Chapter One
Cassandra stood naked in the kitchen. There was nothing unusual about her state of undress. It was how she had to be when in the house with Sir. He loved her body—seeing her body, touching her body, using her body—and he wanted her available at all times.
She liked that—it made her feel adored to know how desired she was. But what she didn’t like so much was frying onions ready for the dinner party with her flesh so near to the pan.
“Here, I’ll do that,” Sir said, rushing over.
“Thank you.” She rested the metal spatula down and stepped away. “Sir.’
“You have to be careful.” He frowned at her then wiped his hand over his cheek. He deposited a small streak of butter there—he’d been making dessert. “I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She smiled and wiped it away with her thumb. “You’re a messy cook, Sir.”
“It usually tastes okay, though.” He grinned.
“It’s always delicious.” She pressed her lips to his. He had a dusting of stubble—he hadn’t shaved as it was the weekend—and she loved the feel of the sharp little hairs on her chin. “One quick job before you get dressed,” he said, patting her ass in a playful tap and breaking their lingering kiss
She didn’t flinch, barely even noticed the smack. She’d had her ass beaten much harder than that—quite regularly, thank you very much—and she thoroughly enjoyed it.
“Oh, what job is that?” Cassandra glanced around the kitchen. The starters were laid out ready, the steaks for the main course would be fried then topped with the onions when their visitors arrived and dessert was now in the oven, baking slowly.
“Cass...” he said with a frown.
“I mean, what’s that, Sir? What else would you like me to do?”
The crease in his brow relaxed. “Go to the bottom drawer of the fridge.”
She did as he’d instructed and made sure to bend double with her rear up and her legs parted. She wanted him to catch a glimpse of her pouty lower lips and her most private hole.
As she reached into the vegetable compartment, the spoon stopped scraping against the frying pan.
Oh yes, he’s watching.
“What am I getting?” she asked, twitching her hips from side to side.
“The ginger. There’s a fresh root in there.”
Cassandra spotted it still wrapped in a thin, clear supermarket bag. She clutched it and stood, shut the fridge door then turned. She’d been right. He was staring at her, though he was absently stirring the onions again now, the spoon once more making a grating noise.
“You little minx,” he said, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Sir?” she said, a question in her voice.
“Flaunting yourself like that to me.”
“But I was only doing what you told me to and reaching the—”
“And with no time for me to do anything about it.”
She glanced at his groin. Sure enough, the outline of his cock was visible through his jeans. But then again, that was quite a normal condition for him to be in. He seemed to be permanently aroused these days. Living as Dom and sub full-time, and not just in the bedroom, certainly seemed to be agreeing with him.
It was agreeing with her too. The decision they’d made six months ago hadn’t been taken lightly but it had been made for the right reasons. They loved each other. He wanted to care for her and she wanted to be cared for. Some might think she was trapped by having a Master, but she’d never felt freer and she’d created some of her best artwork since that pivotal moment. Now when she had her brush in her hand and a canvas in front of her the paint spoke to her— no, it more than spoke, it sang. It lifted her high, and higher still, like wind beneath her arms as she created images that had been bursting to get out of her head for years.
Her new way to live, as a sub, was a revelation, a revolution, it was part of her evolution.
“Take the ginger out of the bag, Cass,” he said, turning off the heat under the onions.
Cassandra pulled it out and examined the gnarly root. It was nearly as big as her hand with protruding nodules—one longer than her finger and twice as wide.
“I took great care choosing it,” Sir said. “There were lots in the box but I wanted that one.”
“Oh…” She held it up, wondering what was special about it.
“Yes. It’s going to be just right.”
“But we don’t have a course that needs ginger in it, Sir.” She was confused—prawn cocktail, steak and New York cheesecake weren’t ginger-requiring dishes.
“I have something that requires ginger in it,” he said, sweeping his tongue over his bottom lip and narrowing his eyes.
His tongue had left a faint sheen and Cassandra wished she could lick it off. But she couldn’t, their guests would arrive in twenty minutes. If she got him more riled up, in the mood, that wouldn’t be nearly enough time for fun. Not to mention she needed to get dressed very soon.
“What is that, Sir? That requires ginger in it?”
“Guess.” He took a small knife from the drawer and began to peel the fibrous root.
The spicy scent drifted toward Cassandra, making her think of Christmas and mulled wine and dunking biscuits in tea after long walks through the woods. “I don’t know if I can guess, Sir.”
He set the now peeled root on the chopping board. He began to carve and sculpt, shaping the ginger and removing all but the longest protrusion. “Well?”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She shrugged and shook her head. “I really don’t know.”
“What does it remind you of?”
“A… A carrot?”
“Yes, I suppose it does. But I didn’t mean another vegetable. I meant what does it remind you of that I have in my special cupboard.”
Special cupboard? That was where he kept floggers and whips, bondage straps, ball gags, vibrators, wands, lubes, handcuffs, butt plugs… Butt plugs.
She swallowed—her throat suddenly tight. Yes, that’s what it reminded her of—a butt plug. He’d carved it to the same conical, tapered shape. It even had a ridge at the bottom that would, if inserted there, stop it going too deep.
“Good girl,” he said, tipping his head and smiling. “You’ve got it, haven’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, it’s a butt plug, isn’t it, Sir?”
“Yes. It is.” He held it up to the light and spun it in his fingers. Its moist surface shone and a few fibrous strands hung from it. “And, my darling girl, it’s going to heat you up from the inside out in the most delightful way.”
“But…”
“There is no but.” His voice was stern. “Now go and get dressed. Our guests will be here soon. Wear your red dress and put your hair up. I’d like to see those new earrings too. The ones I bought you from Oxford Street last weekend.”
“Yes, Sir.” She nodded and watched as he placed the ginger on a small flowery plate and set it on the windowsill. Was he really going to just leave it there? While they had guests in the house? Yes, of course he was. Their friends wouldn’t suspect for one moment that her husband had carved a butt plug out of ginger root, and that he intended, as soon as they’d stepped from the house, to ease it into her behind.