I Married a Master(46)
Author: Melanie Marchande

By the time he let out that tortured groan in the car, I was in even worse shape than he was. I was almost sure of it.

It was nothing a few furtive sessions of self-gratification in his guest room couldn’t cure. Or so I thought.

I really was a little drunk. Enough so that I could say the things I said without embarrassment, but not enough to wonder why they came so easily, rolling off my tongue like the truth.

In the cold light of day, sober and all too awake, I started to wonder.

Yes, I wanted him, but I could control myself. Couldn’t I? I was an adult. We were both adults, but in the backseat of that town car, just for a moment there, it felt like we were horny teenagers. Completely hormonal, and completely out of control. I didn’t like feeling that way. At the same time, it was strangely thrilling.

That was half the reason why I’d agreed to go to the stupid club, or whatever it was. I had no idea what to expect while I was there, but at least it would be something new. And I’d be with him. People would look at us and assume we were together¸ and I was quickly finding that to be an oddly intoxicating experience. Did I really look like I could be a billionaire’s girlfriend?

Ben sure seemed to think so. And hell, in the absence of anything else, I was willing to take that as a complement.

***

"You sure you don’t want a ride home?" Maddy asked me, for the fifth time.

She’d gotten home a little early, but I could never actually leave until my bus came. It wasn’t that much of a burden, but one of them always offered.

"Seriously, I like the bus." A lie, but I sold it pretty well. They were already being too damn nice to me. "It’s fine. I just wish they came a little more frequently."

"Don’t worry about it," she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You can wait here for as long as you need. I just need to go talk to Daniel about something."

"Of course."

She disappeared up the stairs, and I heard the low murmur of Daniel’s voice floating down. I couldn’t distinguish the words, but when Maddy spoke, it was much clearer.

I felt bad, sort of, but they weren’t making any effort to be quiet.

"Wait, what?" she said. "What kind of club?"

My heart skipped a beat. Had Ben asked them to come along? Of course, it would make sense, but after his conversation with Daniel at the bar, I figured that negotiation was over.

I would be really nice to have a friend there – someone with more than a passing knowledge of this world. But not if it was going to cause a big fight. I already felt guilty, even though I knew it wasn’t even close to my fault.

"Wait, no," Maddy was saying. "I didn’t say if I wanted to do it. Why would you assume I didn’t?"

Daniel’s voice was a little louder, but still too low on the register for me to understand.

"Of course I like it being our thing, but if it wasn’t a problem for you to be out at the clubs before – why now?"

More indistinguishable sounds.

"Oh, come on. That’s ridiculous."

"It’s not ridiculous!" Finally, I could hear Daniel clearly. "I just want you to be safe. And happy. You don’t know what it’s like to be out there in the community, it’s not something you ever asked for. It’s not something you wanted." There was a glimmer of self-annoyance in his tone. Were all of these guys conflicted about their desires? Ben didn’t seem to be, except sometimes, he almost did. It was a strange paradox.

"Daniel," she said, a little more softly now. "I love what we do. I love all of it. I don’t need to hide it, and I don’t need to be hidden."

"So, what then?" He sounded frustrated. "You want me to show you off?"

"Do you want to show me off?"

"Of course!" Daniel practically shouted. "Of course. Part of me wants that. The other part of me wants to kill any man who looks at you. So you can see my problem."

Maddy’s voice got softer. "I wish you’d say that more often," she said.

"What?" He sounded slightly amused. "Threaten murder?"

"Not specifically." She sighed. "It’s just…it’s nice to know that you still get jealous."

It was time for me to leave. But something told me that Ben and I wouldn’t be going to that club alone.

***

I didn’t really know what to expect when I opened up the package on my doorstep. Once again, Ben was having my dress sent over – but this time, it was for a very exclusive club called the Silo, and I was supposed to pretend like I understood anything about kink beyond reading the Wikipedia articles for BDSM and the Folsom street fair.

I figured this wasn’t one of those latex dress places, but beyond that, I had no idea what the standards were.

Not as revealing as I expected. That was the first thing that popped into my head as I surveyed the cream-colored, knee-length cocktail dress, decorated with a criss-ross of black ribbon. It was a subtle nod to bondage, I assumed, but about as classy as fetishwear could get. The artfully ripped fishnet stockings were a little less classy, but I had to admit they made my mouth water a little. I’d always kind of secretly lusted after edgier fashion choices, but I never felt like I could pull it off. I mean, where do you sport a pair of fishnets? The grocery store? A Christmas Eve party? Now, I actually had an excuse.

There was something heavy in the bottom of the box, and I pulled them out with slightly heightened anticipation.

Boots.

I frowned a little. I thought the dominants were supposed to be the ones wearing boots. All the pictures of subs I’d seen, they were barefoot, or in really impractical spiky heels. But if I needed to wear something I could actually walk in, maybe boots were the stylish sub’s natural choice.

And, oh, they were nice boots. I was still a vanilla girl, through and through, but who doesn’t get a few goosebumps at the sight of a nice pair of "fuck-me" boots? And these were definitely fuck-me boots. Considering how relatively demure the rest of the outfit was, I was surprised.

They were tall, but not too tall, stopping just short of my knees, lined with silver buckles along the sides. Not quite goth and not quite punk, but oh so beautiful. I wondered if Ben had picked them out personally.

I spent an inordinately long time getting ready, experimenting with my hair a thousand different ways before I just settled for "down." Should I text Ben and ask him how he wanted it? Was that how this worked?

Damn it, why couldn’t any of this be easy?

My boots, at least, were solid and reassuring. I liked the sound of my own footsteps. In the mirror, I thought I looked like a kid dressing up for her creepy older boyfriend’s Halloween frat party. But if this was how Ben wanted me, this was how he’d get me.