Yes, Master! Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Yes, Master

  by Reese Gabriel

  ISBN 13: 978-1-934349-64-9

  ISBN 10: 1-934349-64-X

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2005 Reese Gabriel

  All rights reserved

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rave showed up at her door at two in the morning. He had beer on his breath and a hard on in his jeans. Liandra went weak in the knees, knowing what he was going to do to her, what he was going to make her do for him.

  And he wouldn’t be nice about it, either.

  Her mind told her to say no, but her heart wasn’t up to the task.

  Taking full advantage of her usual paralysis, Rave brushed past her scantily clad body, leaving her to wonder. What made her give in? Why would a successful, attractive career woman every bit deserving of a good man, open her door again and again to a bad one?

  “This is the last time,” she told him, following him into her kitchen, hair tousled from sleep, her slender body hastily cloaked in a silk kimono, pink with gray and black Japanese designs. “And I mean it.”

  He rummaged in her fridge for beer. She noticed his boots were pristine, not a good sign. Rave worked construction, when he felt like working at all. That’s where they’d met, at a construction site for a skyscraper her small architectural firm had been designing a year or so ago.

  Finding his prize, he growled at her. “I don’t need attitude tonight, Lee, I had a crap day.”

  She tried not to feel anything, she tried not to care. What was the use, when he didn’t care himself? In and out of her life he came, whenever he felt like it, leaving her to make a relationship as best she could...or not. The last three times she’d said no, told him it was over, but he continued taking what he wanted from her.

  “You want to talk about it?” she rasped, trying too hard as always.

  Rave downed half the beer in one gulp and looked her up and down, all five foot three inches, from her small bare feet up to the wisps of chestnut hair dangling provocatively in front of her full, naturally red lips.

  “Do I look like I want to talk?”

  Lee blushed as he grabbed his crotch, hinting none too subtly at what she was in for. “Rave, I’m really not in the mood,” she folded her arms over her chest—like that would protect her, from his desires...or hers.

  The move backfired, serving only to compress her hard nipples against the silk. Not to mention what it did to inflame Rave in all the wrong ways.

  Rave licked his lips, dark eyes gleaming, pupils dilated. Unfortunately the man was a sadist. “You think I give a fuck about your moods? Women always have moods.”

  “I just need my sleep,” explained Liandra, who unfortunately was a masochist.

  Rave drank some more of his beer, a small sip. She tried to keep her eyes off the fingers of his left hand, idly toying with his belt buckle. He had the brown belt on today, the leather soft and worn.

  Worn not just from wear but from being doubled over and wielded on the asses of women who didn’t do exactly as he wanted when he wanted it.

  Liandra had been beaten many times with it. It made her scream. It made her cry. It made her come.

  Her heart slammed in her chest as she awaited his next move. She would fight him, she would lose, she would melt, she would beg, wanting it, not wanting it.

  He opted to torment her with a delay. “Fix me some eggs.”

  Liandra fetched the frying pan, the butter and the egg carton. The BDSM was like this between them, sporadic, spontaneous and therefore explosive as hell. One minute they were a normal if highly volatile, dysfunctional couple, the next...was something else again.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw him turn one of her wrought iron chairs sideways at the kitchen table and sit down, feet towards her. With a mix of emotions she went to him to take off his boots. One of her submissive dreams had always been to do this at the end of the day for her mate and Master, kneeling, knees spread, nude or near nude, wearing His collar, asking about His day, bubbling with the prospect of having Him all to herself for an evening...to pleasure and spoil Him.

  But Rave wasn’t her mate.

  She did this for him because he had trained her to, because he would punish her otherwise and because she couldn’t bear to be alone in her soul, to have no one to pour her slavish needs upon.

  “Did you go down to the Ace site today?” she asked, reminding him of the opportunity she’d lined up for a good six weeks skilled work on a twenty story building on Main Street.

  “Didn’t get a chance,” he extended his left foot for her. “I ran into some old friends.”

  “Oh.” That meant he’d hung around some bar all day and now he’d be broke again and need more money. And she’d lend it to him, like a fool.

  If you could call it lending when you let someone take with out a snowball’s chance in hell of getting back.

  “What?” he sneered sarcastically. “No speech about being responsible, about how you’re just trying to help me? I’m disappointed, Lee.”

  “It’s the middle of the night,” she apologized for not debating with him.

  What was the point? It was all lies, anyway. Hadn’t he just told her he had a crap day, using it as an excuse and here he was telling her he had just hung out all day with friends?

  “It isn’t that late,” he pulled a cigarette from a pack in his denim shirt pocket. “The night is still young.”

  He lit up. Lee didn’t smoke and she hated the smell. He knew that, which was why he did it as much as he could around her.

  Taking a deep drag, he started to relax. “Suck me off a while, baby.”

  “But your eggs, I need to start them...” she said, her throat dry and constricted, her stomach doing that hot flip it always did when she was about to go through the transformation from screwed up thirty-something single to owned sex slave.

