Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 4: My Master Read Free

the privacy to do so. I told myself it was because I didn’t want my Master reading about my feelings, but I think I just went through a period of denial. I didn’t want to see everything in my life clearly as I had wanted to in the past.
    One of those random entries from back in January made me pause for all kinds of reasons. It’s the entry that made me begin this entry with “It all comes back to the roses.” I’d written it the night before our last contract renewal (which we’ve continued every four months). I’d still been in my apartment as often as I was at his house, but he’d wanted that to change.
    I’d been afraid of losing complete control of me. To escape into a “scene” with him, or even a weekend of being his submissive, was one thing. To live it day and night felt like quite another.
    And so he’d done what he always does: He found a way to seduce me into doing what he wanted. He sent me roses; twelve dozen in different colors. They were gorgeous buds that hadn’t blossomed yet. The card is what had really gotten to me, though. It read:“They are delicate and ready to bloom, like you are, little one.”
    It had started with a scene.
    I remember the two nights before the roses so very clearly. Those two nights that had led to his sending them to me.
    Night one had been at the club.
    I was in the center of the playroom (that’s what he called the round room in his private quarters) on my knees, my hands bound behind my back, my spine erect as he’d instructed, my breasts thrust high in the air. He stood above me, naked and powerfully male. I was aroused; passionately, intensely aroused. I could feel him in every inch of my body. It was amazing how easily he drew me into a whirlwind of lust and need where nothing else existed. It is this overwhelming feeling that is addictive, the escape from the rest of the world. The submergence of reality in a cloud of hot sensuality.
    He walked to stand in front of me, staring down at me, his long lashes low over his eyes, a flogger in his hand. “It’s time to play a new game.”
    A moment of nerves rippled through me. I never know where he’ll take me, only that he’s slowly been pushing me to darker and more intense places, places I go to please him, even when they frighten me.
    He used the tassels of the flogger to tease my nipples in a gentle flicker over one and then the other. They tightened into hard little knots and I was aroused. He bent down in front of me and tugged them with his fingers, watching my face as he did. I moaned and my lashes fluttered.
    He brushed his lips over mine. “You are so beautiful when you’re aroused. I want to show you off to the world.” His tongue snaked out to lick against mine again. “I’m going to open the curtain and show you off.”
    I stiffened. “No, Master. Please.” He kissed me again.
    “You can do this.”
    •   •   •
    A nd I had. I’d done it though I hadn’t wanted to, yet somehow it had aroused me. It was one of the first times I’d been truly scared of what was happening to me. There have been many more in the past few months, since our games have become different . . . darker. So much darker. But that was the first time.
    Or maybe the first time was with Master Two. Yes. I was freaked out then, too; confused by how aroused I’d been by his sharing me when I’d also felt so unimportant because he’d wanted to share me. I’m always confused by Master’s need to share me. And more and more, he seems to need to. Is that his way of avoiding intimacy? Avoiding allowing us to go to those places I want to go?
    After the scene, he’d known I was upset. He’d taken me to his bed and kissed me from head to toe, in that way he does that always pulls me deep under his spell.
    •   •   •
    N ight two had been a dinner date at Louie’s, a restaurant we’d both come to love and with a private room and entrance; there is no fear of our relationship going public. Sharing things we