Meeting Her Master Read online

  Meeting Her Master

  By

  Breanna Hayse

  Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

  Copyright © 2013 by Stormy Night Publications and Breanna Hayse

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

  www.StormyNightPublications.com

  Hayse, Breanna

  Meeting Her Master

  Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

  Images by The Killion Group featuring Jason Aaron Baca, Bigstock/Vlntn, and Bigstock/Miro Novak

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

  Foreword

  BDSM presents itself in many shapes, colors, textures, and flavors, from the simple to the extreme. Ours is a small community and, as such, we should each be quick to accept the differences present in the lifestyle, and offer respect and understanding toward others who might not share our particular interests. However, we are also obligated to ensure that safety plays a primary role in anything we indulge in—not just our physical safety, but mental and emotional as well. As a professional counselor in alternative lifestyle choices, I have encountered many different situations that can, and cannot, be helped by exploring the lifestyle, and I try my best to responsibly educate my readers as to the different lifestyle choices and provide tools for ‘real’ world scenarios. Meeting Her Master ventures into a particular situation about self-destructive behavior and an approach taken to understand, and redirect, the unusual needs experienced by the heroine. Please remember that this is a work of fiction and if you, or anyone you know, are practicing self-mutilation (e.g., cutting or stabbing), please seek help from a qualified individual whom you can trust. This practice, as well as any other behavior that has the potential to cause harm, is never to be made trivial or ignored. Embrace your life… It is a gift that is much too precious to throw away.

  Luvs,

  Bree

  Prologue

  The Present Day

  The St. Andrew’s cross stood in the center of the room, its very presence causing shivers to flow through the hearts of even the most seasoned player. Dahlia trembled, her body soaked in sweat, as she waited breathlessly for the next delicious stroke.

  The sound of leather meeting bare flesh nullified her shriek of pain and ecstasy. She stiffened, absorbing the pain as her stretched, swollen back threatened to split. Trickles of sweat ran over her hips and followed the path of raised welts that navigated over her crimson buttocks, thighs, and calves. Dahlia slumped against her restraints, panting from exertion. Seconds passed and she lifted her head, signaling she was eager for the next brutal lash.

  It did not come.

  “More,” her raspy voice begged, “don’t stop now. I need more.”

  “You have had enough. This was for your stress relief, not punishment,” a deep voice rumbled back at her. The large, hooded man snapped the whip against the flagstone paving before walking to the implement rack. He handed it to a woman who stood naked if not for a tight black harness. Her head bowed in deference as he approached, the chained collar around her throat preventing her from prostrating on the floor in fear and respect.

  “Clean this,” he ordered, handing the sweaty instrument to the young slave after petting her head. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small piece of red licorice that he held to her lips. “Open up. That’s a good girl.”

  Dahlia glared at the slave girl, jealousy brewing. “When are you going to make me part of your stable?” she demanded. “I am tired of waiting. I have earned it!”

  The man pulled off the hood to reveal bright blue eyes framed by ebony hair. The session was over. A frown settled upon the clean-shaven face as he continued to stroke his lovely human pet. “This again? I am the one who issues the invites to those I desire to be part of my harem. You know that you cannot demand to become part of my dungeon just because you enjoy pain. No, darling, there is a different place for you. A better one. Be content with it.”

  Dahlia resisted the show of frustrated tears as her body was carefully released from the device and gently lowered to the ground. She fell upon her hands and knees, forehead nearly touching the floor as her limbs refilled with blood. She still wanted more from him and was unwilling to end the scene just yet.

  He squatted alongside her, catching her chin in his hand and forcing her to look up at him. “You must learn the art of true submission if you ever want to be part of the harem. I enjoy giving you pain, but I want your reverence even more if you are to be a slave. We both know that type of service is not part of your nature.”

  “You fucking asshole,” Dahlia hissed, hoping he would abandon his control and slap her viciously across the face. Just once… One slap… That was all she wanted. Just to help her abandon that last bit of stress and fear that loomed over her. She knew in her heart that it would not occur. Sadistic as he was, Master Blake would not abandon his policy against face slapping, bloodletting, or non-scripted rape scenes. He was a dominant with a code of ethics, one that he would kill to defend.

  She loved him. Even as he inflicted the cruelest of beatings onto her hungry body, she always wanted more from him. Ownership of his voice, his strength, and his presence were her greatest desire.

  “You cannot provoke me, Dahlia. The scene is over. Take her to the back and wash her bruises. Make sure you rinse them well with salt water,” he commanded the two men decked in black spandex biking shorts. “If she behaves herself, you may apply Icy Hot to her bottom.”

  “Salt water and Icy Hot? Oh, thank you!” Dahlia squealed gratefully, straightening as the two men lifted her to her feet.

  Blake lifted her chin and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing with possession as it dominated her mouth. “You are welcome. I am sorry that I cannot give you more, but I refuse to harm you,” he said softly. “I’ll see you at home. Tonight is the night to face your fears.”

