Читать книгу Swansong - GM Jordan - Страница 6

Gill knew deep down inside she was made differently. For as long as she could remember her life was busy and prosperous. She was respected and well liked but hidden away was another side that she wanted to explore but couldn’t, something lurked in her dreams waiting to be released.

She remembered one Christmas at university when she had been very drunk at a student party. She had blushed as her boyfriend told his friends how great she looked naked playfully slipping down her top as they danced. Everybody cheered as she stood in just a revealing bra in the middle of the room but she hid her excitement from them and pulled her blouse up quickly. Back in her room, lying on her bed she had slipped her hand between her legs and felt how hot she was; within minutes she had climaxed. Gill wasn’t sure if it was the thrill of being displayed in public or the applause, but whatever it was she felt alive and more aroused than she had been in her life.

The door clicked shut and brought her back to her senses, her eyes focused on the room and China waited for the new arrival to come into sight, she never moved her head.

A man in his forties walked slowly across the room and poked the fire, greying around the sides his hair was cut short and neat, his silk shirt was immaculate, the jacket he wore would not have looked out of place in the 1930’s and his dark trousers danced with the red glow of the fire. Finally he turned to look at her. In the half-light of the room his eyes appeared black, he looked long and hard at China for a moment, judging her soul. “Is it true?” he finally asked. He sat back in the leather seat and crossed his legs. She could do little more than nod, her legs felt like lead and she suddenly felt sick.

“This afternoon, a little after 4pm he slipped away.” Deep inside her stomach turned a knot of nerves that got tighter.

“Why have you come to me?” he asked, his fingers made a triangle, the tips touched his lips.

“My Master asked me to give you this.” Slowly China reached into the case and handed him a sealed envelope, wax held the edges tight. Slowly the master of the house cut the seal and ran his eyes over the text, it was quite long but he read quickly.

“You are the sole heir to his estate, until such time as it is settled you will remain in my charge.”

“Yes Sir,” China said slowly, she had expected to be left alone.

“You will call me Master now,” he told her, carefully placing the letter into the desk draw.

“I’m sorry, Sir. With respect I cannot do that.” She surprised herself with the statement, and was even more surprised when he smiled. He rang the small bell on the desk and within seconds the novice reappeared.

“Take China’s case to the room next to yours, she must be exhausted from carrying it.” The girl reached for the bag but China was loathe to let go. Finally she conceded and released her grip. She turned to leave.

“Before you go… Is it correct that you wear his mark?”

China slowly raised her dress hem and turned around, her buttocks were firm and red, and she heard his surprise.

“Yes Sir. It is true as you can see.” On each cheek sat the tattooed markings of her Master, gothic text held neatly in a neat oval of black.

“I have never seen his mark displayed so permanently.”

“He was my Master,” she breathed deeply trying to remain calm.

“You will make him proud,” the man stated, “or you will answer to me.”

“Yes Sir.”