Read Online Rude Awakening by Sam Crescent, Natalie Dae - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sam Crescent, Natalie Dae
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belted up and whacked on the heater.
“Margaret, you will be grateful for all the trouble I’m going to this afternoon.”
He started the engine then reversed—pleased he made it out onto the street without incident. He clicked the garage key fob again, waited for the door to close, then drove down his street slowly—not good for his current mood, which demanded speed and the reckless taking of corners, tyres screeching. Instead, the tyres compacted the snow, the resulting crunch of sound oddly loud over the engine in the otherwise creepy quiet.
It felt as though the end of the world had come and he was the sole survivor.
He smiled at that.
I am a survivor.
Buoyed by that thought, he made the painfully slow trip into town, happy to see more cars and life once he’d left the estate where he lived. The main roads had been cleared, peach-coloured grit mixed with grey slush covering the tarmac, and banks of dirty snow sat hunched at the kerbs, uneven and unpleasant to the eye.
The multi-storey car park, virtually empty, meant Master had a wide variety of spaces to choose from. He stuck to the ground floor—easier to bring his contraption there from the shop, the stairs and elevator would prove a bind—and walked with half his mind on his forthcoming argument with the rude shop assistant and half on the treacherous, slippery pathways leading to the shopping centre.
He reached one set of three double glass doors and pushed inside, the blast of warmth welcome after the biting cold. He stamped his feet on the wide ribbed mat and noted the cleaners hadn’t been vigilant in mopping up the melted snow that had fallen from shoppers’ boots, wet streaks and footprints abundant on the white tiles.
What was the world coming to when people didn’t do the job they were paid for?
He walked through at a brisk pace, dodging other shoppers and heading for the doors right at the other end. The shop he sought was opposite the centre in a side street people rarely walked down. It appeared to be merely a small store that sold women’s lingerie, vibrators and the like, but in reality it sold much, much more for the BDSM customer.
As he approached the exit, a woman outside in a bright red jacket caught his attention. There was something about the way she moved that reminded him of Margaret when he’d first met her. She had her back to him and walked in delicious high-heeled boots towards a rubbish bin, balled up paper in one hand. Hmmm. Perhaps he would follow her, see if she was alone, and accidentally bump into her to strike up a conversation. It wouldn’t hurt to become acquainted, exchange numbers, to have another woman waiting in the wings in case Margaret didn’t come back.
The dawn of a new challenge rose inside him, and his cock twitched at the thought of seducing another woman and teaching her exactly how she should behave. That would have to wait, though. He had unfinished business with Margaret, and he couldn’t begin again until he’d settled the score, removed her collar and set her free. Of course, he’d make sure no other man at the club would want her. Make it clear she was bad news, a disobedient slut. His cock hardened a little at the idea of him telling fellow Doms all about Margaret and how she wasn’t worth the shit on his shoe, their eyes wide and lips pursed that such a female existed—a woman who shunned a decent Dom’s teachings the way she had.
He’d get her back, punish her severely, then ruin her.
At the doors, he lifted a palm to the glass ready to push one open, but was stopped short at the sight of Harry Knowles striding across the slushy path towards the bin where the woman in the red jacket stood. Master sighed, a heavy exhalation that seemed to come right from his soul. It stood to reason Knowles would bag a woman like her, and Master grimaced at the liberties the sub undoubtedly had with him. Knowles belonged to the group of club men who thought subs had the right to their own voice.
“Margaret, you will be grateful for all the trouble I’m going to this afternoon.”
He started the engine then reversed—pleased he made it out onto the street without incident. He clicked the garage key fob again, waited for the door to close, then drove down his street slowly—not good for his current mood, which demanded speed and the reckless taking of corners, tyres screeching. Instead, the tyres compacted the snow, the resulting crunch of sound oddly loud over the engine in the otherwise creepy quiet.
It felt as though the end of the world had come and he was the sole survivor.
He smiled at that.
I am a survivor.
Buoyed by that thought, he made the painfully slow trip into town, happy to see more cars and life once he’d left the estate where he lived. The main roads had been cleared, peach-coloured grit mixed with grey slush covering the tarmac, and banks of dirty snow sat hunched at the kerbs, uneven and unpleasant to the eye.
The multi-storey car park, virtually empty, meant Master had a wide variety of spaces to choose from. He stuck to the ground floor—easier to bring his contraption there from the shop, the stairs and elevator would prove a bind—and walked with half his mind on his forthcoming argument with the rude shop assistant and half on the treacherous, slippery pathways leading to the shopping centre.
He reached one set of three double glass doors and pushed inside, the blast of warmth welcome after the biting cold. He stamped his feet on the wide ribbed mat and noted the cleaners hadn’t been vigilant in mopping up the melted snow that had fallen from shoppers’ boots, wet streaks and footprints abundant on the white tiles.
What was the world coming to when people didn’t do the job they were paid for?
He walked through at a brisk pace, dodging other shoppers and heading for the doors right at the other end. The shop he sought was opposite the centre in a side street people rarely walked down. It appeared to be merely a small store that sold women’s lingerie, vibrators and the like, but in reality it sold much, much more for the BDSM customer.
As he approached the exit, a woman outside in a bright red jacket caught his attention. There was something about the way she moved that reminded him of Margaret when he’d first met her. She had her back to him and walked in delicious high-heeled boots towards a rubbish bin, balled up paper in one hand. Hmmm. Perhaps he would follow her, see if she was alone, and accidentally bump into her to strike up a conversation. It wouldn’t hurt to become acquainted, exchange numbers, to have another woman waiting in the wings in case Margaret didn’t come back.
The dawn of a new challenge rose inside him, and his cock twitched at the thought of seducing another woman and teaching her exactly how she should behave. That would have to wait, though. He had unfinished business with Margaret, and he couldn’t begin again until he’d settled the score, removed her collar and set her free. Of course, he’d make sure no other man at the club would want her. Make it clear she was bad news, a disobedient slut. His cock hardened a little at the idea of him telling fellow Doms all about Margaret and how she wasn’t worth the shit on his shoe, their eyes wide and lips pursed that such a female existed—a woman who shunned a decent Dom’s teachings the way she had.
He’d get her back, punish her severely, then ruin her.
At the doors, he lifted a palm to the glass ready to push one open, but was stopped short at the sight of Harry Knowles striding across the slushy path towards the bin where the woman in the red jacket stood. Master sighed, a heavy exhalation that seemed to come right from his soul. It stood to reason Knowles would bag a woman like her, and Master grimaced at the liberties the sub undoubtedly had with him. Knowles belonged to the group of club men who thought subs had the right to their own voice.
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