  “I have no fears as long as I have you. I love you. Thanks for letting me slide back into my selfish-state for the moment. I needed to just let go and not be ‘mature’ and feel the need to edit myself. It felt good,” Dahlia whispered against his neck.

  “I am happy that you allowed yourself to regress a bit. Just watch yourself in the future with the language,” Blake smiled affectionately, stroking her face. “Do you feel ready for tonight?”

  “I do now. There is nothing like a good session with the master to reduce my stress. I still want to be part of the harem, though.”

  “I can think of some other things to help you with your stress, cupcake. As for the harem, you are greater than that to me,” Blake winked, gesturing for the two men to take Dahlia away for her ‘after-care clean-up’.

  “Oh, alright. I’m still going to pester you now and then about it, though. Just because I can,” Dahlia threatened with a smile.

  “You will do anything to get yourself spanked, won’t you? Take her away and let her sit on a cocofiber matt for a while. We want our girl to be happy,” Blake ordered the two men, returning the loving kiss delivered by his fiancée.

  * * *

  They had been together for over six months now, living two different sets of lives. To the world, Dahlia was a simple college student while Blake was a successful Texas rancher who bred and trained Arabian horses.

  The community knew Blake as an investor and riding coach, and he had a flawless reputation for holding the highest standards in
all that he did. His life was controlled, flawless, and without chaos or confusion. That is to say, that had been the course of his life until Dahlia arrived on the scene. Their first date had begun with Dahlia stepping in front of a moving truck.

  Chapter One

  Six Months Earlier

  She stared blankly at the bright oncoming lights. Dressed in black clothes from head to foot, she would be virtually invisible in the dark if it were not for her platinum blond hair tipped with a pink ombre. As she stood still in the road, a truck skidded to avoid hitting her and smashed into a nearby tree.

  Dahlia didn’t budge, frozen with fear. She blinked absently as the driver exited the truck and started in her direction, pausing only long enough to curse as he kicked the bent tire.

  “Damn it! What the hell is wrong with you, woman? Are you loaded?” He hovered over her with a commanding presence that seemed larger than life.

  Dumbstruck, Dahlia nodded and then crumpled to the ground. She felt herself lifted and then placed upon cool, wet grass. Giggles escaped her. “I can’t find my feet. Have you seen them?”

  “I hate drunks,” the man grumbled. He opened up her purse and removed her student ID. “Dahlia Ellyn Covington… Is your daddy Samuel Covington?”

  “Yeppers!” She burst into a wave of snickers. “That’s my dad. Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, my kid brother is his accountant. Does he know you are out this time of night getting yourself shit-faced?” Blake asked as he endeavored to keep his cellular from her groping hands.

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt my wallet. He gives me money and credit cards and…,” Dahlia giggled.

  “I get it. He pays to keep you living at home instead of making you live on your own. That’s what this world needs… Another spoiled, rich kid. Let’s get you home,” Blake grumbled. He called a tow truck and then a taxicab, and sat the woozy young woman up against a tree trunk. “Where were you partying, by the way?”

  “At Over the Barrel. The jerks wouldn’t let me in the back, though. Said I was too young,” she hiccupped.

  “You are nineteen and shouldn’t even have been allowed through the front doors! What the hell were you doing at a BDSM club by yourself? What were you thinking?”

  “I just wanted to find me a nice, strong guy to help make me feel,” Dahlia yawned, closing her eyes. “I need to feel…”

  “Feel what?” Blake asked. He gently shook Dahlia’s shoulder. “No sleeping until I get you home. Keep talking.”

  There was no further discussion as she heaved the contents of her stomach. Blake held her hair, stroking her forehead and offering reassurance until the cab arrived. The ride to her home was short and Blake carried her to the main entrance of the large mansion. He rang the bell several times and kicked the door, hoping to wake the occupants.

  “Who is it?”

  “Blake Turner, Tim’s brother. Sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour but I have your daughter,” Blake yelled through the door.

  A heavyset man in his mid-sixties scowled from the doorway. “Damn, Blake, it’s been a while. Tim keeps mentioning getting together with you but never seems to get around to it.” Mr. Covington reached to shake Blake’s hand. “Please come inside.”

  “Yeah, we both have separate lives now, you know. Do you have some water for her?” Blake asked, lowering Dahlia on a couch.

  “What did she do this time? I swear, this girl needs a keeper. She is too much for me. Where did you find her?” The man handed him a bottle of water and watched as it was coaxed past Dahlia’s parched lips.

  “Drink,” Blake ordered. He turned his face toward Sam, “She stepped in front of my truck while wandering down old 90. She was clubbing, apparently alone, got thrown out and took a bit of a stroll down a dark highway. She is also quite drunk.”

  “She’s been so out of control since her mother left. Damn it, Dahlia.” The old man plopped on the chair on the far side of the girl. “Can I get you anything, Blake? A brandy?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t drink. I gotta run, though. I have some buyers coming in the morning to look at my new foals. Here’s my card. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help. Breaks my heart when I see kids go in this direction.”

