Submissive to Her Master - The Box Set Read online

  ‘Submissive to Her Master’

  The Box Set

  Books One to Four of the Series

  Book 1- Enslaved

  Book 2 – Enthralled

  Book 3 – Entranced

  Book 4 - Enticed

  Author: Simone Leigh

  Copyright © 2016

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

  Contents

  Enslaved

  Enthralled

  Entranced

  Enticed

  The Rush and the Ride

  Visit the Coffee Break Erotica Website

  Contact Me

  The Master’s Birthday

  About the Author

  Enslaved

  An Alpha Male, BDSM, Master and Slave, Erotic Romance

  Part One of the

  ‘Submissive to Her Master’ Series

  Author: Simone Leigh

  Part One

  Enslaved

  I stare down at the roiling waters far below. They swirl, dark and threatening, drawing me in, like one of those visual puzzles they give you on the internet to play mind-games with your eyes.

  Will I jump? Yes, probably. I just haven’t screwed myself up to it yet. Adjusting my position slightly, I move, my feet to a more secure position. Even as I am, I don’t want to fall accidentally.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” comes a voice.

  I startle, and almost tumble. A hand grabs me by the arm, yanking me back from the brink.

  “Y’know, if you’re going to do it, that’s really not a good way to do it.” continues the voice.

  I turn to see the owner of the hand and the voice; a man, perhaps in his forties, although with one of those ‘lived in’ kind of faces that makes it hard to judge age. He looks pretty rough. Definitely not from the better end of town. Wearing shabby but clean jeans, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a leather waistcoat, he looks sharp, in a roughed-off-at-the-edges kind of way. Leanly built, keen grey eyes look from a weather-beaten but not un-handsome face.

  The stranger keeps a firm grip on my arm. “If you change your mind on the way down, it’s not a good situation to be in.”

  Despite myself, I laugh, but my laughter has a bitter edge. “No I suppose not. You have a better suggestion?”

  “Well you could come down off that rail and have a drink with me instead. You can always come back later if you still want to.” He pauses as I hesitate. “The bridge and the river aren’t going anywhere.”

  What have I got to lose?

  Carefully, I clamber down from my spot. The hand never lets go of my arm until I am safely on the ground.

  The stranger eye-points down to a bench. “That your bag there?”

  “Yes, it is. Didn’t think I’d need it anymore.”

  “Well you need it now. If we’re having a drink, you’ll be paying. I’ve no money.”

  I gape a little at this and he grins, holding a hand out. “I’m Brin by the way.”

  I take the hand and shake, still speechless at the man’s audacity. He cocks his head at me. “That was sort of an invitation for you to introduce yourself.” He exudes charm and his accent helps. Irish perhaps?

  “Oh, yes sorry. Rude of me. I’m Martha.”

  He smiles and offers me his arm. “Shall we Martha?” He waves his free hand down the road.

  We walk to a bar. It’s not a long walk and Brin locks his arm around mine all the way. Once inside the bar I wonder what to have. I don’t drink a lot, white wine usually. Brin beats me to it, hailing the barman.

  “I’ll have a whiskey please.”

  The barman looks at me.

  “Oh, er. I’ll have the same.”

  Both men look at me with a slightly disbelieving expression, but the barman asks “Ice?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Me too.” says Brin. “On the rocks.”

  In a quiet corner, we settle with our drinks. Brin gestures down to my glass. “That your usual?”

  “No. but I thought....” My words trail away.

  “Dutch courage?”

  I nod and he takes a deep breath.

  “Come on then. Give it to me. What’s so terrible that jumping off that bridge would have made things any better?”

  I sip at the whiskey, then gulp down a couple of mouthfuls. As he says, Dutch courage.

  “There just doesn’t seem to be... anything...for me.... Anything at all.”

  Brin cocks his head, looking me up and down. “You’re a good looking woman. Judging by your clothes, your shoes, that expensive bag, you’ve got money. Why not ‘anything’?”

  I don’t know what to say and my words dry up.

  “Husband knock you around?

  “No. I don’t have a husband. He died two years ago. but he was always very good to me.”

  “You’re missing him a lot.” He states it rather than asks.

  As I try to speak, my breath trembles and breaks. I want to cry. “Yes. No. I mean yes. I mean.... Yes, I miss him, but.... somehow, not as I should. When he died, I just felt... empty. Like there was a hole. But somehow, the hole had always been there.”

  He cocks his head again, but doesn’t speak, leaving me to fill the silence. Somehow, the words suddenly tumble out of me to fill the gap.

  “He was a good man, but he was never very exciting and, well, he was always at work. Always giving all his time to that company he worked for. I mean, we had everything; the house, the car, expensive holidays, beautiful clothes, but....it all felt... hollow.”

  “Kids?”

  “No. We couldn’t. We tried everything. Eventually he seemed to lose interest in trying. He kind of put me on a pedestal, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I felt like a kind of satellite to his life instead of living my own.”

  “How about holidays now? Travel. Something new? Meet new people. New friends. New.... lovers.”

  “I tried that. Cruises, tours. They were all the same. I only ever seemed to meet the same kind of people. All talking about their work, their big house, the price of property in the best areas. Everything felt so, samey, so safe.”

