A Stranger Called Master Read Free Page B

can’t win either. I don’t
want to be Esmeralda--what girl wants to be lusted after by every man who lays eyes on her?”
    His brow quirks, his curiosity
piqued. “Um, only all the girls on campus?”
    “Sure, you can use beauty and sex
appeal as a weapon, but in the end, it didn’t help Esmeralda get what she
really wanted.” Love. Affection. Belonging . The
words hang in the air unsaid.
    “ Il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et
d'être aimé ,” he says.
    A flame sparks inside me. “There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved,” I
translate. “You know of George Sand? She’s one of my heroes--err, heroines.” A
woman writing under a man’s pen name, she wore men’s clothes and smoked tobacco
and showed that women have as much wit and intelligence than any man. Plus, she
dated Chopin.
    “You’re surprised I heard of her? I
should be more surprised you’re into her writing. So you’re a feminist by day
and my slave by night?” he muses.
    “Just because I look up to
independent women doesn’t mean I don’t like to be tied up once in awhile,” I
say.
    “You don’t have to explain. Humans
are complicated, I know.”
    A comfortable silence falls between
us, as if this is the most natural scene, the two of us perched in a tower,
watching the falling rain.
    “Have you ever been up here
before?” he asks, his dark hair wet and adorably plastered to his forehead.
    “No,” I say. Sneaking up to the
tower is forbidden, punishable by expulsion. There’s been rumors of course, but
I don’t know if anyone’s really actually gone up here. Yet again, I’m sharing
another first with my Master. So many firsts with him, yet I don’t even know
his name.
    “I come here at night sometimes. To
think,” he says.
    “If by ‘to think,’” I say, making
quotation marks in the air, “you mean ‘to seduce naive young girls,’ then yea.
You come here ‘to think.’”
    His eyes glint with amusement,
intrigued by my jibe. “You’re hardly what I’d call ‘naive,’ pet .”
    He brushes a lock of wet hair
behind my ear then stares into my eyes. They say when two people lock eyes for
twelve seconds, they’re either going to fight or kiss. With my Master, it’s
hard to tell--rough one second, tender the next, I have no idea what to expect.
    I have my answer soon enough. He
cups my chin in his hands and touches his lips to mine. Gently
at first, then deeper and more urgent. The slightest pressure of his
palm on the small of my back drives my insides wild. A delicious hunger grows
within me until my hands reach for his shirt and pull it over his head. He
tosses my blouse to the side, unzips my skirt and soon, my legs are wrapped
around his hips and his rock-hard cock is poised at my pussy lips.
    With a grunt, he thrusts inside me,
sucking in a breath at the feel of my pussy walls squeezing all around him. The
feel of him steals my breath away--it’s been so long, too long since I’ve had a
cock inside me, that I’m tight like a virgin all over again. I bite my lips and
slowly, slowly, feel my walls conform to his thick, heavy cock. I hold onto his
neck as he grips my waist and presses my back into the stone wall, ramming me
over and over while standing.
    He’s huge and so magnificently
hard, I feel full. Utterly, completely full. There’s
something so primal, so right about
this, about everything. These ancient stone walls, the wind
howling outside, the rain pelting against the tower, while this man has his way
with me. He wants me, and I am his to take.
    His cock thrusts into my walls in a
frenzied rhythm as my breath quickens and I can’t help but give out high,
little pants. He buries his shaft deep within me to the hilt again and again
and I tighten my internal muscles to match his pace, massaging my Master’s
organ. His eyes grow unfocused, his breathing unsteady, until his body stiffens
and he gushes inside my hot, waiting pussy. The surge of my Master’s cum is