The Master Puppeteer Book Novels & Stories

Once I shall be able to set my hands free, these clowns shall be leaving my fun fare. But I guess by the way that everyone is just standing around, that they are awaiting the presence of their Master. Well, there is only one Master in this house, and that is me. So as I look over to the boys who seem to be beyond frustrated, I hope that they will have some sort of a plan. I am soon ripped into reality as I see their hands are tied to the back of a chair; therefore, there is no getting daggers to cut this ever so right ropes from our hands and feet. Then suddenly, I see Edward begin to stir. I do not care much for our captures, for I shoutout for him.

He sat on a chair far enough from Elena's view who was busy in the kitchen, resting his shaking legs after Zachary Dawson's gun was pressed against his forehead a while ago. The young master's mood seemed to improve after Elena herself delivered the pudding to his office once again. He forbid anyone disturbing Elena in doing her work, where Ben and Thomas assumed that Zachary Dawson only wanted to eat the food that Elena cooked with her own hands. After the pudding, the demand for dessert kept coming again and again, even every hour. It made her think, did the young master really have that much appetite? It was only after Elena delivered his fourth snack that the young master's strange reque

I’d been gone from the world for five years, but I still understood the suffocating weight of desperation. "Your master must be cruel," I said gently. "He should have listened to your side of the story. It’s not fair to blame you for everything—especially when it’s his child running off. Parenting isn’t just the responsibility of a maid." She turned to me, her tear-streaked face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Are you... serious? Have you been living under a rock?" I blinked, caught off guard. "Why would you say that?" "Wait," she said, her voice sharp with realization. "You don’t know who Justin Hunt is?"

"Keep an eye on them. Make sure they don't find a lead. This is only the beginning, you understand? This is just the first act in a much grander play." "Yes, sir," the man replied, his voice trembling slightly. "Good," I said, my voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "This is going to be… fun." I ended the call and took another long drag from my cigar, the smoke swirling around me like a malevolent spirit. The game had just begun, and I, the puppet master, was eager to see how the pieces would fall. I leaned back against the railing, a triumphant grin spreading across my face. This was my masterpiece, a symphony of chaos and despair, and I intended to savor every single note.

“Ahhh—Master—!” “You like that?” Jerald murmured, leaning down, voice dripping into her ear like hot honey. “You like when I spank your disobedient ass raw, Cupcake?” Her body jerked, her fingers twisting into the sheets. “Y–yes… ahh—yes, Master…” “That’s right.” His hand ran over her now-flushed ass cheek, soothing and threatening at the same time. “You sound so fucking sweet when you moan. Like a needy little whore who knows who her little needy body belongs to.”

The collective sound sent a fresh chill down her spine. Stringmaster, standing by the box, spread their hands, the strings embedded in their skin glowing red. Arah could feel the power, hear the faint hum of magic. With a swift flick of their wrists, the white puppets shot into the air, bathed in crimson light, floating like grim specters. She watched in awe.

"Kyra, listen. I didn't bring you here just out of pity. You're my sub, that means it's my responsibility to take care of you, to help you heal and grow. But I have demands too. Needs. This isn't charity." She nodded slowly, heart racing. The air thickened, the contract's weight returning. "I know, Master," she whispered, fiddling with the mug's handle, her voice soft but steady. He studied her, noticing the nervous tic, the way she bit her lower lip just a fraction, endearingly cute, even in vulnerability. "Are you ready to truly enter my world? To trust me with that?" She met his eyes, nerves fluttering like butterflies, but she nodded, a small, determined dip of her chin. "Yes. I'm ready.

"I shall remain in my chambers in prayer all day." ​"But the Pope—" ​"Tell him to come tomorrow." ​For the first time in twenty years, Elenor gave an order of her own free will. And as the owner of the Great Temple, no one dared oppose her. ​"Good. You’re finally learning how to shoo away the vermin," Killian praised, his hand still lingering between her thighs. “Just take my blood and go." ​"I thought you had finally accepted me." The man’s expression darkened instantly.

he said, "This garden existed from a long time and holds the childhood of the Master. Even Master's father grew up at here." "Wow," she said. °°° The conversation she had with the old man didn't go on for long, but she truly enjoyed it. It was the most normal chat she had ever since her arrival here. Nonetheless, the old man made her crave for her own grandparents when he started to talk about his grandchildren, and this made her recall about her parents. Having gone so many days without them made her miss them terribly. Although wearing a smile on her face she tried to not think about them, the heavy feeling in her chest did not ease this time around.

However, Monica treated the Cult Master with no particular enthusiasm or coldness as she had never been truly happy ever since moving to the island. Monica poured him a cup of tea and gently blew on it before asking, “May I ask what made you so happy?” The Cult Master patted the empty space beside him and signaled for her to sit there before smilingly explained, “Darling, I found an interesting book written by the Thirteenth Cult Master during his spare time in the library.” “The book recorded a type of ventriloquism which could change a person’s voice. I find it interesting so I learned a thing or two. Let me show you!” said the Cult Master enthusiastically.