Masters & Lovers Box Set One

"Everything in place?" Michael leans back against the wall, arms folded, watching as I fill the racks, shelves, cupboards and drawers he so carefully built. "Almost."

"Where is she?"

"Upstairs, lost in a good book."

"Engineering?"

"Tolkien, I think."

He nods. "I suppose we can rely on that when it's raining."

I stand back, admiring the display. "You're sure she doesn't know?"

His face splits. "I've certainly not told her. I'm looking forward to seeing...."

".... her face?"

He winks. "Oh, yes."

"I see you made up the bed too."

His mouth quirks. "Yup. Did it myself.... I'm not about to ask any of the hotel staff to make this bed."

"Perhaps not," I agree. Then, I eye-point toward the concealed exit. "The bolt-hole?"

He sobers. "I think that's a discussion for another day, don't you?"

"Sure. Who exactly knows about it?"

"Right now, only you and me. Perhaps Charlotte has an inkling, but I've not discussed it with her. It didn't need to be pretty, just secure. So, I did the digging out myself over a weekend when no-one else was here. I had it lintelled, secured, locked up and hidden again before the workmen were back on Monday."

"The brickwork?"

"I did that too, over another couple of weekends." "That's a lot of work for one man."

"Had to be done, didn't it."

*****

In the lounge, Charlotte's tucked up on the couch, and indeed, lost in a good book. The day has turned cold, a brief revisitation by winter. Outside, rain lashes down while trees toss and panes rattle. Michael strolls across to the window, whistling tunelessly as he tests putty and woodwork with a thumbnail.

Charlotte smiles as we enter but quickly returns her attention to her reading. With a fire glowing in the hearth, a glass of red to her side, and a warm woollen polo'd up her neck, she looks the very picture of contentment and comfort. We'll soon change that....

I wonder how long it will take her to notice. Neither Michael or I are pushing it. We're both looking forward to her reaction. I settle in my armchair by the fire, enjoying the play of heat on my leg, then briefly inspect her book title: yes, Tolkien, The Silmarillion...

Not a casual read....

Michael finishes his inspection of the window-panes, slants an eye down at our reading beauty, then taking the decanter of malt, cocks a brow to me. I nod, and he pours a finger into each of two glasses.... Not too much alcohol....

Lips kinking, he also takes an armchair. A sip of the fine whiskey and then, chin on fist, he watches her.

It takes a minute or so, while Charlotte wanders the world of Beren and Lúthien, the Noldor, Morgoth and Sauron. But eventually, realisation dawns. Her book drops a little and she raises eyes to see Michael watching her with that look he has. Her face lifts and her gaze crosses to mine. "What? What is it?"

That's our cue....

Michael and I rise, he slipping his favourite blindfold from a pocket; a sash in black silk, very fine, very filmy, which touches softly on the skin, but binds firmly.

Charlotte's book falls then, a bookmark tucked neatly inside, is put to one side. As we each offer her a hand, helping her upright, her lips part and her pupils expand.

Michael winds his finger in a circle and obediently, she turns. He smooths the blindfold over her eyes, secures it at the back. We each take a hand, walking her carefully between us. "Where are we going?"

But neither of us speaks, although over her head, we exchange pumpkin grins.

We lead her along the hall to the rear of the house and to the cellar door. Her head jerks at the jingle of the keys and the click of the lock. The stone stairway down is safe enough but... "We've got you," I say, still holding her hand. "Step down, carefully."

Our footsteps echo as we descend, Michael with a hand at her waist in case she stumbles. The cellars smell as all cellars do, even the best of them. Charlotte's nostrils flare as we pass the boiler room and the old laundry with their scents of damp and oil. She's not been down here for some time, not since Michael first purchased the house. Then, this whole was dismal and tumbledown. Certainly, she has no idea as to the work that has been carried out in.... .... My Domain....

At the end of the corridor, Michael pushes at the oak door, once sad and neglected, but now oiled, polished and gleaming in shades of old gold, tan and cinnamon. We lead her through and halt, Michael closing the door behind to keep the heat in.

His eyes twinkle as he unravels the blindfold, allowing her to see....

A vaulted stone chamber, renovated from the ramshackle remains we found here. Keystones replaced, and stonework renewed, it resembles perhaps the cloistered walkway of some old abbey....

.... Or a dungeon....

Candles deck the shelves and surfaces, casting a glow which warms the harsh stonework and highlights my 'furnishings': a horse, a rack, ceiling hooks and loops, a love-swing, an antique chair fitted with leather strapping and, at the far side of the room, the largest four-poster bed I could lay my hands on....

