The Stranger Master (Vol. 2 - Total Control) Read Online Free Page B

way.'
     
    And Katherine saw a wistful look of remembering in the woman's eyes, a flash of hidden, happy memories but also a fleeting shadow of regret. Katherine felt at once that somewhere, sometime in the past, Madame Sworde had also served a man, and her intuition told her it was the same man she was trying to serve now. Her man. Her Dominic. Katherine felt a mixture of jealousy, excitement and almost overwhelming curiosity welling up inside her.
     
    'Tell me about him. Please.' Katherine pleaded, eager to learn something, anything about the man she felt she had known for so long now, yet in truth she knew absolutely nothing about at all. Madame Sworde smiled and shook her head slowly from side to side.
     
    'I am not allowed to tell you much,' she said softly, 'there are certain things about him he insists you learn personally from him. He chooses which knowledge you shall have at your disposal and which you shall have not. I...,' Madame Sworde sipped her champagne and then continued in a hushed, almost reverent tone, 'I serve him too. And I have my instructions.'
     
    Katherine felt a rush of disappointment. Here she had hoped to finally discover something substantial about her Master. She pressed on.
     
    'He said we would meet soon,' she told Madame Sworde, 'but he didn't say when. Do you know when I will finally stand face to face with my Sir?'
     
    Madame Sworde shook her head again.
     
    'I am sorry, my dear, I know nothing of any meeting between the two of you. But I can reassure you, if that is what he said, then that is what will come to be. He is a man of his word. Now, olives, and more champagne. Then let us attend to this night's particular business.'
     
    A wave of her hand brought the waiter back to their table. Madame Sworde ordered another bottle of champagne and a huge tray of thick, ripe, black olives. Over the next few hours, Katherine would learn just how much Madame loved champagne, how much she adored olives, and exactly how she had become the Dominant Mother responsible for the training and cultivation of all of her Sir's submissives...
     
    Born the only child of Christian Arab parents, Madame Sworde grew up on a thriving olive plantation on the outskirts of Jerusalem. She'd had a different name then, and a different life. Her father had been a man with acute business skills and over the years the family became what Madame Sworde described as 'obscenely wealthy'. Nannys, au-pairs, private tutors, servants and chauffeurs, this was the childhood Madame Sworde had enjoyed.
     
    Then as a young teenage girl she had been sent away to the most exclusive and expensive boarding schools, where she was taught how to behave within the circles of the fabulously rich, taught the etiquette of the movers and shakers of the financial planet. Taught to be a Lady. Aged 21, she had returned home with majors in Art, History and Philosophy from Cambridge University. By then she was fluent in six languages and was quite simply, beautiful. She settled back into her happy, carefree life of luxury, and waited for a potential husband to call...
     
    The mortar bombs came without warning. Ripping huge craters into the olive groves, blinding and maiming a dozen of the migrant workers. In the confusion that followed, a small band of Arab terrorists overran the main house, shooting dead anyone that got in their way. Madame could vividly remember the shouting and the clatter of machine guns as she cowered with her mother on the library floor. Her father, pale and shaking, stood behind the door, a scimitar held high over his left shoulder.
     
    When the first terrorist burst into the library, her father swung the sword in a high, sweeping arc, which cut off the intruder's head with one clean swipe. He had just enough time to plunge the weapon into the heart of a second attacker when he was caught in a hail of automatic gunfire, his body twisting and turning and bleeding. He was dead before he hit the floor. Dragging the kicking,