and pulled her to her feet. Her eyes widened, but she said nothing as I sat down on the bed and pulled her to me, kissing her breasts, then without warning biting a nipple, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to startle. She gasped and I stood, catching her with her mouth open and kissing her hard. She whimpered deep in her throat and rubbed herself against me, trying to mount my cock. I didn’t let her. I spun her about, grabbing a breast with my left hand and penetrating her with my right. I growled in her ear, “Cum, you slut!” as I closed my hand hard on her mound with no attempt at tenderness. Susan shrieked with mixed pleasure, pain and humiliation as her body responded to my command. Letting go of her, I turned her to face me again, grabbing her by the hair and kissing her hard as I tripped her and let her down to the rug. She lay there, eyes slightly glazed, as I stood, waiting for her. As her breathing slowed, without a word I pointed to the clothes on the bed. She obediently dressed me. I motioned her into my arms and held her lovingly, stroking her, careful to avoid her stripes and bruises. She sighed, a little smile on her lips. “Better, my sweet?” I asked. Eyes closed, she nodded, her hair caressing my chest. I tipped her face up and she met my eyes. “Tonight we will both give and receive pleasure. Some time today, I require you write for me what your limits are. I have no wish to drive you from me by accidentally breaking one. It is my intention to formally bind you to me tonight, but before we make that commitment both of us must agree if you want it to work.” Susan took my right hand and again laid my palm over her heart, holding it there as she looked me in the face. “Sir, this woman is not one who promises by night to repudiate by day. I have been yours since you rescued me. I wanted you as my master after we danced at the club. Your presence struck me like a thunderbolt. The Italian poets say love hits people that way sometimes. I sensed you could give me what I need and take all I have to offer. Punish me if you wish for using the word, Sir, but this woman is your devoted love-slave. I belong to you.” She laid her head against me and I held her for a long time as I considered what she had said. I led Susan back to her room, and laid her on the bed face down. I stroked her arms and hair and said softly, “Sleep, my pet. Wait for me. I will return to you.” She caught my hand and brought it to her lips, then fell asleep with her lips still brushing it. I took hers and kissed it in return; she smiled in her sleep. I got up and went about what had to be done. I went into town. I was fortunate. I caught my lawyer on his way into church. After giving him a précis he told his wife to take the kids in without him. We went to his office where he took a brief statement from me and agreed to lock up the evidence I had brought in his safe. He advised me that under the circumstances and considering that I had been injured saving a battered woman, I had little to worry about. Police officers and juries generally took a dim view of battering and would not be likely to come after me even if a report was filed. Outside his office, I realized my face was really starting to ache. After thinking about it for a minute, I dialed Doc on his cellphone. “This better be good,“ he growled when he picked up on the fourth ring. I replied, “How is your embroidery these days?” Silence. I seldom had need of his professional skills and he knew I wouldn’t be calling him on a Sunday without a good reason. “Come on over, Galahad,” he said. I drove to his place. He met me at the door and didn’t say a word until I was sitting in his kitchen. He said, “Hold still, “ eyeing the gauze pad on my cheek. A patch of red had appeared on it. He yanked it off and stared at the wound, now seeping blood. “Cut yourself shaving, I don’t think,” he observed. “Broken bottle in a bar brawl?” “A steel tip on a bullwhip,” I said sourly. The cut was starting to sing “We Will Rock You,” heavy on the boots. He held up a hand. “Tell me about it later. Let’s get you patched up.” I didn’t say another word until after he’d put fourteen stitches into my cheek. “This is going to leave a scar,” he observed clinically. “I’ve seen razor slashes that weren’t as bad as this.” I brought him up to date while he put his instruments away. He handed a disposable syringe and an ampoule of tetanus vaccine to me. “Your shipboard physician’s assistant papers are still valid. Give her this booster when you get back, and start her on these,” he said, handing me a bottle of pills. “Antibiotics. Make sure she’s not allergic first. Bring her over if it looks like infection is setting in or the wounds won’t close. Thanks for livening up a dull Sunday.” After making a stop at the market for food, I went home. I was starting to feel the exhaustion of the most improbable day of my life. Susan was sleeping in the same position in which I’d left her. I left the two bags of her possessions on the bureau where she would be sure to see them. After putting away the groceries and verifying the alarms were still set I went to bed, just dropping my clothes on the floor of the bedroom before climbing under the covers and surrendering to sleep. I was out before my head hit the pillow. The Accidental Master Ch. 03 A delicious odor awakened me. I had no idea how long I'd been