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Letting her hair down, she brushed it out in front of the mirror over the sink. She put on a touch of mascara and a little blusher. Satisfied, she hurried out to check on the pizza.
Master Damon had replenished the logs in the fireplace. A small fire crackled in the grate, the room toasty warm. As she glanced out the large picture window, she was startled to realize it was already getting dark outside. Not that that meant that much, as the winter sun set early. Master Damon, now busy tapping on his laptop, didn’t look up as she moved past him to the galley kitchen.
There was a clock on the oven, which told her it was a little after five. The timer indicated fifteen more minutes until the pizza was ready. It smelled heavenly of melting cheese, tomato sauce and garlic. Her stomach rumbled again in anticipation.
Opening the fridge, she found everything she needed to make a salad. She prepared it quickly, along with a simple oil and vinegar dressing. There was a wine rack on the counter that contained several bottles of red. Would Master Damon like a glass of wine with his meal? Because she sure would.
Not wishing to disturb him while he was working, she made an executive decision and opened the wine. She set it, along with two wineglasses, on the table. She tossed the salad and placed the bowl on the table, along with plates, napkins and silverware. She also brought two drinking glasses and a carafe of chilled water to the table.
Just as she finished these preparations, the timer on the oven dinged. Returning to the tiny kitchen, she found a pair of oven mitts and took out the pizza. Having worked in The Enclave kitchen, she recognized Master Mason’s signature crust, which he made with high-protein bread flour to give it an extra chewy texture. He’d topped it with his simple but delicious tomato sauce, mozzarella, garlic and fresh basil.
She found a pizza wheel in the drawer and quickly sectioned the pie into slices. She brought the pizza, along with a bottle of red pepper flakes to the table. It was then she noticed the small stack of flat floor cushions set nearby against a wall.
She tried to think back to their earlier conversation when they’d first arrived at the cabin. He’d had her sit on the sofa beside him then, but that didn’t necessarily mean she should assume she was to sit at the table. Just to be safe, she bent down and pulled the top cushion from the pile and set it between the two chairs. She would wait for his cue.
Master Damon’s head was still down, his fingers moving on his laptop keyboard. She approached him and knelt on the rug in front of him. When he didn’t look up, she said softly, “Excuse me, Sir. Dinner is ready.”
He glanced her way. “Huh? Right. Sorry.” After tapping for a few more seconds, he closed the lid of his laptop and set it on the couch with a huff of breath. “I’m supposedly on a do-not-disturb-unless-it’s-an-emergency vacation but a new client needs a bit of hand holding and apparently only I will do.”
Ellen recalled from his auction profile that Master Damon had listed his occupation as a private security consultant, whatever that was. From the sounds of what he just said, he was the boss. She made a mental note to ask more about it, assuming there was an appropriate opportunity.
“Smells good,” he said, getting to his feet. He tapped her shoulder, indicating she could rise. “Let’s eat.”
They walked the few feet to the table. “Wine, huh,” he said as he sat down, his brow arching. Ellen felt a clutch of panic coil in her gut. Had she overstepped in opening it? But he smiled as he reached for the bottle. “Great idea. Can I pour you a glass?”
Ellen breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Yes, thank you, Sir.”
He looked up at her. “Why are you still standing there? Sit down.”
Ellen swallowed. “On the chair, Sir? Or on the floor cushion?”
“The chair is fine. You can use the furniture without permission unless I say otherwise.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Ellen slid into the chair opposite Master Damon. “May I serve you some salad, Sir?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Once they both had salad and pizza, Master Damon lifted his wineglass. “To an intense and fulfilling seven days,” he said.
She clinked her glass to his. She liked that he seemed relaxed and unaffected during “down time” from active scenes. He reminded her of The Enclave Doms. They were always very intense and exacting during sessions, their control of their slaves was absolute. But mealtimes were the exception, with Doms and subs seated together, their conversation easy and familial.
Even so, she knew better than to presume a familiarity she hadn’t yet earned. The pizza was delicious and they ate in companionable silence for a while. Then Master Damon said, “So, you’re, what, twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
“Twenty-six, Sir.”
He would have already known that from her auction profile, but of course she didn’t point that out. She was aware from his profile that he was thirty-two.
He nodded. “Tell me about your past Master/slave experiences. I know you did the whole Enclave training thing, obviously. But what about before that? Have you ever been owned?”
She thought a moment before replying. How much detail did he want? She decided to keep it simple. “I was in two D/s relationships prior to coming to The Enclave. Neither one lasted more than a few months, unfortunately.”
“Why was that?”
“I needed more than they could give, I guess,” she offered.
Oh, shit. That came out wrong. Was he going to think she was a needy sub?