  Rave pulled his cock out from his jeans. She went weak all over. “Are you arguing with me, slut?”

  “No, Sir,” she acknowledged his power, his authority.

  His hand curled in her hair, intertwining, pulling. “When I tell you to suck dick, little girl, what do you do?”

  Her eyes watered from the pressure. “I open my mouth wide, Sir, I take you deep.”

  He frowned, deciding he hadn’t fucked with her head enough yet. “Get me another beer, first.”

  She pulled another ice cold can from the fridge, his favorite brand. Sinking back to her knees in front of him, she offered it up, along with herself.

  “Beg for it,” he said, putting the can on the table.

  “Please, Sir, may I suck your cock?”

  He undid his belt buckle and for a moment she thought she’d earned a whipping. “Sir,” she pleaded. “I’ll be a good cock slut, I swear.”

  “Relax,” he pulled it from the loops. “I just want to improve my view.”

  Rave had her lift up her hair and hold it on top of her head. Winding the belt around her neck, he tied it off, forming a makeshift collar.

  Lee’s sex juices permeated the air. Her pussy was dripping wet, burning with need.

  “You’re a born slave, aren’t you?” he mused.

  Her eyes watered again, this time it was tears. She was a slave...and she was so, so lonely. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

  He laughed, knowing how much it hurt her that he could never be that man she needed as a
proper master.

  Still this arrangement worked, somehow, for both of them.

  Wasn’t that the point of masochism? Becoming expert in fucking up your own life?

  “Have some,” he held out the beer.

  She leaned forward, pressing her lips to the can. Her hands were still on her head because that’s where he’d ordered them to be and he hadn’t said otherwise.

  He gave her too much. Most of it dribbled down her chin to her chest, staining the robe. In delight, he yanked it open to get access to her breasts. Lee’s were small, though their shape was pretty. Still, he enjoyed finding fault.

  “You think you could be a slave girl?” He squeezed them tight in his hands. “A master wants big tits, not little girl tits.”

  Lee closed her eyes, not wanting to lose sight of the dream. Someone, somewhere, would want her, accept her body, her heart, her whole surrendered self. And she would worship that man even as she knew she was protected and honored and set free to be as smart and capable and worldly as she knew how.

  “You’re lucky I come around, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You’re lucky I taught you to suck dick halfway decent. Shit, it will be something to fall back on when that architecture crap falls through.”

  He was like a crude, obscene version of her father. Though she tried to avoid the droll Freudian analogies, they were there, plain enough for an amateur to see.

  A domineering personality, impossible to please, like an unquenchable fire thriving off her misery; five years since her father’s death and still she heard the harping, the criticism...even in her nightmares. What a joke. She’d made it in her father’s architectural world, she was doing well, by anyone’s standards. She didn’t need his torturing ghost...and she didn’t need this.

  And yet she did need it. The roughness, the abuse, the domination. Rave pushed her head into place, making her take him deep, straight to the back of her throat. She used to gag when he did this, but she’d learned to quiet the reflex. She did it for him, to be a good slut.

  Rave sighed, leaning back like a king, sitting in her chair, her apartment, with her mouth giving him pleasure.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s it, cunt,” he breathed.

  Liandra rankled at the name. She hated it and he knew that. Nothing brought her down faster...or made her hornier.

  “Fuck, yeah, just like a ten dollar hooker.”

  Liandra lathered his shaft with her saliva, giving him the softest, most intimate female surrender. He was abusing and exploiting her, he was using, but at the same time validating.

  She was female, she was worth mind fucking, she was worth all this male attention...

  Her pig of a lover was about to come. She sucked harder, ready to swallow it down.

  “No,” he growled. “Not like that. On the tits.”

  Spittle dripped from the corner of Lee’s mouth as she positioned herself, holding up her breasts for him to spray. It was doubly humiliating because he was always making it clear how inadequate they were.

  Rave grunted, letting loose across her chest, thick white globs on her curved breasts and flat, athletic belly. “Fuck, you call that a target? I should save up to buy you some real tits.”

  Lee felt a wave of anger, which sometimes happened.

  Rave tamped it down fast. “Got something to say?” he slapped her face.

  “No, Sir,” her voice cracked.

  He scowled. “Clean me up and get my eggs.”

  Liandra licked off Rave’s cock and balls and got up to make his food. “May I clean myself, too?” she asked.

  “No,” he said cruelly.

  Lee was forced to cook with his semen on her body. She could smell it, drying.

  Placing the cooked eggs before him minutes later, she knelt on the floor, in case he needed something else. At one point he had her fetch another beer. Otherwise, all was quiet.

  Until she was clearing the table, that is.

  “You’re getting a beating tonight,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Liandra whined like a little girl. “But Rave, I was good.”

  “And I want you to stay that way.”

  She fell back to her knees, swallowing her pride. For some reason the idea of the leather on her skin was more than she could bear right now. “Sir, I’ll do anything.”

  He raised a brow. “You don’t really want to go head to head with me, do you?”

  She lowered her eyes. No one played mind games like Rave. She was better off just taking the beating. “No, Sir,” she whispered.