  “I know,” the father said sadly. “I foolishly tried to buy her cooperation and that did no good. Therapy isn’t working either so, unless you run a babysitting service for wayward girls, I can’t think of anything.”

  “Well,” Blake tapped his chin, “she might benefit from doing a little hard work. I own and operate Cloverleaf Stables and could always use some help.”

  “Yeah, I recall Tim mentioning that you did that. Good kid, by the way. Said you raised him after your folks passed.”

  “They were pretty old when he came along. I was nine when he was born and he was my shadow. He turned out well,” Blake said proudly.

  “That he did. He is very impressive. I don’t know what I would do without him. You know, this girl hasn’t done a lick of work her entire life. Also my fault. I doubt she would be very helpful with ranch work,” Mr. Covington said, considering Blake’s offer. “And she has school to finish.”

  “I am certain I could find a way to encourage a positive change. Think about it and get back to me. Here are her car keys and purse. I am assuming her vehicle is in the lot at Over The Barrel.”

  Mr. Covington groaned. “Not there again. Let me think about it. It seems that a little hard work is exactly what she needs.”

  Three days later, Dahlia found herself standing in the courtyard of Blake’s custom-built hacienda, suitcase in hand and scowl on her face. She had been well informed by her father that arrangements had been made with Blake, and that all financial support would cease until she showed some positive change in her life.

  Dahlia’s eyes widened as an older Hispanic woman answered the door. She was dressed in English riding gear and carried a long crop in her hand.

  “Dahlia Covington! Welcome to the Cloverleaf. I am Mrs. Alonso, the house manager. Please, come in.”

  “Since when do maids dress like this?”

  The crop touched the young woman’s chin as Mrs. Alonso drew her handsome face close to Dahlia’s. “I am not a maid. I am second in command of the Cloverleaf and your new boss, young lady. We exercise manners and etiquette in Mr. Turner’s home and in his presence. It would behoove you to remember that you are an employee here. Not a guest. Pick up your suitcase and follow me.”

  “There must be some mistake. My father said…”

  “…That you will be earning your keep while also bringing up your grades. We will be changing your major to something other than drunken brawls, frivolous spending, and all-around rudeness. Do you remember me, Dahlia?” A deep voice rattled across the room.

  “Master Blake,” Mrs. Alonso dropped to one knee. “I was not expecting you.”

  “Clearly.” Blake eyed the woman’s attire distastefully. “Attend to your wardrobe and then have linens and uniforms brought over to the Transition room. I will see to Miss Covington’s welcome.”

  “Yes, sir. By your leave, Master?” Mrs. Alonso asked. Blake waved her off and watched as she quickly departed.

  “What the fuck was that about? You make your staff bow? What was wrong with her clothes?” Dahlia commented.

  “My house staff is unique. In addition, uniforms are required during working hours. Please follow me to your room.”

  “Despite what my father thinks, this whole work thing is not necessary,” Dahlia said, rolling her suitcase behind her as she followed Blake down the tiled corridor and toward the private cottages behind the main house.

  “From what I witnessed the other night, this ‘work thing’ is long overdue. This is where you will be staying for the time being.” He opened the door and stepped aside.

  Dahlia stared, open-mouthed. “You want me to stay here? It looks like a janitor’s closet!”

  “It is a janitor’s closet and until you earn the privilege of a regular room, this
is your home. There is a cot in the corner, a rack to hang your uniforms, and a chest to keep your personal belongings,” Blake announced. “The bathroom is in that cottage over there and you will be expected to clean up after yourself.”

  “Oh, my God…”

  “Inspections are held at five every morning. You are to be dressed and prepared to work, and your room is to be tidy.”

  “Five? Like before the sun comes up? Are you crazy?”

  “Failure to comply with my house rules is dealt with severely,” Blake continued. “First offense is handled by Mrs. Alonso. After that, I am summoned to handle things. Trust me when I tell you that you want to avoid my interference.”

  “What about classes? I am taking extended studies classes during the summer and…”

  “I have your class schedule in my office. There is plenty of time for you to complete your morning chores before you need to leave for school. Either Mrs. Alonso or myself will take you and pick you up. You will be following a study schedule when you return home and participating in evening cleanup. You will be assigned chores on Saturday, and Sunday is your day off. I highly recommend you use that time for extra studying and homework.”

  “This is ridiculous! I am an adult and…”

  “Have shown nothing but reckless, immature behavior. I will forewarn you, Miss Dahlia, that I am a hard taskmaster. I expect perfection and am unwavering when it comes to responsibilities.”

  “What if I refuse? Daddy will not allow me to be thrown out on the street.”

  “Put your suitcase in that corner, Dahlia. Now follow me.”

  Dahlia frowned as she scurried to keep abreast of his long strides. He led her to a magnificent, single-story adobe structure behind the cottages. Yucca, cactus, and a large variety of succulents lined the gravel path that led to the large, wooden door hinged with wrought iron.