asleep, but it was dark outside. I sat up and looked around in the light spilling from the fireplace. A fire had been lit there, the flames providing the only light in the room. My clothes and Susan's robe were nowhere to be seen. "Would you care to eat, Sir?" a voice said from the foot of the bed. I looked. Susan, freshly bathed, perfumed and dressed as a French maid, was standing there with my silver coffee service and a cup. I surmised that the outfit was one of her stripper's costumes. I motioned her to come to me. "Just milk," I said. Susan set the tray down on a portable butler's table brought up from the dining room and prepared the cup. She leaned in as she gave it to me, the better for me to admire the breasts straining to escape their confinement. I took the coffee with one hand and cupped a breast with the other. "Sir!" she said in mock outrage, playing her part to the hilt as I kissed her mouth slowly, enjoying the feeling. When we broke the kiss, I could see a flush on her chest, though not on her face. She had applied heavy makeup to hide the black eyes. "Do your talents extend to an omelet, wench?" I asked. Susan nodded. "I can have one here in five minutes, Sir." She swayed her way out of the room, the microskirt, six inch stilettos and black sheer stockings giving me an enhanced view of her taut dancer's legs. I sipped my coffee and thought happy thoughts. All my life, I had been someone females confided in and came to for advice. A non-threatening, asexual male. A confidante, a trustworthy friend, yes. But not a romantic lover or a lusty male animal, never someone to whom a woman would surrender herself... until now. My French maid came back from the kitchen with a covered plate. It held a cheese omelet. Susan wouldn't permit me to feed myself. She fed me one bite at a time, using the food as a sensual substitute for her lips, breasts and pussy. When I had finished eating, she leaned close with a napkin to wipe my mouth. I allowed it, then traced her lips with my finger, watching her eyes close as she savored my touch. I continued my tracing along the line of her jaw, down the side of her throat and along the curve of her breast, around the aureola, then back as her breathing deepened. Reaching behind her neck, I pulled her lightly toward me. Her mouth opened as it touched mine, anticipating my kiss and anxious to receive it. Our tongues danced. She started to climb onto the bed, but stopped as she felt the warning pressure of my hand on her breastbone. I drew my mouth away from hers with more reluctance than I allowed to show. "Run a tub, Susan. I wish to bathe." I could see hints of frustration as she obediently went into the master bath, and smiled to myself. I was learning the truth of the old joke that the ultimate in sadism was the submissive pleading to be beaten while the Dominant said, "No." I swung my feet out of bed, opened the closet door and selected a wine-red silk dressing gown, a find I'd made when clearing out an estate three years ago. More Hollywood than practical, it was perfect for tonight. I joined Susan in the bathroom. The splash of water into the bathtub masked my entrance. Susan was bent over, testing the water temperature. She jumped as I caressed her ass, those firm globes only partly concealed by her costume. She pressed back against my hand as I gently kneaded her rump. I eased my hand under her panties and introduced a finger into her slit. She was already moist and her muscles clasped it, grabbing and releasing in promise of what lay ahead. She moaned as I withdrew my finger. "Help me into the tub, girl," I ordered. Susan turned to remove my robe and for the first time got a clear look at the stitches in my cheek. "Oh, Sir, I am so sorry!" I held her at arm's length. "Take off your top," I commanded. She immediately did. "Turn around." The bandages I had put on her earlier that day covered half her back. I reached out and pulled them off her. She made no sound. I examined them. No sign of infection, though the welts were inflamed. The edges of the cuts were tight to each other, bound close by the butterflies and the beginning of the healing process. I led her to the big mirror by the sink. "Look over your shoulder, pet." She could see the gashes the whip had made. "Now look at my face." The silk sutures were dark against my skin. "These are part of what binds us. They are part of what we are to each other. Your stripes will heal and leave no visible mark. Mine, I am told, will leave a scar. When you look at me, you will see a badge of honor and know that the man to whom you have given yourself is proud of the pain he ended for you by taking it. Do you see that, Susan?" She looked at the scar for another moment, then whispered, "Yes, Sir. I understand. May I please touch it?" I nodded. She stepped close and delicately touched her lips to the stitches as if to consecrate them. I turned her about and did the same to the four worst marks on her back and saw her happy smile reflected back at me. After I entered the tub, Susan took on the role of bath girl, shampooing my hair, washing me, rinsing me off and even shaving me as I lounged in the warm water. Before it could cool, she took a fluffy bathsheet and dried me. I donned the dressing gown again and led her, still nude from the waist up, back into the master bedroom. I sat in the chair by the fire and she settled beside