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Master Wanted (Rent-a-Dom Book 2) by Susi Hawke, Piper Scott (1)

1

Troy

“Do you think you’re clever, trying to trick me?”

Tonight, Master’s tone was sharp and unyielding. I closed my eyes, my breath caught in my throat. Ice water trickled between my cupped fingers onto the leather seat of my office chair, then dribbled from its edge onto the wood floor—my punishment. I was to hold the ice against my balls until it was all gone. Throbbing cold seeped into my skin, and I wanted nothing more than to let the ice go, but I knew I deserved what I was getting. I’d been bad, and Master was well within his right to correct me.

It would only be a little bit longer. Just a little bit. Until then, I kept my bare legs spread as far as I could, one rested on my office desk, the other suspended over the arm of my chair.

Master spoke again. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to notice?”

I bit down on my tongue, wanting to reply, but knowing better than to speak without explicit permission. I was already in trouble, and if I wanted my punishment to end, I was going to have to be good and mind my manners. Master’s rules were as absolute now as they had been when we’d first connected a little more than a year and a half ago. I knew better than to defy them.

Tone every bit as rigid as it had been moments before, Master said, “I’m disappointed in you, Troy. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Without a direct prompt, I wasn’t allowed to speak—I wasn’t allowed to make a noise—but the longer I held the ice to my body, the harder it got not to react to it. It was cold. Even when I squirmed and shifted in my seat, trying to relieve some of the burning chill that seemed to pulse beneath my skin, it wasn’t enough to stop what I was feeling. There was nothing more than a thin sheet of it left now, but the few seconds it would take to melt would be torture. I bit down harder on my tongue, but despite my efforts, I whimpered.

“Oh, you know. Of course you know.” Master hummed. “Has the ice melted yet? You may speak.”

I released my tongue. The response burst from me. “Yes, Master, it’s melted.”

All that remained was the chill where it had been pressed against my balls and the remnants of water still pooled in the closed spaces between my fingers.

“Take a picture.”

My heart raced. I glanced toward my office doors—luxurious seven-foot solid oak with semi-circular transom windows—and checked the locks. They were still in place. No one would make their way in.

Take a picture,” Master demanded. “This is your last warning, Troy. You’ve already been bad once today. Do you want to test my patience?”

My phone was on my desk. I leaned forward, groping across the flat top with my dry hand until my fingers brushed against its corner. Desperately, I curled my fingers, dragging it toward me, then picked it up once it was within range. I tabbed out of the call with Master and toggled to the camera, snapping a quick picture of my dripping hand as it cupped my balls. As the picture sent, I took my hand away and took a picture of what lay beneath. When I saw the picture on the screen, a jolt of arousal seized me. My shaved balls were bright red where the ice had touched them, and my testicles were drawn so tightly to my body that they were almost nonexistent.

Seeing Master’s will exerted like this on my body was a pleasure I seldom got to experience. With a choked moan, I sent the second picture. I wanted Master to see.

Master chuckled. “It looks like you’re good for something tonight, after all. That’s a very pretty color. I’d like to see it commemorated. What do you say? You may speak.”

Hand trembling, I placed the phone back on my desk, screen down. The heavy rise and fall of my chest anchored me in the moment. The stinging pain of the ice cube against my skin was starting to recede. “Yes, Master.”

“Good. Now…” Another hum. I sucked in a breath, trying to fill my lungs and curtail my excitement. Despite the torture Master had just put me through, I was hard. Aching. In need. To hear that I wasn’t good enough was a reminder that Master expected more from me—wanted greatness from the man he’d chosen to dominate. As Master’s possession, I had standards to meet, and god, did I want to meet them. No one but Master demanded I better myself. The yes-men in my inner circle wouldn’t tell me no if I paid them to—but Master? He didn’t give a shit about feeding my ego. He told it like it was, and he made sure I understood that he wasn’t impressed by anything but the best.

And me?

I wanted him to deny me. Every “no” was an aphrodisiac, and I was desperate for my next taste.

My phone buzzed.

Master continued to speak. “Since you decided to use my bank account to fund whatever little pleasure purchase cost you three thousand dollars, you’re going to use my money to get me something nice. Something to commemorate this moment. I’ve sent it to your phone. You’ll buy it for me right now.”

The bank account was mine, and so was the money in it, but I’d long ago surrendered control of it to my master. He controlled my personal finances, decided where my money was spent, and bought himself what he wanted, whenever he wanted it—to an extent. But hearing him now, demanding I spend money on him, pushing me to do it, make me forget that we had limits at all.

My erection throbbed. If I didn’t bring myself under control, I’d come, and if Master found out…

Heart pounding to an erratic rhythm, I reached for my phone again and checked my conversation history with Master. Following the two previously sent pictures of my body was a hyperlink. I recognized the site—Master had sent me there before.

“You know what to do, don’t you, Troy?” Master asked coolly. “If you waste my money by ordering the wrong size, we’re going to have serious problems. You may speak.”

