I Married a Master(65)
Author: Melanie Marchande

Holy hell, was I really more on board with a serial killer role play than a cop role play? What the hell was wrong with me?

"We don’t have to…I mean, none of that is really my specialty anyway." Ben was misreading my hesitation, thinking I was already unnerved. And I was, a little – but only by the images in my own brain. "This is all stuff I like playing around with, but all I really need…" He paused, swallowing audibly. "….is you."

He was standing a little closer now, looking painfully sincere.

"That’s sweet," I said. "But I know it’s not entirely true. And that’s okay. I’m just…there’s a lot to think about. Nothing here scares me."

Not quite right. He just didn’t understand what I found scary.

How could I possibly have all of these parts of myself, locked away, somewhere, for years and years – without knowing? Why had no one else ever woken it up?

What was it about this guy?

I reached in and grabbed something solid. Wooden. I knew what it was before it came out of the bag.

A paddle. From the way he inhaled, sharply, and the way his body twitched a little, I could tell this one was important to him.

It made sense. He was into spankings, punishments, rule-following – but this really seemed like it would sting. I preferred his hand. Then again, maybe this wasn’t always about what I preferred.

"Do you ever use your belt?" I heard myself ask.

"I…" He swallowed again. "For punishments? Yes. I have. Would you…"

"Might be worth trying," I said, lightly, setting the paddle aside.

I wished he would relax. I didn’t like him this way, tense and watchful, embarrassed by his own interests and slightly terrified of my reactions.

"Sit down," I said. "I mean, if you…if you want to." I cleared my throat. "What I mean is, you’re making me nervous, and not because of your little bag of tricks."

He let out a burst of laughter. "I’m sorry," he said. "I just – you know, this is new to me. Typically we work these things out long before anything starts."

Everything carefully regimented, carefully planned. It made things easier. I was a liability, in more ways than one.

Still, I couldn’t figure out why he cared so much. As much as it made my stomach roil to think about it, I was sure he could go and find anything he absolutely needed after we were married. If I wouldn’t do it, he’d find someone who would. Discretion shouldn’t be an issue. There had to be a million people out there who would be in even worse-off shape than him, if anyone found out what they did in private. Plenty of people must cater to that kind of thing.

"You know, if you…" I felt bile starting to rise up my throat, and I tried again. "I don’t want you to feel like you can’t…"

He watched me, curiously.

I took a deep breath. "What I mean is, obviously, the terms of our arrangement don’t preclude going elsewhere to have needs fulfilled. Right?" I watched his face carefully – other than a little twitch in his jaw, there was no reaction. "I mean, I won’t. But you…" I clutched the edge of the bag. "You can. Obviously. Not that you need my permission."

He shook his head, finally walking to the other side of the bed and perching carefully on the edge of the mattress. "No," he said. "Too risky. That goes for both of us."

We hadn’t talked about it. I honestly hadn’t even considered it, because it hardly mattered one way or the other. It’s not like I was going to stumble across the love of my life in the next two years. I’d be lucky if I stumbled across someone whose company I could stand for more than a few minutes, with my track record lately.

Just my luck, my fake fiance was turning out to be quite a lot of fun.

But now, I felt guilty. Anything I wouldn’t agree to do with him, he’d just have to…go without? Something told me a man like Ben wasn’t used to going without.

"There’s no pressure," he said, quickly, as if he was following the same train of thought. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to live up to some standard, just to keep me happy. I wasn’t expecting any of this, so…"

"Me neither," I admitted. I reached into the bag again to cut through the awkward silence. This time it actually was a flogger, leather, I thought, feeling soft and supple on my hand. Depending on how it was wielded, I imagined it could either tickle lightly or sting like a bitch. And everything in-between.

I understood that pain could be exhilarating. I’d even experienced it a little bit myself, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t be classified as a masochist. The spanking was something special.

"Are you a sadist?" I asked him.

He watched me for a moment, like he was trying to gauge my reaction before answering. "No," he said. "I just feel like the sweet tastes sweeter, once you’ve had something bitter."

Laughing, I reached into the bag again. "You know, I won’t run for the hills if you just say yes."

"I’m not," he insisted. "It’s not the pain. It’s the control."

This time, I could tell he was being honest.

I found scraps of silk that could probably be used for blindfolds, or bondage. Elegant rope that was dyed deep black. There was a pair of surgical scissors, the kind that are smooth and flat on one side for safely removing bandages. Or, in this case, zip ties or bondage rope in a hurry, if needed – at least that’s what I imagined.

Or…clothes?

At the bottom of the bag there were a few small things, themselves encased in little silky sacks, which made my pulse race a little bit. I picked up one of them, feeling the shape through the fabric.

A plug. I knew what that was for.

Flushing deeply, I dropped it back into the bag and reached for the last thing. Beads.

Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Not something I was ready for, I thought – but still, nothing scary.

"No ball gag?" I looked up at him. He was watching me with rapt attention, but the question seemed to surprise him.

"I’d much rather use my hand," he said.

I tried very hard not to think about a scenario where he’d have to muffle me. Certainly not while he was pretending to be a priest.

Certainly not.

Careful, Father, everyone will hear…

I swallowed hard, looking back down at the implements on the bed. As luck would have it, the one fantasy I was obsessed with now didn’t fit any of this. Maybe we weren’t so well-aligned after all. Maybe the spanking had just been a lucky coincidence.

"Tell me what you’re thinking," he urged.

Tie me up and pretend to kidnap me.

Oh, right, I had one fantasy that would make use of the zip ties. But as much as it quickened my heartbeat, I didn’t know if it was a good idea. For one thing, even though I trusted him, it was pretty serious to basically lay my life in someone’s hands. For another, it might scare him away.