me, her head leaning on my thigh, content as a cat. I looked down at her and felt her hair, cornsilk in my fingers. "Did you make that list, pet?" I asked. "Yes, Sir. It is in your study on your desk. Shall I fetch it here?" She looked up inquiringly at me, ready to spring up at my command. "Is there anything on it so far out that I would have no way of knowing it might trigger you?" "Sir, may I speak freely?" I nodded. "Trust is my greatest issue. It always has been. I have been used in the past, and abused, as you saw yourself. I do know this: I need to be owned by a dominant male. I am driven by sex; I have to belong to someone. "I long to be the property of a master who will give me the discipline I need. Who will care for me, but will not allow transgression without punishment. Who understands me better than I do myself. I want to surrender my will to yours. I want to be your slave. I want to please you, for you are strong in spirit and will care for me and will permit me to care for you and serve you in every way. "I will do anything to satisfy you, but I must know that you will respect my needs as well. One like me has no rights, only privileges permitted by her owner. I must know you will set guidelines and make your submissive abide by them, so I can feel secure." I considered before I answered her. "The only thing we need between us is for you to know that if you say, 'STOP!' whatever is happening stops instantly and we discuss it right away until we solve the problem. Does my word that I will do this suffice, or must we have something more elaborate?" Susan sat up, leaning against my legs, and studying my face carefully. I was painfully aware of her closeness, wanting nothing more than to grab the lovely slut, throw her on the floor and take her, remembering her wantonness onstage. I was sure she could sense my urge even as I strove to keep my mask of calm in place, even as I could sense her readiness to yield if I decided to rape her. "I believe you, Sir," she said with decision. "I remember what you said to me at the club, about telling the truth. Your word is your honor. You would not break it, even to your one like me." As she spoke, she rubbed her breasts against my thigh and her hand crept under the dressing gown, seeking my cock. Her fingers closed on it and she began to slowly stroke me, each motion sensual torment. I reached down and indicated she was to sit on my knee. I drew her to me, caressing her breasts, making the self-imposed torture mutual. Her grip tightened as she conveyed her willingness to me. I turned her head, kissed her, and stood, nearly dumping her on her delicious derrière. Eyes wide, she stared at me. "Susan, go to your room and prepare. I like a woman who is properly depilated. No hair on your body, save your eyebrows and your lovely blonde tresses. Make yourself up as you like. I have a fondness for blood red nails and lipstick. You will find a black robe in the closet. Put it on. Those stilts you are wearing will do. When you are finished, wait for me to come for you." "Yes, Sir," she said. I was once more treated to the sight of that perfect ass and those long legs doing a slow strut out of the room, hips seesawing in invitation. I listened for her door to click closed, then began making preparations. These included two stops in the basement, one at the safe concealed in the study, another at my desk to examine Susan's list, and the moving of a few things into my bedroom. After an hour, I stood back, put on the dressing gown, donned a pair of black leather slippers and walked to her room. Psyching myself up, I opened the door. Susan was sitting in the leather chair by her fireplace. Her shining hair was freshly brushed and hung free to the middle of her shoulder blades. The black silk robe she wore was just a little too small for her and barely closed in the front. Its two short ties and sash strained to conceal her with only limited success. She held her legs together, bent at the knee, showing a good amount of thigh despite the fact the robe was ankle length. The six-inch heels brought out the curve of her calves. When she saw me, she stood. I remained in the door, waiting. "This is the last chance to change your mind. Do not join me unless you are sure that this is what you desire with your whole heart and soul. Choose." Susan did not hesitate. She walked across the room, head up, and took my hands in hers. "You are what I want, Sir. I am sure. I am in good health. I have no diseases. I do not use drugs. My tubes are tied. You need not fear that I will betray your trust, and I know you will not betray mine. Bind me to you, Sir, I beg you." She bowed her head and kissed my hands. "Very well." I produced a satin sleep mask and blindfolded her. I led her into my bedroom and locked the door behind us. Leading her forward, I positioned her in front of a cushion I had placed in the firelight, the only light in the room, and pressed on her shoulders. She knelt on both knees, hands down at her sides, head erect. Using the remote that controlled the in-house sound system, I activiated the CD player to provide appropriate backgound music at low volume to heighten the occasion. I took my position in front of her next to a low table that held a goblet, a couple of folded napkins, a lancet used for taking blood for test strips, and a necklace. I reached down and removed her