Master R: Chapter One

Enjoy the beginning of a new Elite Doms of Washington serial, Master R. (Please forgive any typos, though feel free to let me know.)

Charlotte placed her hand on the door. The bathroom’s cold tile floor bit into her knees and bruised the tops of her feet. The hurt was good. It helped to lift another layer of the fog that had swamped her mind.

Richard’s deep, rich baritone voice reached her next. It shimmered through her whole body, like she was a tuning fork and he plucked it.

She pressed her cheek to the door and hummed the melody with him, clinging to the songs notes like a life raft. Her collar, a thin band of silver around her neck, picked up on her throat’s vibration. She touched the metal, her collar, his collar. Forever, he’d said when he’d placed it around her neck during the ceremony.

Through the wooden door, his sharp inhale signaled he was going to start the song again. How many times had he run through the tune this time? He would keep this up for hours if she needed.

She was so tired of needing it.

Her voice didn’t come back to her at first. She cleared her throat and found some words. “My name is Charlotte. I’m in your bathroom.”

“Our bathroom, love.” Richard’s voice was low and calm. He returned to humming the calming melody.

“Yes, our bathroom.” The door was warm from absorbing her body heat and tears from the last minutes or hours—who could remember time? The floor was slick from her hands, damp from her sobs. The body was remarkable that way, being able to cry pints of fluid until you have to wonder where it all comes from.

Tu sie il mio sole

Il mio unico sole

The lyrics crystallized in her mind, like flashes of light in a dark room. “You make me happy when skies are gray,” she croaked back.

Her fingertip traced a seam in the door, hidden to the eye by layers of paint. Up close, she could see the small imperfection. She’d painted the door a sunny yellow when she first moved in. “Any color you’d like, love,” he’d said. So, she’d covered up the former dusty blue with proverbial sunshine.

The last remnants of her dream drifted from her consciousness and she was able to finally slip the horrid images into that slot in her mind she’d created for those awful memories. She pushed herself upright. She’d had a nightmare, that’s all. She’d found her way into the bathroom, locked the door as if that would keep the mob from finding her.

Non lo saprai mai caro  His voice lifted into the higher notes and a new shiver ran through her whole body. You’ll never know dear. The Italian version of the song didn’t quite fit. But Richard made them fit anyway.

Everything about him fit—especially her.

“Master.”

The song abruptly ended. “Charlotte.”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was too thin. Well, it was three o’clock in the morning.

“Yes, you are.”

He wasn’t talking down to her. He was telling her exactly where to go in her mind. She obeyed. She was home. Safe.  She reached up and unlocked the bathroom door.

Richard sat on the carpeting, his legs drawn up, his arms casually hooked over his knees as if he sat in front of a campfire and not on their bedroom carpeting talking her off the ledge for the hundredth time since they moved in together.

He didn’t move forward but waited. She did what she always did on nights like these. She crawled toward him and laid her cheek against his muscled thigh. “Master.” She’d need to say his name like this for a while to bring herself back completely.

His hand descended on my hair and stroked. “Another one. Yet, you didn’t seek me out.”

“I’m sorry.” The dreams were more frequent now, now every other night instead of every other week. She’d find herself lying on cold tile behind the locked door. Someone like her could find the room that has a door with a lock in their sleep. She’d learned that as soon as she’d learned to run as a  child.

“I’m sorry,” she said again not quite sure what else to say.

He had to be getting so sick of her stress nightmares.

“You’re worried about today.”

It was today already. The day she’d been waiting for. To walk down a runway wearing Laurent’s new wedding dress design, a dress he’d spent hours fitting her into.

She loved being seen, showing herself off. So, why did she dread today? The second she’d been asked to do it, a thick, grey mist began to rise up in her. She’d so wanted to say “no.” But she never could say no to a dominant’s request, and Sarah was one powerful Domme not to mention Washington D.C.’s most prominent stylist.

When Sarah had asked her to be in the runway show Charlotte had merely cast her eyes down and nodded. After lifting her lashes, the pleasure that spread across Sarah’s eyes bloomed in her chest like a drug. But it was only when Richard’s delight in hearing she was to show off the custom-made gown to the city’s elite, did she kill any thought of backing out of the commitment.

Charlotte couldn’t figure out why she was so terrified of actually going through it, why she had so many nightmares around the idea. At least she thought that’s where they came from.

Every night, the dreams were the same. She was in Laurent’s dress and running from a mob of men, their black silhouettes grotesque and misshapen. Her feet bled from running—so much running. The dress was ruined with mud and dirt, torn everywhere from tripping every few steps.

