Chapter 98: Angel

She held onto Master tightly. After repeated nightmares that ended in his death, she had trouble believing he was real. He usually disliked touch, but when she tried to take her hand away, he grumbled low in his chest and didn't settle until her hand covered his heart again.
"I love you. Don't leave me again," she repeated the few times his eyes opened.
Mostly she watched him sleep.
The bed dipped and Sir moved in with his chest against her back. He kissed her shoulder and neck while threading his fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, Angel."
She didn't take her eyes from Master. "This is truly real?" Even she could hear the doubt in her voice.
"This," he pressed in closer and kissed her tear-streaked skin, "Is incredibly real."
Angel feathered her hand across Master's skin. It seemed slightly cooler than earlier, but she wasn't letting go.
"How?" she asked without turning.
Sir's breath was warm against the curve of her shoulder. "I don't know the full story but he came to the house when the intruders broke in. He helped stop them and saved my life. It's a knack he has when it comes to the two of us."
Angel could hear the smile in his words before he grew serious again.
"His assignment wasn't complete and he didn't want you to grieve again if he didn't return."
She couldn't form a coherent sentence because too many thoughts swirled through her head. To take away her chance to see Master a final time was unconscionable. She'd dreamed of one more kiss, a last goodbye, and to say she loved him just once more.
Sir stopped speaking, but continued to hold her, and he eventually fell into a light sleep. She was afraid to close her eyes and wake from this dream, so she thought about her commitment to Master.
He had found her after the death of her roommate, Ifrah. He gave her no chance to protest moving to his house. She was deep in the confines of depression, and with little trouble he drugged her and took her home. The first days were terrifying but her night terrors finally brought her to rely on Master. His calming breaths created a bond. She hid, shied away from all physical contact, and behaved like a scared rabbit. Master gave her space and showed endless patience.
He also gave her a bedroom with pictures of the man who had rescued her from human traffickers. Zachery, bound tightly in intricate weaves of beautiful creations, never looked enslaved. The photographs mesmerized her, opening her eyes to a different world and culture. His sculpted muscles wrapped tightly around female models with intricate designs told a story. The art was shocking, but also intriguing. She envied the models in the photographs with him.
She caught glimpses of the models that came to the house for Master's art. Their calm demeanor and obvious worship made her curious. She watched from a corner in the large studio, resting on a soft blanket, trying to go unnoticed. Soft classical music lulled her and she'd drift into the knots and intricate ties that only accented the beauty of the women he worked with.
Her first husband demanded the respect that these women gave to Master willingly. But, like the wives of her husband, they waited for a smile, word of praise, or endearment. For some reason that she couldn't comprehend, Angel felt comfortable in this world.
The sensual aspect of his art was a bigger adjustment, but for the first time in months her body throbbed with sexual cravings. She knew Master watched her closely, and when he asked if she would like to have her hands bound, she shook her head, retreating further into the corner.
He walked over and crouched down so their eyes were level. "Marguerite was my first model. I would tie her arms in different patterns and then we would share milk and cookies. You may want to come closer when you watch so you can actually see the threads of the rope." While he spoke, he lifted a piece of her hair and caressed it between his fingers.
The thought of the plump, middle-aged Marguerite being his first model made her smile. His lips curved up and he winked before walking back to his work in progress.
Over the next few days, she inched closer. The women gave her encouraging smiles with no shyness about their nudity. Master often removed his shirt and she fantasized about running her hands over the sculpted plains of his chest. She managed to fight her desire until she noticed Master's pants balloon with an erection. She squirmed, the dampness of her panties making it hard for her to concentrate. He continued working the rope, but suddenly his intense gaze landed on her and an electrifying quiver went from her toes straight to her pussy. She inhaled when he looked away, realizing she'd been holding her breath. The stark look of longing on his face was a mirror of what he had to see on hers.
The following afternoon, he cut a six-foot section from a skein of rope and carried it to her. His long, dexterous fingers displayed the offering.
"Hold this."
The piece of rope was nothing compared with the look in his eyes. So dark and mysterious, she wanted to float into their depths and discover the man inside. He stood patiently waiting as she finally managed to tear her gaze away and look down at the rope. She felt he was offering a piece of his soul.
Her fingers traveled the braided fibers. The texture mesmerized her and she looked up to see him watching her hands. Without a word, he took one end of the rope and intricately tied it around her upper arm, weaving a pattern down the length until the end rested in her palm. His intimate smile made her clench her thighs together. She wanted, so badly, to reach out and trace the curve of his lips. He seemed to know her thoughts and a low chuckle came from under his breath before he turned and walked away.
Angel forced herself to look away from his backside. She glanced down, and using her opposite fingertips, traced the strands as they wove their delicate pattern on her skin. It was similar to the henna tattoos painted on her hands and feet to ward off evil spirits before her first wedding. A piece of rope-such a small simple thing, but in Nathanial Monroe's hands it came to life.
When he finished with the design he'd been working on, Mistress Melody took photographs. Master walked over and held out his hand. Angel tentatively placed her fingers in his. He turned her wrist up and slowly removed the rope. Placing the now-coiled length back in her hand, he curled her fingers over the center.
"Bring this with you tomorrow."
Becoming his model was a continuation of that first piece of rope. He adjusted to her modesty by making their time in the studio private. Removing her clothes was part of his art and her shame floated away as the strictures of rope told a story on her flesh.
The journey to their Master/slave relationship evolved quickly and became as vital to her as breathing. He saw deep into her consciousness and fulfilled needs she didn't know she had. He bound her tightly and then sexually tortured her. The confines of the rope set her desire free until she experienced the most mind blowing orgasms of her life. Her guilt and shame drifted away with the lull of subspace. The simple touch of rope against her flesh took her to a world where the memories of degradation, suffering, and death had no power over her. Master's weave healed her soul.
She wanted nothing to invade the peace in their small world, but one afternoon, deep in subspace, Master asked her about Zachery. She knew he was one of Master's most talented models and also that Master apprenticed him in Shibari. She'd had dreams of him and was worried Master would know she lusted after another man. She'd seen Master's exhibits of Zachery bound in rope, which didn't help the dreams. Her thoughts of destroying the only happiness she'd found in years caused her to panic when Master told her he was going away and leaving her in Zachery's care. It was the first time she rebelled. Master's disappointment left her feeling insecure and brought up old memories of shame and degradation. He asked for her trust in his decision to leave her in Zachery's care, but she stubbornly refused.
The night before Sir's arrival, Master secured her facedown on his bed. She kept her body limp and non-resistant.
"I found you for Zachery. He never forgot about you. He will watch over you while I am away. He may take you to the playroom, and he likes pain mixed with pleasure. The women he enjoys accept this. He will not force you and you will promise me to be truthful to him. I have seen your muscles screaming for release, but you say nothing. I believe you will welcome more pain than I give you. Zachery's proclivities are different than mine, though no less intense."
He was breathing deeply now and began placing kisses along her shoulders.
"There are many sexual practices we haven't explored, and Zachery will take you on a new journey."
Angel couldn't see his face, but his words held no jealousy. She refused to agree and Master took the choice away from her. She was so wrong to fear Master's decisions, because when Zachery entered their world... her love didn't shift, it blossomed to encompass both men.
She snapped out of her thoughts of the past and focused on the men lying next to her.
She continued to hold Master, but shifted slightly so she could see Sir's face and give her rebuke. "You should have told me. But he... should not have asked this of you." The stark shadows beneath his eyes and his haunted look broke her heart. "He's with us now and I shall speak to you both when he's completely out of danger. It's time you stop sheltering me."