blindfold. "Susan, is it your desire to become my submissive? To have no rights save those I grant you? To surrender without reservation? To obey without question any order I give you? To accept any punishment without resentment, complaint or explanation? To be whatever I may choose to make of you?" "Yes," she whispered, her voice humid. "Do you accept that you are no longer free, but bound to me?" "Yes," she repeated as if in a dream. "It is my dearest wish." I stepped closer. "Put your hands between mine," I ordered, holding my hands up as if praying, but held apart. Susan raised her hands in the same position. I pressed hers between mine in the way of a medieval lord taking the oath of fealty from a vassal. "Promise in your own words, Susan." She swallowed and looked up at me with devotion. "By all I am, I swear myself to you. I will be whatever you want me to be, at any time. Your servant, slut, sex toy, stripper, submissive slave, sweet girl, dancer, wanton nymph, masseuse, model, whore, lover. Whatever you want me to be, whatever you need me to be, I shall be for you. I am yours, completely, to be used as you see fit. Everything I have, I freely give to you. Your lightest wish shall be as a command to me. By the bond of pain between us, I will not leave you. This I swear until I die, or until you die, or until you order me to go." Susan leaned against our joined hands, eyes closed. I looked down at her and responded. "I accept you as my bond-maid. I swear to protect you. To give you firm discipline. To cherish you as mine. Never to cause lasting harm to you or violate your trust. Your pleasure shall be my concern, as mine is yours. "I accept your submission. I will help you perfect it until, if all goes well, you are ready to wear my collar as my slave and I consent to become your master. This do I swear until death parts us or you ask me to release you from your vow." Susan looked radiant as a bride before the altar, her eyes sparkling, joy on her face in the firelight. I released her hands and turned to the table, picking up the goblet and the lancet. "Hold this," I ordered, putting it into her right hand. As she held it, I took her left hand and held it over the goblet. The lancet pierced her third finger. Blood welled out, formed a drop, and fell into the wine the goblet contained. I watched as five drops of blood fell from her finger before I took one of the napkins and staunched the bleeding. I held my left hand over the silver cup and applied the lancet to my own ring finger. I too let five drops of blood splash into the thick, sweet wine. It took but a moment for the bleeding to stop. I took the cup from her and held it in both hands, swirling the wine gently. "Our blood is now one. I drink in token of this." I held the shining goblet up and slowly, savoring the taste, drank half of it. I offered Susan the cup. Mimicking me, she solemnly accepted it. Looking me in the eyes, she repeated, "Our blood is now one," and drained the goblet without haste, ceremoniously. I took the empty cup from her and set it back on the table. I picked up the necklace that waited there and showed it to her. It was a gold herringbone chain a quarter-inch wide, so cunningly crafted you could wrap it around your fingers without hurting it. Its quality was evident in the workmanship and weight. Foreign made, its clasp involved a spring pin that worked by pressure. Easily closed, it was hard to open, which had influenced my choice. "This is your mark of servitude, Susan. The weight of this necklace will remind you how much farther you have to go before you are worthy to become my slave. It does not broadcast your status to the world, but YOU will know. Do you choose to wear it, knowing what it means?" "Of my own choice I choose to wear it, as the visible symbol of my bond to you. Please, Sir, place it on me, as one day I hope to receive your collar." She gathered her hair up in her right hand and first raised her chin, then lowered it as I stepped behind her and passed the necklace around her neck. Then, with a click, it was done. The chain rode just below her collarbone at its deepest point. It went well with her skin and hair. I stepped back in front of her. "Now you are mine," I said. "I think you will find that necklace the lightest of burdens." I helped her to her feet and held her in my arms. The ceremony was over. "Are you happy?" I asked her. "So happy, Sir. Now I am truly yours. I will care for you and make myself worthy of you, obeying you in all ways, pleasing you, loving you," she said in a whisper, her hand moving on the dressing gown, seeking the overlap of the open front. I knew what she sought, but also thought I knew what she needed. "We will prove your submission, pet." I led her to the foot of the four-poster. Spare silk rope curtain ties hung down from the crossbeam, their loops waiting for her hands. She did not resist as I slipped first the left, then the right into position, took up the slack and tied them off, leaving her hands extended in a broad V over her head, her hands grasping the cord above the loops. "Spread your legs," I ordered. Her stance changed to an X. I picked up the sleep mask and approached her. "Do you trust me, Susan?" "With my life, Sir," she said softly. I put the mask back on her. She waited, not knowing what I had in mind for her. Although I was new to the Dominant/submissive game, I