  “Take the belt,” he ordered. “Go get ready.”

  It was her job to pull it from his waistband. She was terrified to touch it. The belt was too damned potent. It owned her. But orders were orders. Gingerly, she undid the buckle. The belt was large and she had to pull hard. That was the point. To make her feel small, as much a slave as possible.

  He shifted in his seat to help her pull out the loops.

  She had to take it back to her bedroom, but she was not permitted to walk. Slaves crawled, on hands and knees.

  Liandra shed the robe and clenched the belt in her teeth. She would transport it like a dog, so she could be beaten like one. Online she’d seen pictures and she’d read about masters and slaves playing out these kind of scenes. The female would receive the belt on her skin, she might be tied down or even be caged, but she’d know herself treasured, all the more for what her man made her go through.

  The sex was supposed to be incredible. And the marriages made from such bonds were said to be like perpetual honeymoons, at least to the extent humans could maintain such a state.

  Liandra padded down her hall like a trained pet, stained with come, her earlier ultimatum a mockery. She was a natural submissive; how would she ever resist Rave? It wasn’t about love or compatibility. He need only speak to the slut in her, the sex slave and she had no hope, none at all.

  Rave liked to find her a certain way when he came in to whip her. Liandra crawled to the center of her bed, facing the brass headboard on all fours. She’d gotten it second hand after watching ‘9 ½ Weeks.’ Sometimes, she’d fantasize about the Mickey Roarke character, making her grasp hold of the railings like she was in bondage. They’d be in the store, she’d have to take off her shoes and lie down, to the scandal of the customers and staff alike.

  But Mickey’s character wasn’t any better in the end than Rave. There wasn’t any affection there, just his own love of the game. Was it possible to find a Prince Charming with a whip? It was hard enough to find a vanilla prince...

  Rave got quite a kick out of her bed the first time he saw it.

  “Why don’t you take out a fucking ad in the paper?” he’d said, slapping her in the ass.

  Rave had claimed she was giving him the eye before they met, but as far as she was concerned, it had all been on him. She’d felt his hot stare all afternoon as she took her tour of the site where he was working.

  She had wanted to say something to the supervisor, but that would make it a matter of public record. As a female in a male-centered business, she already took a lot of ribbing. She had hoped ignoring the unknown, shirtless worker with the heavenly biceps would nip the problem in the bud, but as she went back to her car at the end of the day she’d found him leaning against it.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she’d said.

  He had smiled. It was a half leer that left her damp between her legs. “I thought you wanted me here.”

  She’d pursed her lips. He was as bold as he was hot looking, with his iron buns, tight waist and square jaw. She was drawn to the three days growth of beard, too. All in all, Liandra had been a moth to flame and he knew it. “What would give you a ridiculous idea like that?” she’d demanded.

  He’d laughed. “I saw you drooling, honey. Don’t be embarrassed, I’m used to it.”

  “No shortage of ego,” she’d said, raising a brow.

  He’d shrugged, broad shoulders covered now by a tight blue t-shir
t. “I look good, I fuck good.”

  Liandra’s nipples had tightened to bullets. “If you don’t get off my car, I’m going to call for help.”

  “No you won’t,” he’d called her bluff. “I know your type. Uptight, professional broad. You’re afraid to let anyone know how you want it.”

  She’d narrowed her gaze. “And just how do I want it, Mr. Amateur Psychologist?”

  His voice had been a rasp that cut her to the core. “You want it hot and nasty. You want a man to ravish your body; no politeness, no respect. I’ll bet there’s even more in that pretty little head of yours, too, if I had the time to get at it.”

  “I’m going back to get security,” she had said, whirling on her heel to re-cross the street to the construction site.

  “You’re not going anywhere.” He had grabbed her arm, pulling her against his rock hard body. Her head barely came up to his chest.

  “Let go of me,” she’d squealed.

  “If that’s what you want...” He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and raised her lips for a kiss. Her protests were smothered, lip to lip, his mouth pressing hard, taking.

  Liandra’s pussy had melted. Her eyes had slid closed as she felt his erection, demanding, his tongue poised to conquer the inside of her mouth. She had moved against him, unconsciously.

  “Is that what you want?” He had said suddenly, grasping her upper arms and holding her at bay. “For me to let you go?”

  She’d swallowed, unable to bare the intensity of those eyes. “I...yes,” she said. “I...I mean no...”

  “Make up your mind.” His voice had been a low growl. “Take what I give...or walk away.”

  Liandra’s heart had slammed in her chest. The smarter part of her said to run as far and fast as she could, but her libido was already in too deep. “Can we...go somewhere and talk?” she had tried to negotiate.

  “We’ll go,” he had said. “But it won’t be to talk.”

  “I...I hardly know you,” she’d pointed out.

  “I think you know what you need to.” His hand had moved to her skirted ass.

  A shudder had passed down her spine. “This is...too much.”

  “You can handle it.” He’d squeezed her ass cheek, making her squirm.