Free Master Zum by Natalie Dae Page A

character. I stood with it beside me to my left and faced the wall, doing as Zum had instructed since that first night we’d met.
    “No looking at the door to see when I get there, sub. I want you in a high state of anticipation. So much so that you begin to wonder whether I’m going to turn up at all. That’s the thrill for you, isn’t it, wondering, not knowing. And one day, one day I won’t turn up, and you’ll be left there all night until Mr M tells you, after I call him, that I won’t be playing. How would that make you feel?”
    “Horrible, Sir.”
    “Ah, but that waiting, for such a long time—wouldn’t that be good?”
    “Yes, but you not coming… I’d hate that, Sir.”
    I’d wondered, on several occasions, whether he really would leave me there, ensuring that I exited the cottage without my fix, without the scent of him in me, on me. I had to believe it had just been a threat, something said to make me realize how lucky I was when he did turn up.
    Head bowed, I stared at my watch, my handbag strap over my shoulder, the bag itself settled against my arse cheek. Light from the grandfather illuminated the face, made my arm a strange color that had no name. It was three minutes past our appointed time. I laced my fingers, let my shoulders relax, and concentrated on the wooden flooring, the wainscoting then the patch of wall above it that I could see, decorated in luxurious dark purple paper with elegant gold patterns. Fleur-de-lis.
    My stomach rolled, the muscles tightening, and that twang of pre-bliss took over my cunt for a few seconds. I clenched my inner muscles over and over, priming myself, making sure I was wet and ready for what was about to come. And it would come.
    Wouldn’t it?
    His scent drifted in. Polo aftershave. I held back a giddy urge to laugh, relief pouring into me, and realized I hadn’t been given much time to build myself up.
    My cunt creamed.
    “Good evening, Master,” Mr M said.
    Zum didn’t answer. I suspected he thought that if he didn’t, I wouldn’t know he was there, but that scent of his gave him away every time. He’d asked once why I never seemed surprised when he walked up behind me, why I’d always seemed to know our time had come. I’d never told him that as well as his smell, I could see his reflection in the grandfather’s casing as he studied me for a few seconds before striding over.
    I lifted my gaze up and to the left. Stared at his reflection in the clock. He was doing that now, studying me, the gorgeous mountain of brown sugar that he was. It was difficult, as always, not to turn around. Sub I might be, but it didn’t mean I didn’t have the same urges as everyone else. I wanted to see him, run into his arms, have him swing me around in the foyer so that everyone could see how much I loved him and he loved me.
    But that wasn’t the way things worked here.
    He scrubbed his chin as if in contemplation then walked toward me, light on his feet despite the size of him. Tall. Broad. Yes, he was indeed a mountain. As he got closer, the air changed, tinged with electricity that I’d swear came from me and from him. It crackled, lifting the hairs on my arms and at my nape, and a buzzing set up shop in my head. Right behind me now, his body heat warming my skin from the waist down, he stopped.
    “Good evening, my precious,” he said.
    And fuck, that was all he’d needed to say. My knees almost gave out on me, and my heart rate sped up. I bit my lower lip, telling myself not to turn around, not to indicate I was even aware he’d spoken. To stand stock still, staring at the fleur-de-lis and the way the lilac light made the gold color ugly and muddy. Tarnished.
    “How are you?” he asked.
    So happy that you’re here, Sir. “Very well, thank you, Sir.”
    “Did you complete the task I set for you?”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “Good. How long did you last?”
    “The longest session was five minutes, Sir.”
    “It’s a start, nothing to be ashamed of. Many