was not unread in the field. It was time to put what I had read to work. I whispered in her ear, "Tonight, my sweet, you may climax as often as you like as well as at my command," and lightly nibbled her earlobe. She shivered deliciously. I moved to the butler's table that stood in the shadows. On it was an old style razor strop, a feather, a section of an old bamboo fly rod with the guides removed, and three clip clothespins. I picked up the feather and the clothespins and knee-walked across the foot of the bed until I was in front of her. I took a moment to examine her beautiful body, her nipples already puckered with excitement. I had the feeling this could turn into a night neither of us would ever forget. Reaching out with the stiff goose feather, I tickled her right nipple, watching it lengthen as blood hardened the pliant flesh. I shifted the feather to the left, enjoying the sight while I leaned in and blew a thin stream of air across the right, making her moan and shiver with excitement. I switched back and forth between them randomly. A look at her mound showed me Susan's labia looked puffy. Good. As her breathing began to be ragged, I pinched the two clothespins open and let them close on her lustful pink nipples. She cried with the sudden pain; I ignored it and began to stroke the feather across her clitoris. Her cries of pain changed quickly to whimpers and whispers of "Yes... yes... oh, Sir, don't stop... oh yes..." I slipped off the bed, never interrupting my teasing of her clit for more than a second or two, as I gauged her reactions. Not quite yet. Stepping in behind her, I replaced the feather's touch with my finger. I caressed the length of her labia and the clitoral shaft, slowly at first, then faster. Her pussy lips reminded me of an orchid, wide open and inviting at the bottom and narrowing as they reached the unhooded clitoris at their apex. Swollen on the end of its shaft, it resembled the stamen of an exotic flower. The oils starting to ooze down the labia put me in mind of the nectar a hummingbird sips. Her hips rocked as far as they could with her legs spread, and everything I had seen of her so far told me she was about to cum. As she reached her peak, I reached out and clipped the third clothespin onto her clitoris. Susan screamed in mixed pleasure and pain as the orgasm ripped through her. I had no intention of allowing her to fall down the other side. I reached out, grabbed the razor strop, doubled it so only leather would touch her, and began to slap her ass with it, conscious of the rampant erection inside my dressing gown. She wasn't the only one getting off on this! The first stroke chopped her moans of satisfaction off in mid-squeal. She cried in surprise and hurt at first, her cries quickly changing to something that sounded more like enjoyment as I first eased off, then increased the tempo and the impact of the blows. A minute or two brought her back up toward climax as the pain somehow transmuted into pleasure for her. As she peaked again, she was hit simultaneously front and back as I flicked one hand into her crotch, lightly striking the clothespin, and delivered a hard whack with the strop onto her glowing buttocks. The effect was electric. She howled like a bitch in heat and thrust her groin into my hand and climaxed again, and then again, panting, unable to speak, sounds I'd never heard coming from her mouth. I dropped the strop and seized the bamboo, taking a second to slide my hand up her open pussy lips, feeling the wetness. She was starting to flow now, fully aroused by my harsh treatment. I stepped back, measured the distance by eye, and swung the bamboo across her ass cheeks with a sharp smack. The Accidental Master Ch. 03 Susan bucked and screamed, trying to get away from the red-hot burn of the improvised cane. I struck her with it twice more and felt compelled to step close and ask, "How are you?" "Please," she gasped, twisting in her bonds. "Ohh... please, Sir... please... oh God, don't stop... hurt me so good..." I resumed the caning, varying the impact from barely touching to just short of breaking the skin. My slut whipped her head back and forth, her hips thrusting back to meet the bamboo, urging me to beat her. She was something I had never seen before, a woman caught in an orgasmic loop, cumming only to find a new pleasure peak rising beyond this one. This went on for maybe fifteen minutes before I decided it was time. Dropping the bamboo, I pulled the small tags of curtain rope that undid the quick-release knot on the bedposts, first on the left and then on the right. As Susan started to collapse to the floor, I caught her and laid her on her back on the bed, her legs spread and her feet just touching the floor in her patent leather pumps, her thighs spread, her hair-free pussy wide open and inviting. I knelt between her legs, removed the clothespin from her clit, and settled in to tongue her to orgasm. She responded instantly, her moans rising in intensity and volume as I used tongue, teeth, fingers and the stiff bristles of my mustache on her. Her hips rocked up to meet my tongue and questing fingers as she came again and again, the frequency between climaxes shortening. My face was sticky with her juices as I sought to drive her out of her mind. Her hands, still trailing the silk ropes that had held her to the bedposts, kneaded her breasts. Any sensory