“Yes, Master. I won’t make another mistake.” I tapped the link. The page loaded, and as the product image popped up on the screen, I had to suck in a breath. Master had linked me to tiny, cheeky lace panties, the same pretty red color the ice had left my balls. Red ribbons crisscrossed down the front like the laces on a corset. When Master slipped into them, the tight front panel and the lace that bound it would keep his cock snug. The red color against his skin would look sinful. When he turned while wearing them, the small back panel would only partially cover the curve of his ass.

Fuck.

Precum seeped from the slit of my cock. I fought orgasm.

“At just three hundred dollars, they’re a fraction of what you spent on yourself today,” Master said. There was a bite to his tone that made me hunger to hear more. “Hand-crafted, designer, expertly assembled… tell me, did you get this kind of luxury out of whatever it is you spent that money on? Are you going to cherish it half as much as I cherish the idea of these panties? You may speak.”

“No.” I swallowed. A lump in my throat brought on from excitement made it difficult to speak, and my lust-fogged brain made assembling coherent sentences a struggle. “No, Master.”

“I didn’t think so.” There was a moment of silence, then, “Click the button, Troy. Buy the panties for me. It’s my money, isn’t it? What are you waiting for?”

A juddering shiver worked its way up my spine. Precum oozed from my slit, trailing down my shaft to pool on my chilled balls. Unable to resist, I brought my water-wet hand to my cock and started to stroke slowly as my anticipation built. My free thumb hovered over the “buy now” button. All of my credentials were saved to the site, and my payment information was already on file…

One click and I’d give Master another small pleasure. One click and my time—my life—would materialize in this purchase and be given to the man who controlled my world.

“Troy?”

I tapped the button. My hand tightened around my dick, and I pumped furiously as the page went white and the loading bar at the top expended chunks at a time. When the confirmation page appeared, stating that my purchase had been received and would be shipped shortly, I let out a breath that was chased by a whine.

Master would wear my panties and embody my shame. Today’s transgression would not be forgotten. Never.

“I got the confirmation email. Good boy, Troy. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Another whimper. I was close. So close.

“But that was just round one. I’ve been keeping an eye on your accounts, you know, and I think that there’s something else going on. Three thousand dollars isn’t so much for you, is it? A drop in the bucket. A minute’s worth of work. So what does that say about our budget? It’s insulting, isn’t it, that you’d give me such a small allowance each week? You can do better, Troy. You can do so much better. And so you’re going to. I just took ten thousand dollars from the account. It’s mine now. You’re never going to see it again. And I’ll be taking money regularly, whenever I want, to remind you that the money you make? None of it belongs to you. Every red cent is mine—just like you are.”

Ten thousand dollars. According to our contractual agreement, Master was allowed to withdraw that much every three months, should he feel it necessary. He’d never abused the system before, and only ever used it to make a point. But for me, it wasn’t about the money—the thrill of being denied paired with my need to provide, and it did wild and exciting things to my heart. Images bloomed in my mind, each more beautiful than the last.

Master, lounging in a hot tub at a spa, a flute of champagne suspended between his fingers, spending my money like it meant nothing to him—like I always had, and always would, be there to fund his extravagant lifestyle. Master, checked into a private suite, room service catering to him while he reclined in bed and texted me, showing me where my money had gone. Master, jetting first class to Europe, not having bothered to check his account before leaving, confident in the fact that my wealth would fund him no matter where he went, or what he did.

And if I had my way, it would.

As long as he kept telling me no, as long as he stayed strong, and confident, and fiercely independent, my account would be open for him forever. How many more times would he tell me no? How many more punishments would I suffer under his just command? So few people were brave enough to stand up to me, but Master hadn’t once hesitated to show me my place.

God, did that do it for me. I would never want anyone else.

Excitement rocketed through me, its explosive pressure no longer willing to be held back. With a strangled cry, I came. Thick, pearlescent strands of cum striped the edge of my desk.

“If I were you, I’d keep an eye on your totals so you know how much you have on hand at any given time,” Master said. “Now that our agreement has changed, you’ll need to plan around fluctuations in available income. But with any luck, that’ll light a fire under your ass, won’t it? The more you make, the more padding you’ll have for when I come to collect my share.”

And the more you can take, I thought, already starting to get hard again. The more you can bleed me dry…

“Now that we’ve had our conversation about today’s trespass, I’m done talking to you. Is there anything you have to say to me before I go? You may speak.”

Like a diver breaching the surface of the water, I sucked air into my lungs and did my best to find the composure to speak. My mind, still cloudy from orgasm, struggled to put thoughts to words, but there was one question I always asked—one question my lips knew, and could navigate no matter the pressure I was under. “How much will it take so I can see you? How much… how much so we can meet?”

“Goodbye, Troy.”

The call ended like it always did—with something only Master was brave enough to give me.

Denial.

And oh, fuck, did that turn me on.

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