Even now, safely nestled against Richard, she could call up how the white silk she wore was nothing but ripped fabric from clawing herself through branches and brambles. Large gashes in the long white gown showed her bare waist, and the hemline tattered beyond recognition.

But it was the veil, the gossamer slip of fairy fabric, as she’d dubbed the material upon seeing it for the first time, that sent her blood thrashing in her veins.

She’d rise, start running again but the veil would snag on a tall branch she tried to duck under. The pull on her scalp was excruciating. She twisted so she could catch even a little sliver of the tulle now floating in the foggy air. She’d always miss because they were getting closer.

“Eyes,” Richard whispered softly.

She raised her gaze to his, focused her attention on his face, his beautiful dark eyes like liquid obsidian.

His fingertip lifted her chin an inch. “You won’t do the show.”

Her spine straightened. “No. I mean, please. I want to.” She’d spent countless hours preparing for this day, practicing walking, going through so many fittings. And he’d looked so proudly at her during the first one, pleased Laurent had chosen a sheer lace for the cap sleeves and a deep V neckline.

His hand circled her neck. “Truth.”

His move made her pussy instantly weep with wanting him. Any time he touched her elicited such a reaction. “Always, Master.”

“You don’t want to do this, do you?”

She curled up in his lap instead of voicing the only thing her mind conjured up. I want to do it for you.

He sighed and rose. “Take off your T-shirt. Get in the shower. You will think about answering me honestly.”

He pulled her to standing and led her back into the bathroom. He started the shower and then stepped backward. She jerked her t-shirt off and stepped under the warming water. Shivered a little from it not being not quite hot enough. A punishment perhaps?

“Face the wall. Hands on the tile, legs apart. Then think about what I asked you.”

She turned, did what he asked. Except having to tell him how much putting on a wedding dress scared her—and she had no idea why. She wanted to bind herself to Richard in every way possible. Collared, married, if she could slip inside his skin, she’d do it.

Fabric rustled behind her. Then the trajectory of the water raining down on her changed slightly. He’d stepped into the shower with her.

The slap on her ass was unexpected, yet not. “Thought enough yet?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know what happens when you lie to me.” He rained hard whacks to her behind until she lost all sense of the water sluicing down her body. Her whole being focused on the fire rising on her ass. Her forehead rested on the file moans freely rising in her throat.

The heat and sting from his slaps raised a curious hope in her. Her lower back arched, her body aching for him to continue. She’d been here so many times—with Richard, with others before him. What lay on the other side of the pain was peace.

It’d always been that way with her. The rougher someone was, the more peace lay on the other side. And, Richard knew when she was wound up, scared, coming down from nightmares she couldn’t explain, she would find the words he desperately wanted from her only if she found that stillness inside her.

Desperately? No, he was never in that state. That was her domain.

He pressed his body against hers, his hard erection pressing into her back. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”

“I’m scared and I don’t know why.”

His hand curled around her throat, her collar pressing into her skin. “Of me? Or this?”

Her head turned, her cheek meeting tile. “Never. I need you. This. I just don’t…”

“Don’t what, il mio tesoro?”

How could he treasure her when she didn’t feel she even had her own mind? “I don’t know what the truth is.”

A deep, rich murmur reverberated through her back. “Ah.” He spun her, her bruised ass meeting the slick tile. “Finally.” His finger traced down her cheek. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

His hands moved down her neck, her shoulder and cupped a breast. His thumb roughly swiped across her nipple. She gasped, a trickle of arousal slipping down her inner thigh despite the shower water hitting her side.

One side of his mouth tilted. Then his hand moved to cup her ass. With the other, he yanked one of her legs to curl around his leg. He then lifted her up, bending his knees. Richard was a tall man. She often forgot his strength despite the muscles usually on display in his arms. He was so gentle with her.

At least until he wasn’t.

He pressed a kiss into her neck. “Now, feel me as I take you. Then, find the words.”

His thrust inside of her was swift, brutal, and she’d have it no other way.

She let herself go soft, let her herself get lost again. Only this type of lost was nothing but bliss.

“Who do you belong to?” he growled as his thrust grew longer, harder.

She clutched at his back. “You.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You will always protect me.”

Then, he pitched into her as far as he’d ever gone. A cry left her throat yet her nails dug into his skin further. She wanted more, needed more.

Then maybe she’d find the words. She prayed she’d never have to utter certain ones, however. That her fear came from knowing he couldn’t protect her from everything. He couldn’t protect her from her own mind.

Watch for the August 2022 newsletter to read the next installment of Master Richard and Charlotte’s journey.