input was pleasurable to her now. I knelt there performing cunnilingus for half an hour, listening with satisfaction to her cries of hedonistic rapture when I realized the she was saying something. "Take me... use me... fuck me..." over and over. She protested as I pulled my fingers out of her, trying to hold them in her vagina. I stood, grabbed her thighs and pushed them even wider. With one stroke I rammed my swollen, ready cock deep into her. Our coupling could not be called lovemaking. It had been too long since I'd had a woman and this one wordlessly urged me to prove my dominance over her in bed. Both of us were too aroused, no longer human but the embodiment of lingam and yoni. I hammered her brutally with no concern for her pleasure, only my own. She met each thrust with eager lust, taking me in up to the root, bucking and twisting like a horse with a burr under the saddle. She started to reach for me. I caught her wrists and pinned them to the bed, leaning forward to hold them down, reinforcing her helplessness and inability to resist my taking her like this. The incoherent noises she was making goaded me to drive ever harder, reducing her to a receptacle for my sperm and nothing more. As I neared my own climax, I watched her face, a portrait in pleasure beyond pleasure. I knew it would be only moments before I came. Reaching down with my teeth, I unclipped first one, then the other of those pink nipples, darkly swollen now from constricted blood flow, and spat the clothespins aside. I groaned, "Cum now! Now, slut!" With a roar, I climaxed as never before, Susan's hypersonic shriek telling me we'd reached the magic moment together. Her spasms almost threw me off as I latched onto a nipple and sucked for all I was worth as my cum splattered the inside of her vagina. In that moment, I felt I was a god as I collapsed onto her and almost passed out from the greatest climax of my life. Her pussy muscles clenched and loosened spasmodically, obviously out of her control, still responding to my cock inside her. As my penis gradually went flaccid and slipped out of her, I picked myself up and looked at my submissive. She lay on my bed, her body built for sex slack, sweat-slicked and pale. I removed the blindfold. Her eyes were rolled back in her head and her mouth hung open. I had to press my ear to her chest and hear the reassuring "lub-dub, lub-dub" of her heart to assure myself that she had only fainted dead away, that I hadn't actually fucked her to death. Somehow I managed to stand on rubbery legs. Moving to the side of the bed I gently tipped her up onto her side to check her back. Two small breaks in the whip slashes seeped tiny droplets of blood. Stumbling to the bathroom, I took a minute to hastily clean myself and returned with bandaids and ointment. It took only a minute to repair the reopened cuts. I looked at her with immense tenderness and pride, realizing that now I owned her, and she wanted it that way. I carefully moved her until her head was on a pillow at the head of the bed. I closed the bed-curtains, shutting out the world so it could not reach in and disturb our privacy. I pulled a silk satin coverlet over us and settled next to this wonderful, sensuous, desirable submissive who had chosen me as her Dominant and drifted off to nap in the dark pool that was our world in this bed. A tickling feeling brought me back to the surface. I opened my eyes. Susan had turned on the reading lamp on the headboard, its low illumination giving just enough light to see her. Her head was resting on my chest listening to my heart as a short while before I had listened to hers. I could feel her arm wrapping around my shoulder, while her other hand caressed me with her nails. She looked satisfied, happy and content, serene with the proof I had indeed taken her as my own. "Oh Sir, thank you," she said. "I did not know anything could feel as good as that without drugs or booze. I do not know where I have been, but I beg you to take me there again some day." "Thank you for the most intense experience I have ever known, my sweet," I replied, taking her in my arms and kissing her hair. "No woman has honored me by climaxing under me before. You, my darling pet, are the first." Susan sat partly up and I looked into those blue eyes of hers, unafraid now of falling into them, as she realized I meant it. Hookers rarely cum with their johns; and my unlamented ex-fiancée had been not only unskilled at sex but frigid to boot. Susan wriggled up so her head lay beside mine on the pillows, within easy kissing reach if I wanted her and at intimate closeness for conversation. "Where are we?" she asked. "Did you transport us somewhere while I was away? Some otherwhen where there are only the two of us, Sir?" I chuckled. "No, I just closed the bed-curtains. But no one can disturb us until I will it so." She sighed and snuggled close to me as I began to caress her, using just as light a feather-touch as she had. I was sure she could feel my cock erecting against her, for her complaisance and sensuality acted on me like a dose of cantharides on a prize bull. I wasn't ready to take her again just yet. I wanted to talk to her a bit and enjoy the feelings as I indulged in foreplay with her. Her own hands with those nails she had painted bright red for me gently ran along my spine and buttocks. "Ask me any other questions you may have, my