Submissive to Her Master - The Box Set by Simone Leigh

Author:Simone Leigh [Leigh, Simone]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: erotica menage, menage erotica, FFM, MFM, master and slave erotica, master, alpha male, submission, submissive woman, dominant man
Publisher: Chris Brooks
Published: 2016-10-30T23:00:00+00:00

Enticed

A Tale of Alpha Male, Master and Slave,

Ménage and Erotic Romance

Part Four of the

‘Submissive to Her Master’ Series

Author: Simone Leigh

Part Four

Enticed

I wake to a ghostly scene. Still in the heart of the night, the moon shines bright and clear over a monochrome landscape. Wraiths of mist kiss the surface of almost still waters and the trees, black and silver in the moonlight, reach upwards, silhouetted against a velvet sky.

Warm in the blankets, Brin’s arm curls around me, the warmth of his body comforting against the coolth. I inhale sharp clean air, breathing out steam, then drift back to sleep.

I wake again to bright sunshine, a clattering noise and a delicious odour.

Never had a man cooked for me before I met Brin, but now it has become his habit. I sit up, blinking against brilliant sunshine and a blue vaulted sky.

“What is that wonderful smell?”

Brin looks up from where he is poking something around in a frying pan. It sits atop the fire, revived from where we were sitting by it the night before.

“Morning.” he smiles. “Bacon and mushrooms. Eggs too in a minute.”

Lining up my brain cells. “But I hate mushrooms.”

“Didn’t you just say they smelled wonderful?”

It is hard to argue with the logic of this, so I settle for gathering up the blankets around my skin, naked to the cold air and peering over at what is cooking.

Crisp, pink and brown bacon competes for space with mushrooms sizzling in the pan.

A thought occurs to me. “Where did you get mushrooms? There weren’t any in the groceries.”

Brin head points to a dry-stone wall a few hundred yards away. “Yon meadow has horses. There’s always a good chance of field mushrooms in an unspoiled spot like this. No fertilizers or pesticides.”

Wild mushrooms?

“Are you sure they’re safe?”

Brin, head tilted, gives me an old look, then spears one at random from the pan, blows on it for a moment, and shoves it, whole, into his mouth.

“I’d not be here now if I couldn’t tell an edible mushroom from the risky kind.”

He divvies up two tin plates of food, cracks eggs one-handedly into the pan and less than a minute later serves me breakfast, not exactly in bed, but a passable stand-in.

I hate mushrooms. Tentatively I bite into one.

It is a taste from Heaven. Greedily I stuff myself with the rest of them before starting on my eggs and bacon. Brin watches me with some amusement.

“So you hate mushrooms, do you?”

A bit embarrassed by my own performance, I blush and say nothing, concentrating on my food.

“Don’t worry about it.” he says. “I was just the same as a kid. I always thought I hated mushrooms until my Dad took me on a camping trip when I was about eight. He did the same thing, fried eggs, bacon and mushrooms on an open fire in the fresh air. I’ve loved ‘em ever since.”

He sniffs, reflectively. “Anyway, it’s a good job you’ve decided you like ‘em. There’s plenty more back there and a couple of them are the size of pizzas.

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