  He puts his empty glass down on the bar and I gesture to the barman to fill it again. Then mine too.

  “So what you’re saying...” says Brin. “Is that you’re bored of being rich, warm and comfortably off?”

  I look down, feeling ashamed. This man clearly has very little. He must despise me.

  “So bored that you can’t stand any more of it.”

  My throat tightens in shame.

  “You see,” he continues. “It might surprise you to learn that I do understand that. I was ‘Corporate Man’ once. Monthly salary, pension, car, wife, house. Worked every hour God sends to pay for it. Unlike you, my wife didn’t stick it out. She went for a divorce and took most of the money with her. Left me just with the work. That felt pretty hollow too. I bowed out of the rat race and now I do what I do.”

  Despite myself, I am intrigued “Which is, what?”

  “Oh a bit of this. A bit of that. There’s always something comes up. I live from day to day. But d’you know...” He leans forward, staring me in the eye. “I never get bored.”

  He sits, staring at the table top, turning the glass in his hands, playing with it, thoughtful. “Your life’s been too safe Martha. You’d appreciate it a bit more if you had some uncertainty. Something unexpected.”

  “You’re probably right. But what?”

  He slams the glass do
wn on the bar again. “Dunno. Gotta go. Nice to have met you Martha.” And he stands and leaves.

  His exit is so unexpected, that for a moment I just sit and stare at the door. Then, miserably, I gulp down the rest of the drink and reach for my bag to pay the barman. I keep my purse in the front pocket.

  It’s not there. Exasperated, I try the back pocket. It’s not there either.

  My purse has gone.

  How could I have been so stupid? To fall for a con-merchant who simply steals my purse. All my money. My credit cards. I’ll have to cancel them all now.

  Feeling an idiot, I scrabble around in the bottom of my bag to find loose change to pay for the drinks. Luckily, there is enough, but thoroughly annoyed at myself now, I stamp out of the bar to my car, only a little way down the street.

  Then I make another nasty discovery. My keys are gone too. Did he intend to steal my car as well?

  I don’t even have the money for a taxi and I have to walk back home. Luckily, it’s only a couple of miles, but I have to walk past Friday night revellers and drunks. I don’t feel safe. This isn’t my end of town and I don’t generally meet such people. I step out smartly to get home as quickly as I can.

  Retrieving my spare house key from under the pot where I keep it for emergencies, I unlock the door, stepping inside into the blackness.

  Flicking on the light-switch, immediately I see that something is wrong.

  Things have moved.

  Shoes that normally are neatly arranged in the hall have been knocked to one side. I would never leave them lying untidily like that.

  In the lounge, drawers are half open. Books are disturbed.

  I’ve been burgled.

  He has my keys.

  He stole my purse.

  Oh my God! He has my driving license. He knows my address.

  What if he’s still here?

  Before I have chance to act on these thoughts, I am grabbed from behind, an arm immobilizing both of mine behind my back, and a hand wrapping around my face. It claps over my mouth and I hear Brin’s voice close by my ear. “Don’t scream. No-one can hear you anyway. They’re all out next door. But don’t scream and I’ll let you talk.”

  My heart pounding, I nod. The hand relaxes and releases my face, but I am still held at the back.

  “You stole my purse. My keys. I had to walk all the way home. I had to come past drunks and louts....”

  “Two hours ago, you wanted to jump off a bridge.” he hisses into my ear. “Why are you so worried about louts and drunks? They might have finished the job for you.”

  “I... I.... don’t want...”

  “That’s right.” He speaks close to my ear again. “You don’t want to die. In fact,” He releases me and spins me around to face him, backing me up against the wall. “In fact, you want to live...”

  He grins. “...And now you know it.”

  He’s right. I do want to live. But I want... I don’t know what it is that I want. Except that I want a life.

  Brin leans over me, arms against the wall over my head, caging me with his body. “Heart pounding?”

  I nod.

  “You’re panting too. Frightened? Frightened of me?”

  I am panting, but am I frightened? A little yes, but mainly...

  “You’re not frightened of me at all. You’re excited. I can see it. You’ve got eyes like saucers. Your pupils are huge.”

  He drops a hand, one finger extended to stroke down from my lips, down my chin and neck and below. It hovers at the top of my cleavage and a surge runs through me, stabbing down through my body and my sex. My panting grows heavier.

  “No, you’re not frightened of me. When was the last time you felt like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t lie. Not to me and certainly not to yourself. You’re aroused. How long has it been?”

  It’s been years.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Can’t remember? That’s sad.”

  Abruptly, he fastens his mouth around mine, forcing my lips open, almost bruising me with the force of the kiss.

  I should fight back, resist this. this man is forcing himself on me, uninvited. It’s not right.

  My panties are wet.

  Tom never made me feel like this, not ever. Even in the very early days when we were ‘courting’. All the books talked as though we should have been fucking like mink. Instead it was only after we were married that we ever made love; Friday night, on the bed, on my back, in the dark.

  Brin’s hand is cupping a breast and my breath is shuddering. I want him.