beauty. I may choose not to answer, but tonight you may ask me anything." She smiled and ran a finger along my ear, tracing its outline before reaching down to find my hand and bring it to her proud breast. It seemed my little slut was tactile and enjoyed foreplay as much as I did, and wanted to make amends for all the women that had failed to see me as a man. "I saw two things in the house that puzzle me," she said. "There is a shield over the fireplace in your study that has a broken bridge on it. And near your desk is a plaque with a white shield and a red cross on it. Might you tell me the story behind them, Sir?" I smiled. "The carved white shield with the wiggly blue vertical stripe and the broken black bridge – fracted, the term is – is my family's coat of arms. Great-great-grandfather brought it with him when he emigrated from Sweden. The family legend is that an ancestor captained one of the ships in the 996 Viking raid on London. He supposedly was the bright boy who came up with the idea of arriving at London Bridge at high tide and pulling London Bridge down. He became known as Wulf Bridgebreaker and was given lands and the rank of baron for his services." Susan's nipple suddenly went hard under my fingers. "Do you mean that you are a Baron, Sir?" I looked at her. Her eyes were bright, her lips were fuller that usual and her breathing was deepening. "The Swedish line is extinct. My father got a letter years ago from a Swedish diplomat telling him he was the heir to the title. He's gone now, and I have no brothers or sisters. I suppose that means I could claim it, but I believe I'd have to renounce my American citizenship. It's not worth it." Susan pressed my hand firmly to her breast and looked pleased. "That makes me your thrall, then, My Lord." She pushed me onto my back and began to kiss her way down my body, murmuring, "My Lord, please let me fellate thee. Please let me feel thy cock in my mouth." I nodded my consent and I sat up, the better to watch her. Susan reached my cock and began licking the head, her hand softly squeezing the shaft. She looked surprised and pleased as she gently stretched the foreskin, discovering I was not circumcised. She opened her mouth and took the head between her lips, licking the frenum as she stroked the shaft slowly, tightening and loosening her fingers as they moved. I knew from what she had written that she enjoyed giving and receiving oral sex. The moans deep in her throat told me she was excited by what she was doing. Susan took me all the way into her mouth and began to bob the full length of my shaft, sucking and flicking with her tongue. I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensations, feeling my prick swell. I could feel my climax building. So could she. She sucked harder, eager to receive my sperm. As I felt myself losing the ability to restrain my climax, I reached down to grab her hair, intending to cum straight down her throat. She caught my hands and held them away, doing something with her teeth and tongue that kicked me over the edge. She held me off, my cockhead just behind her teeth as I spurted into her waiting mouth. She held that position until the spasms subsided. Shifting one hand to my penis, Susan held up her head so I could clearly see the satisfied expression on her face, and swallowed, smiling as she ran her tongue over her lips in satisfaction before bending her head to clean my cock. When she was finished, she slid back up along me and purred, "Your cum is sweet, My Lord. Your little slut would drink it by the bottle if she could. Are you pleased with me, Sir?" "No," I said shortly. "The piano does not write the concerto. You displease me, slut. On your hands and knees, now!" She immediately assumed the position of a penitent: hands and forearms flat on the bed, head down between them, her rump elevated, legs together and bent at the knees, toes pointed. I rummaged beneath the coverlet and came up with one of the clothespins I had used earlier. "Lift your head," I ordered. Her head snapped up. "You see this?" I asked, brandishing it in her face. "Yes, My Lord," she whispered. "Kiss it," I ordered, "and thank me for the lesson I am about to teach you." She kissed the wood and mumbled in a fearful voice, "Thank you, My Lord, for this lesson in obedience. Please punish me." I said nothing more, but with no warning fastened it onto her clitoral shaft. I ignored her whimper as the jaws closed. "Head down and watch it," I ordered. That lovely blonde head dropped. I got behind her, took aim, and began to spank her, setting a pace of about one blow per second, hearing the sharp reports as my hand struck her already sore ass, not alternating cheeks but striking at random. I paid no heed to her tears or her cries. After 50 strokes I slid my free hand under her and caressed her mound. As I had anticipated, it came back wet with her secretions. My cock had regained its ramrod rigidity. The combination of her submission and the knowledge that she was getting off on what I was doing to her acted like a drug on me. I rubbed her juices over my cock, going back again for more to anoint the head. When I was ready, I forced my cock into her anus. She screamed, a mixture of lust and humiliation as I took her. I knew from her report that she did not object to anal sex. She began to press back against me, whimpering from the pleasure she