Ana Adored: Mistress of the Castle (Masters of the Castle)

by Anastasia Vitsky

  "I'm so sorry," she tried to say, but just as she opened her mouth that hated melody, 'What a Wonderful World', jangled out from one of Miranda's pockets. Ana stomped her foot. "Jellybeans!" Even before Miranda could step away, she flung herself back out of Miranda's arms, snapped back around and put herself firmly in the corner again. Her tears came faster now, hot with anger—but also with shame, because no matter how she tried, she just couldn't seem to summon up an ounce of understanding for the constantly interrupting 'emergency'.

  Miranda excused herself to the bedroom to take the call in private, leaving Ana to sulk. She slapped the tears from her face, and for the first time, found herself wishing she were with Peyton right now rather than here. Peyton wasn't perfect, but at least she'd always been present.

  Even more ashamed now than before, Ana could barely stand to look at Miranda when the taller woman walked back into the living room.

  "When will you be back?" Ana asked, dully.

  "The only place I'm going," Miranda said, coming back to put her arms around Ana again, "is down to the photographers, so we can get our picture taken, and then over to the Gift Shop, where you and I are going to do our shopping." She pressed a kiss to the side of Ana's brow, the only part of her face she could reach because Ana wouldn't turn and look at her. "Then we're going to come back up here, and we're going to have a discussion I really wish we didn't have to have."

  It wasn't spelled out, but Ana knew what form that discussion was going to take. Even knowing Miranda wasn't to blame didn't make her sudden resentment any easier to swallow.

  "Come and eat your lunch," Miranda finally said, giving her brow another tender kiss.

  Ana shook her head. "I think I'd like to stand here a little while longer. Is that okay?"

  "Yes, lovely."

  Miranda went back to the kitchen to finish making up their sandwiches. She brought two plates to the table and sat down to eat, while Ana stood, stubborn and teary-eyed, facing the wall. Miranda's phone rang again; this time it was little more than a chirp, signifying she'd received a text. She still got up and went into the bedroom to take it in private.

  It would be hours later when Ana stopped to reflect, but even then she wouldn't be able to say why she'd done it. As soon as she heard the bedroom door close, she came out of the corner far enough to open her desk drawer and take out her phone. She thought about calling her mother, just to hear a comforting voice. She thought about calling Peyton, too, but that only made her feel worse. In the end, she slipped the phone into her pocket. After all, if Miranda didn't care enough about her to obey her own no cell phones rule, then why should she?

  Crossing the little room, she sat down at the table to wait. She ate her lunch, but every bite was unhappy and it tasted like ash.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It was an uncomfortable shopping trip, and not just because the mood between Ana and Miranda was strained. Miranda knew she was making it worse. Ana was quiet, withdrawn, from the moment they left the employee's third floor apartments, all the way down through the maze of castle corridors to the main floor gift shop. The part of Miranda that was a woman in love wanted so badly to change her mind, to fold Ana in her arms, brush her hair back, kiss her soundly and forgive all without the slightest consequence. The Mistress in her was determined to make Ana think. She didn't for a second believe Ana meant to imply that she was less than worthwhile, but if she couldn't teach her to change the way she thought of herself, or even better, to identify those less than stellar comments before she said them, then that behavior would never change.

  Peyton. It all came back to her. However many months they had been together, it had left its mark, and now Miranda was having to clean up the damage left behind by another woman's abusive tongue. With every brewing step Miranda took as she led her lovely submissive across the foyer to the beautifully carved gift shop door, all she could think about, apart from the coming disciplinary scene, was how glad she was that Peyton wasn't anywhere on the Castle premises. Because if she were, Miranda doubted she'd be able to keep her professional demeanor cool and non-confrontational. Oh no. Someday she truly hoped to get the chance to talk to Peyton. When she did, it was going to be extremely confrontational.

