Masters at Arms - By Kallypso Masters Page 0,43
knack for the business end of things—and Carmela enjoyed being activities coordinator and working on publicity. They’d do fine. Of course, Mama would continue to pull the strings. She wasn’t one to relinquish control.
“You and Carmela have done a great job these past couple months,” Marc said as they walked out the service exit. “You’re going to do fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Marc squeezed his little brother at the nape of his neck. “Hell, yeah, Sandro.”
The wind whipped at their faces as they crossed the grounds to one of the more isolated cabins. He wondered what could be wrong. He’d always made sure the resort was maintained to perfection.
Marc knocked and spoke through the door, “Marc D’Alessio!” No answer. He knocked again and heard a woman’s voice inviting him to come in. He inserted the key into the lock, turned down the handle, and pushed the door open, motioning for Sandro to precede him.
A couple of steps into the cabin, Sandro came to a dead stop. “Damn!”
Damn was right. Why did he have to have a major freaking problem on his last night? Marc nudged his brother further into the cabin so he could begin to assess the situation.
Oh, shit. On the floor, beside the overstuffed loveseat, knelt a middle-aged woman with brassy red hair and fake boobs, clenching a purple-handled riding crop between her teeth—naked as the day she was born. She also had the nip-tucks to keep everything firmly in place, despite her age.
The woman looked confused as her gaze shifted from Marc to Sandro, then settled on Marc, probably because he was the taller of the two. Her hand reached up to take the crop out of her mouth and asked, “Which one of you is Master Marco?”
Shit. His reputation had preceded him.
Sandro looked at him and grinned. “Is there something you forgot to train me to take over for you, bro?”
Brat.
Marc recalled that week nine years ago when Master Marco had been born. Seventeen, restless, and horny as hell. Then a sexy, bored cougar he’d given ski lessons to took him under her wing at night for some private lessons of her own design. By the time the week had ended, he knew more about bondage and discipline than any under-aged kid ought to know. The euphoric feeling of control and power he’d achieved in Dom space had him hooked for life.
In the beginning, the diversion kept him from going stark-raving mad from boredom. Of course, he’d never taken money from the women. They were paying enough to stay at the lodge. He was just…an added amenity.
He’d also drawn the line at having intercourse with them. He had friends with benefits for that, although most of them weren’t interested in exploring their kinky sides. Until Melissa. So, Master Marco provided a select few in-the-know resort patrons with whatever level of bondage, discipline, and sado-masochistic kink they chose. He preferred bondage and discipline best, though.
When he met Melissa, he thought he’d found himself the perfect submissive. He’d grown tired of catering to bored, rich older women. Most were anything but submissive. Hell, they’d called all the shots. Having them top him from the bottom was about as sexy as stale wine.
But, shit, he had loved turning their asses crimson red with his firm hand or whatever implement from his toy bag they preferred.
But that was then.
Melissa had topped from the bottom, as well. What was he doing to attract such quasi-submissive women? Maybe he needed to take Dom lessons.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, but Master Marco doesn’t work here any longer.”
Marc politely extricated himself from the indelicate situation and advised Sandro to forget what he’d seen. Master Marco had now officially been eliminated from the amenities offered at the resort.
Someday he’d like to explore the lifestyle with a woman interested in true submission. As he walked back to the lobby, Marc wondered if he’d ever find such a woman—one he could train himself. One who didn’t have a plastic face and a pair of matching plastic boobs.
Focus, man.
First, he had a four-year enlistment in the Navy to fulfill. Maybe in that time he’d become a man he could live with.
* * *
Five months later, May 2004, Camp Pendleton, California
Marc fell back on the rack, too tired to remove his boots. Every muscle in his body ached—some he’d never become acquainted with before. What the hell had he gotten himself into? If he’d known becoming a Navy Hospital Corpsman might land him in the Marines, he’d never have signed the damned