was receiving and the heat in her buttocks as I grasped her hips and used her. The whimpers turned to moans, then to deep groans of pleasure, then to the cries of climax as I fucked her ass. The squeals Susan made triggered me as well, and I came just after her, barely managing to hold off long enough to unclip the clothespin. She cried again, surprised by a second small climax as the blood flowed more fully into her clit and I rubbed it roughly. After I was through, I withdrew from her. It took more control than I thought I had to grab a handful of that silky hair and tip her face up. "Do you think you will remember your lesson?" "Yes, My Lord." I dropped her head and slipped outside the curtains to the bathroom for a fast wash. On my return, I saw with approval that she had not moved. I motioned for her to come to me and held her close, using my fingers to gently feather-touch her glowing buttocks and take the pain away. She looked at me, saw I was not angry with her any longer, sighed and snuggled contentedly onto my chest. She felt very good resting there. After a little time had passed, Susan ventured to ask, "My Lord, the plaque with the red cross on the white shield? The plate said, 'To Sir Galahad, with admiration from his classmates.' May your submissive ask what is behind that?" "You do want to know me, don't you, wench?" I smiled wryly. "A souvenir of my days at beautiful Bedlam-By-the-Bay. 'Sir Galahad' was my nickname. "I got it on a vacation after I was stranded on an offshore island for three days with four of my classmates' girlfriends. They went to the mainland to get more beer and couldn't return because a storm blew up. It was three days before they could get back. They simply didn't believe it when their girls told them that I hadn't so much as tried to kiss them – that I had been a perfect gentleman, even when one of them climbed into my bed because she claimed to be terrified by the lightning." "What really happened, My Lord? Did they cut cards for the privilege of bedding you, or did they just get drunk and egg each other on? Surely you would not have refused a lady in distress," Susan teased. She yelped as I gave her nearest nipple a sharp pinch and a stern look. "Not that it's any concern of yours, but there were three factors. "First, they were involved with my buddies, and it would have been against the Code. Second, the sort of man who'd bed a girl that's drunk and not in control of herself is despicable. And third, I was a virgin. It wasn't my idea of a great first experience. The bimbos would've gossiped about copping my cherry, and I did not need any crap from my classmates on that issue. "So I politely declined the offer of her services, and when she didn't want to leave I pulled her over my knees, called her an impudent bitch and spanked her ass red before I tossed her back into her bedroom and locked the door on her. After that, all four of them treated me with respect and we pulled together to get through a difficult situation. As a matter of fact, the one I spanked was the first to call me Sir Galahad. She meant it sarcastically, but after awhile all of them were calling me that. "When the boyfriends got back, the girls continued to call me Sir Galahad, and it stuck. There were a couple of other things, but that holiday on the island was the big one." "Was it a lonely life, My Lord?" she asked, rotating her hips gently against mine. Susan certainly knew what would please her lord. I began caressing her as I replied. "Yes. I think I was the only cadet in my class who didn't have a girlfriend or couldn't pick up girls. Even when my buddies would try to fix me up, it never clicked." I slid my hand up and pulled her head down, french-kissing her, effectively ending the conversation. She broke the kiss and rolled onto her back, her legs spread, her arms reaching out to me, ignoring the pain her whip wounds had to be causing her. "Don't think about it any more, My Lord," she said softly. "I am yours. Do to me what you wanted to do to those girls then. "Fuck my mouth. Fuck my cunt. Fuck my ass. Rape me. Use me as a sex toy, Sir, any way you wish. Please take me, My Lord. Please." I was strangling. I allowed my submissive to draw me down. For the rest of the night I used her for my pleasure, purging myself of resentments I hadn't realized ran so deep. We fucked in every position we could fit ourselves into. She drew off psychic poisons that had accumulated over the years, wanting only to please me by any means, taking pride in my use of her. I spanked her ass with my hands and her inner thighs with the bamboo, tying her to a convenient bedpost, ignoring her pleading and begging, paying more attention to the juices that soaked the bed and her thighs before taking her yet again than to any protests of hers. I pumped myself dry, but my erection was still rigid and good to screw her into climax after climax. What a glorious sex machine my submissive turned out to be! When the sun rose, Susan was tight against me, holding my cock in her aching cunt, accepting the pain as the price for keeping her lord and future master inside her as we drifted off to sleep. I marveled at my incredible good fortune in finding this woman. Somehow divining what was in my mind, she murmured sleepily, "Thank you for this night, Sir. I am your slave. I want no other master. I am yours, my love, My Lord, forever..."