  He pulls back for a moment, looking me squarely in the face, weighing me up, then he grabs me, spins me and bends me over the settee. Pinning me on the back, face down with one hand, with the other he hikes up my skirt over my waist, massages my butt for a moment then slips his fingers between my legs.

  My breath is ragged, juddering, but not from fear. He feels at the sodden fabric of my panties then starts fingering my sweet spot through it.

  “Yeah, you’re not scared of me. Or if you are, you like it. Your cunt is gushing.”

  I startle at his language, unused to the coarse tone. No-one ever spoke to me like that before. but he’s right. My pussy is hot and swollen. I ache inside, wanting to be filled. I don’t remember ever feeling like this before, certainly not with Tom.

  “Please...” I gasp the words out. The fingers continue work at my swollen bud.

  “Please what?”

  “Please.... oh God!”

  “When’s the last time you had a really good fucking?”

  My voice is breathy and broken. “Not sure. Can’t remember. Years......”

  “D’you want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes, oh God yes.”

  “You want me to fuck you hard? Stick my cock in your cunt and fuck your brains out?”

  I know he is playing with the words, deliberately winding me up. He knows exactly what he is doing to me and is playing me like an instrument.

  “Yes.”

  His fingers slide aside the sodden crotch of my panties, then start to work directly on my clit. He no longer needs to hold me down. I’m not going anywhere

  Now his second hand moves in on me, a finger stroking my engorged pussy lips, probing my entrance.

  “If you want me to fuck you, you have to ask nicely.”

  “Please, please fuck me.”

  “You have to do better than that.”

  “Oh God, please. I want you inside me. I want... I want....”

  “Do you know what you want? What have you had? Him on top? Lights turned out? Wham bam, thank you Ma’am. Was that it?”

  “Yes.” My hips are twitching uncontrollably and I can feel a hot flush spreading out from my breasts.

  “How often did you cum?”

  “Not sure.” I’m lying and I know it.

  “Not sure? Everyone knows when they orgasm. That useless prick of a husband didn’t get you there did he......?”

  I hear movement, shuffling. There is a sort of dull thud and I realise that Brin has dropped to his knees behind me.

  “...... but I will.”

  There is heat on the back of my thighs; Brin’s hot breath flowing over my flushed and sweating skin. Even as I realise his intention, he pushes my ankles apart, spreading my legs further. With one hand he tugs at my useless panties. The side straps snap apart and the panties fall away. Brin opens my pussy lips with his fingers.

  I start to protest. “No, I can’t...”

  He slaps me on the rump. “Did I ask your opinion? That husband of yours might have put you on a pedestal, but I won’t. Real women don’t want pedestals. They want to be bent backwards over the kitchen bench and given a table ender.” And with that he plants his mouth over me, licking me out, drinking my flowing juices.

  The rush stabs through my sex and I cry out in a kind of wailing triumph. Half of me is indignant at his treatment of me, but the other half would weep if he stopped. He licks upwar
ds through my pussy lips, from clit to cunt, in great sweeps, taking in the whole of my sex. Lingering over my clit, he slips back the hood, circling it with the tip of his tongue, flicking, almost vibrating the tender nub.

  The pleasure is exquisite and I moan helplessly as fire brims my loins. A tension rises, builds and explodes through me. My first orgasm takes me by storm and I scream as Brin tongue fucks my pulsating cunt. On and on it goes, my knees almost giving way as I thrash and writhe, my hands blundering around, trying to hold onto something, as though I would be swept away without a hold on something.

  Eventually it subsides and I sag, shuddering and panting, still hanging over the settee back.

  Brin stands, leaning against the back of the settee, wiping his mouth and looking down at me.

  “Never done that before have you?” Again, it is a statement, not a question. “It didn’t take long. You must have been absolutely desperate.”

  I shake my head, still descending from the glory I just experienced.

  “Why not?”

  I struggle to rise from my position. Brin, unceremoniously, hooks me under the arms and pulls me upright. “Why not? Why have you never done that before?” he repeats.

  I struggle for words. “I don’t know. I thought it was me...” I am oddly reluctant to decry my dead husband.

  “Yeah, well that’s what men tell women when they’re useless in the sack. There’s nothing wrong with you. You went from a standing start to screaming orgasm in about a minute flat.”

  He pauses, thinking for a moment. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

  I pick up on his phrasing. “Yet?”

  He sniffs, reflectively I think. “Let’s talk about that. Why don’t we have another drink?”

  “Err... I’m not sure I’ve got any in the house.”

  “Brin jabs a finger at a cupboard. “There’s half a bottle of whiskey in there.” Then he sees my expression, and is entirely unembarrassed.

  “Yeah, yeah, I went through your stuff before you got back. Wanted to know a bit more about you.”

  Pouring two drinks, my third this evening, I reflect on the implications of Brin’s words. I should feel indignant, even violated at this man’s casual raiding of my house, my body, my sensibilities, but I don’t. Instead I want more.

  Perhaps he senses my thoughts. Looking at me with a calculating eye he says “You’re trying to figure me out. Am I your knight in shining armour? Or am I some con-artist who’s going to take you for what you’ve got?”