Every man should have a shed....

I had fun filling the racks: floggers, crops and flails, handcuffs, spreaders and vibes.

All I need now is a playmate to share my new toys with....

Charlotte gapes, mouth opening and closing with nothing coming out.

Michael creases up, gripping his own ribs as he bellows laughter. Waving a finger at her, "Oh, your face," he says. "I'll never forget that look as long as I live."

"How...?" She stammers the word, hands held up as she spins, still agog.

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He casually thumbs towards me. "Oh, it's amazing what you can do with a place if someone's willing to throw enough money at it,"

Who?

Me?

I try to maintain an expression of angelic innocence, but fail dismally after about five seconds. "When I saw what Richard has in his basement, I just couldn't resist it," I admit. "And since we're here for the long term, it seemed a good idea to fit out the place while Michael was taking the house apart and putting it together again."

Charlotte's astonishment is replaced by an almost predatory smile. Eyeing me, she slides the tip of her tongue over her front teeth. "I'm guessing we're down here for.... a test drive?"

I cluck at her, flashing brows. "What d'you say?"

Michael lays a hand on my arm. "She's not seen it all yet."

Of course....

.... By her special request....

"Ah, yes. Remiss of me." Both Michael and I gesture to the door standing ajar at the far side of the room, its glow slanting out by the four-poster.

Her eyes pass over us, then she crosses the room to open the door.

"Aaahhhhhh...." She holds up outspread hands.

"Like it?" asks Michael, looking over her shoulder at the be-candled and be-mirrored space beyond. Charlotte missed our mirrored room from when I stayed in the City apartment. We went to some pains to recreate it for her. Not that we won't all enjoy it....

"Oh, yes," she whispers...

"And the first room?" I ask her.

"Oh, yes, Master. I'm sure we're going to have a lot of fun in there."

Brilliant!

"Good." Then close to her ear. "No time like the present."

She hovers, uncertain. Michael tugs at the sleeve of her woollen. "D'you think we need this, right now?"

In fact, Charlotte's turning a bit pink. We turned the heating well up. Clothes are, for the most part, not required in here.

She raises her arms. Michael lifts the sweater up and off, whispering something to her as she does so. Charlotte nods, and as I watch, undresses then returns to the main chamber.

Michael winks. "Time for action, I think."

We strip off shirts and shoes, leaving me in dark trousers, Michael in jeans, tightly belted. I wonder sometimes how she sees us, when we are like this together. Michael, blond, undoubtedly more handsome than I and much more heavily built. I am taller, darker....

.... and her Master....

Whatever she thinks, as we enter the room together, from her kneeling position, Charlotte sucks at her lips as her eyes run over us, hovering around our belt-lines....

And for good reason....

Christ, but these pants are tight....

"Head down, Charlotte," says Michael. "A good sub lowers her gaze."

A little mind-play first, methinks....

Taking my time, making her wait, I choose a flogger from the racks. The falls are of a soft suede-like leather. I waxed them well to supple them up and they should deliver anything I want them to, from a love-kiss to a lash.

"Do we string her up, or bend her over?" I ask, keeping my voice loud but conversational.

Charlotte quivers.

"Oh, this is your call, James," replies Michael. "Whatever appeals to you the most."

I stand over and slightly behind her, where she should be able to see me in her peripheral vision. The falls smell of bees and honey, whispering as I trail the tips along her spine. Her breath hitches, she shivers and her arms goose-pimple. "Charlotte?"

"Whatever you want, Master. It's for you to say."

Good girl....

I caress her skin with the soft tresses. "What are your safe words?"

"Yellow, Master. And red."

"Stand up."

Her face still lowered, Charlotte rises. I swing the flogger, just a little, letting her see the sweep and shimmer of the tails as they sway by my leg.

"Stand over there."

She follows my finger to the ceiling hoop and the rope, casually looped through. Michael acts as aide as she positions herself below, lifting wide mermaid-eyes as he murmurs something soft and she offers up her hands.

Binding her wrists, not tightly, but effectively, he tensions the rope, drawing her upwards, stretching her to a flat stomach and lifted breasts. She's fully supported on her feet, but other than that, she can't move. With the skill of a sailor, he knots the end of the rope around a wall-hook, then eases her ankles apart with his bare foot.

Running hands up her body and arms, he inspects her fingers.....

Checking the colour?

Of course....

"Anything else?"

"No, that will do very nicely, Michael."

And she's a wondrous sight.