More than a Dare (Masters Club 4)

“Now remove your blouse and give it to me.”

Biting her lower lip, Dahlia undid the buttons of her blouse. She let it fall from her shoulders and then handed it to him.

“Now the bra.”

Reaching back, she undid the clasp of her bra. Her pretty, dark pink nipples were erect against the creamy skin of her breasts. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms.

“Take off your socks.”

Hopping a little, she managed to get them off. He had to bite back a smile. She was so damn cute.

“Now your pants and panties.”

To his surprise, instead of complying, Dahlia crossed her arms over her chest again, her brows furrowing as she stared down at the floor.

Hayden cocked his head. “Didn’t you hear me?”

She looked up, meeting his gaze, a slightly mutinous look on her face. “Permission to speak?” Her tone wasn’t especially deferential, but he let it pass.

“Go ahead.”

“Isn’t this, like, boring for you? ‘Do this one thing.’ ‘Do that other thing.’ Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell me to strip? I get that you want me naked. I really don’t need to be directed to the nth degree.”

Hayden took a breath, reminding himself to be patient. Dahlia wasn’t a Masters Club submissive. She wasn’t even an experienced player in the scene. She was a doctor, used to being the one who gave orders. As a woman in a medical specialty still primarily dominated by men, she’d always had to be two steps ahead and twice as good as the next guy. All of this no doubt made it doubly hard for her to simply hand over control.

“It’s not about what’s easiest,” he explained. “It’s about letting go. Allow yourself to simply be in the moment—to hand over the reins, just for this little while. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s better. Now, take off your pants and underwear and then stand quietly, arms at your sides.”

She obeyed without protest, though the way she continued to worry her lower lip with her teeth gave her away. He didn’t call her on it. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

Getting to his feet, he unbuttoned and removed his shirt, and pulled his belt free. He undid his pants and pulled them, along with his underwear, from his body. He could feel her eyes on him as he folded his things over a chair and walked to his bureau.

Like most New York apartments, his tended to be overheated during the winter months. He selected a pair of black silk drawstring pajama bottoms, leaving his chest bare.

“Do you need to pee?”

She nodded.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Dahlia. A direct question requires a direct answer. Nodding doesn’t count.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “Yes, Sir.”

In the bathroom, he gestured with his chin toward the toilet, which was set in a privacy stall to the left of the sinks. “Go ahead while I get the bath water going.”

She stepped into the stall and started to close the door.

“Leave the door open,” he commanded. “Slaves have no right to modesty.”

While she peed, he turned on the tub faucets. He added some jasmine bath oil to the water, adjusted the temperature and let the tub fill. He closed the door leading to the bedroom and soon steam fogged the mirror.

When Dahlia returned from the toilet and had washed her hands, he directed, “Kneel there on the rug, back straight, ass on your heels, hands on your thighs.”

He waited while she complied. “Good. Now spread your knees so I can see your pretty little cunt.”

Predictably, more rosy color splashed across her cheeks, but she did as she was told. The poor girl was definitely a victim of her biology.

He stared down at her, ignoring the erection rising in his pajama bottoms. “This is what we at the Masters Club call the present position. Every time I direct you to present, you are to immediately stop whatever you’re doing and assume this position. You will stay in the position until otherwise directed. Can you remember that?”

“Yes, Sir,” she said softly.

She looked so sweet and vulnerable. The lover in him wanted to scoop her into his arms. The Dom in him only said, “Good.” He leaned back against the counter, staring down at her. “Here’s what’s going to happen next. You’re going to take a quick bath to prepare your skin. Then I’m going to shave your cunt smooth.”

“Huh?” she blurted, brows furrowing. Then, catching herself, she muttered, “Sorry, Sir, for speaking without permission.”

“Apology accepted. But the next time you speak out of turn or hesitate to obey a direct command, you will be punished.”

He crouched in front of her so they were at eye level. Softening his tone, he added, “Don’t think I don’t find you lovely just as you are—I do. And this isn’t about me wanting you to look like a porn star or anything like that. It’s about a slave’s willingness to bare herself completely to her Master, both figuratively and literally. Then there is the aspect of allowing me to be the one to shave you, rather than having you do it yourself, at least this first time. It’s another sign of your submission to me—to your Master.”