*Insert standard disclaimer, the characters belong to Meyer.

Alright! Are we ready for a bit more smut? This is where we officially go from the dreams and thoughts to the actions and interactions. Thank you again to Solea for the flattering comments. You are more than welcome to mention this to anyone, I am truly flattered.
And I apologize for any grammar mistakes, I am better with writing numbers than words (P=dF/dA).
Reviews are welcomed!

EPOV

What the hell was that? I thought as I ran. All I could see in my mind was her talking to this 'Lester' by the title I should have. Dear God, the noises she made, the slight motions she performed. If only I could have been in that dream. She would be doing far more than simple noise making if she said "thank you, Master," and "yes Sir," to me. Screw Lester.

I stopped in my tracks when I noticed the rhyme. Something in my mind clicked. That other night-- was she talking to 'Lester' or simply a "Sir"? Lester-- yes sir--

Before I could calm myself, I leapt into the air with such excitement I had to catch onto the tree to prevent from falling on my ass. I felt like the pre-pubescent boy I have not been for over a century. I felt like any young male would whose female neighbor let him hold her hand for the first time.

"What if you are not her 'sir'?" An annoying, now outright evil, part of my mind asked.

I froze.

The logical left side of my brain jumped in to my defense.

"Who else would she call "Sir"? It asked of the insecure previous thought.

"--Black," it replied.

Most of my mind scoffed. The rest flared with the buried jealousy I refused to recognize or ever allow to show. Black had been able to goad a bit of intimacy with Bella right before the battle with Victoria and her loons. The rational side could not blame him. Isabella Swan was a beautiful, charming, unique, empathetic, bright, and special young woman. The flattering adjectives conjured at her image flew to infinity. I could not blame or think less of Black for having feelings for Bella.

Plus, he helped Bella fight the depression that I left her with; that, nearly a full year later, I was still fighting it over with guilt. I held a respect for him, and I thanked him for caring for her. I knew he was her friend, and I would not fight that. I knew she would want him at our wedding, so I sent him an invitation.

The overly active mind returned to the present. I would allow her five more minutes before returning.

Allow? I sounded like my sexist Gramps. My mind returned to the first syllable of the adjective, and then it jumped to the word Bella whispered: Master.

She said it was a wonderful dream. Would she like begging to climax? Could she like the thought of addressing me in such a formal tone?

"Who said it was you?" is a stupid question. Why would it not be me? Yet, the memory of all the thoughts Black shoved upon me returned. I could see him lusting after Bella, all the images he made up just to agitate me. A rush of suppressed anger and passion flew through me. Before logic could return, I was back to her house. The window was open.

Charlie had left.

An unholy passion began to boil through my stolen blood. She was all alone. She was waiting for me.

She was mine.

I practically teleported to her side. She was dressed in a casual shirt and hip hugging jeans. I could tell from the cold breeze coming in through the window she was bra-less. Soon, I would make her shirtless as well.

I chose to focus on her eyes. They were shocked, but not afraid. Her pulse was quick, and her breathing heavy, as if she had just exercised. She was about to exercise.

"Isabella," I growled. I smoothly walked to her. She did not step back.

'Good girl.'

"Do you know how much your actions last night affected me?" She silently shook her head. I stepped to her, and stood so close I could feel her breath. Dear God, I could smell her arousal. "You are not afraid of me, are you?" She shook her head again. Before I could stop myself, I grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her chin up. I could now not only feel her breath, I could taste it too. I stared into her eyes.

"Do you trust me?" I asked, forcing my voice to be calm. She tried to nod, but her head could not move. Bella let out a moan, but it did not have the edge of pain in it.

"Yes, Master," she replied.

Ha! My mind cheered to the skeptical, ever-suspicious part of my reluctantly Victorian mind. "I am hers, and she is mine!"

My physical self had released her hair, and began to stroke her neck. She let out a pleasant hum. I thought of the tips my secret stash gave newbies like myself to the beginning of any scene. Step one: Define the safe words before you begin.

"Love," I said, my voice obscurely calm. "if I begin to push too much, say 'caution flag,' if you need me to stop, say 'red flag'. Understand?"

My love nodded. My hand had slipped down her back, pulling her lower torso into my erection. I wanted to show her exactly what she did to me. She giggled. Giggled? I arched an eyebrow.

"Something funny, Isabella?" I loved using her full name.

"I was worried that your previous lack of reaction to my advances was because you couldn't, well, have one of these." She smiled, and stroked me through my jeans. I took her hand firmly, but with care. My eyebrow remained arched.

"And why would that be?" I inquired. She blushed. I raised my hand up her spine, and trailed it forward to caress her shoulder and the front of her neck.

"Well--"my hand skimmed to the top of her clothed breast"--you don't have your own blood, and blood is needed to give you, you know." She stopped talking and averted her eyes. I moved my hand up and grabbed her chin.

"Say it!" I growled. She will talk dirty to me.

"An erection," she whispered. My grip tightened ever so slightly.

"Louder!"

"An erection!" Her hips bucked into mine. My grip loosened, and my fingers trailed downwards until they grazed her left nipple. Her hips bucked again.

"Master, what do you want from me? Let me please you," Isabella moaned. I felt sinister, yet for the first time, I reveled in it.

I removed my hand, and she whimpered at the loss.

"Strip," I commanded. Her hands went to the base of her cotton tee, and she all but tore it off. Her pants went next, and she was left in nothing but a pair of lilac colored panties.

"Stop Isabella." I said. Her eyes met with mine, and they were still full of trust, with a fresh hint of curiosity. "Remove my garments now." She responded immediately, pulling of my shirt. Her fingers skimmed down my chest, stopping at the waist of my pants.

"Kneel," and she did with swiftness above her average grace. "Now you may proceed." Before she unbuttoned them, she stroked me through the denim. I groaned.

I grabbed her hand and stared at her, the groan converting into an aggressive growl.

"Did I tell you to touch me? Answer!" I barked. Her eyes still showed no fear, but were alight with desire.

"No, sir."

"Rise." Isabella stood. "Now, head over to the bed and lean onto with your hands, keep your eyes on the bed." Wearing nothing but her underwear, she walked over and assumed the position I commanded.

"Good girl, Isabella." I followed her to the bed, stopping right behind her. I caressed her back, and smoothed all of her hair over one shoulder. I leaned into her ear. "Remember your words? You may answer." I murmured.

"Yes, Master." She whispered.

"If I approach or cross the line, use them. We have to be careful."

"Yes, Master," she whispered again.

"Good girl," I told her as I tore off her panties. "Now count."

::Fans self with hand:: I have never shared anything I have ever written like this before. How'd I do? Would you like more detail? Less?