  The Gift Shop was always open. It ran twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and considering the quantity of clientele that walked these halls at any given time of the year, it was never empty. Today was no exception. When Miranda held the door open for Ana to precede her, a quick scope of the retail space brought her a count of nine other patrons, not including the attendant at the register. He was sitting on a high stool, a book in his hand—Crime and Punishment, of all things. Not exactly light reading, and apart from the title, definitely not Castle oriented. He glanced up when he saw her, visibly straightening in his seat.

  "Afternoon," he greeted, glancing from her to Ana and then, curiosity blossoming behind an otherwise painstakingly professional demeanor, back to Miranda. "Can I help you find something, Mistress?"

  "No thank you, Casey," she returned. "I think I know where everything is."

  She didn't linger to chit chat. One proprietary hand settling in the small of Ana's back, she guided her past the scented and flavored lubricants, through the displays of lacy lingerie, and straight back to the wall dedicated to impact play. Almost everything here had been made on Castle grounds, by Masters and Mistresses who'd augmented their careers with years spent cultivating hobbies in woodcraft and leatherworking. She knew at a glance who had made what by the telltale 'signature', some little more than single letters, stamped into leather or carved discreetly on wood handles. Master Kade, for instance, was all over the straps and floggers. It was his work that she gravitated toward first, pulling a heavy prison-style strap down off the wall. She held it only a few seconds, feeling the weight and balance, before changing her mind. She didn't think she could bring herself to use something so severe on her little Ana.

  Her Ana…

  That stopped Miranda. For a long time, she stood silently, with the focus of her consideration fidgeting nervously by her side and trying very hard not to look at the heavy strap Miranda still held. What a dreadful thing it was to have to punish the woman one loved, especially when she hadn't yet had the chance to explore—much less express—the full depth of her feelings.

  Miranda drew a steadying breath and did her best to fold herself into the familiar mannerisms of a Castle Mistress. She also replaced the strap on its hook on the wall. A stern hand might well be required, she decided, but it should be a hand tempered with gentleness. Especially since Peyton had already freely dispensed that other kind of… Miranda couldn't bring herself to call it discipline. She was equally determined not ever to be mistaken for another Peyton.

  "What do you think?" she said, calling Ana's attention away from where it had drifted to a giggling couple in the vibrator aisle two rows down.

  Ana's whole face flushed, her mortification so high that the rosy color had branched all the way up to the roots of her hair and down her neck to stain the soft mounds of her breasts, pushed up into enticing mounds by the boned corset she wore. Whether it was because her modesty found it difficult to reconcile being in a sex shop, or because she wasn't sure what was being asked of her, Miranda wasn't certain. "About the strap?"

  "About any of them." Miranda gestured to the wall and, reluctantly, Ana allowed her gaze to wander over the wide display of paddles, canes, crops, straps and floggers.

  Twisting her tightly gripped fingers, Ana swallowed and then her shoulders slumped. "What do you want me to say about them?"

  "I want you to tell me which of these would make the best Naughty Ana implement, used only in cases of real disciplinary correction?"

  It was like sending someone who had never been switched before out to the nearest hickory tree with a penknife and the directions, 'Cut a good one.' With no experience and only a lot of anxiety to guide her, Ana faced the wall again. Her small breasts heaved above the corset of her dress as her
breathing quickened. It wasn't from pleasure either; Miranda was gratified to see. She was taking this seriously, her nervous fidgeting intensifying the longer she stood there, studying her options.

  The first thing she reached for was a flogger, though Miranda suspected it was the color that drew her rather than the potential chastisement it could deliver. It was white and purple (her favorite color), made of kangaroo hide with more than thirty long falls. More thud than sting, Miranda knew, even before she reached for it. Still, she took it down off the wall and stepped back. With Ana watching, her nervous eyes taking in every motion, Miranda gave it a few practice swings, making herself familiar with the heft.

  "Nice," she commented. As well made as it was, it didn't surprise her at all to find Kade's mark on the handle. She motioned for Ana to turn around. "Lift your skirts."

  Ana's already wide eyes got bigger. She darted a nervous look at those people closest to them. No one was watching them, even Casey had turned his attention back to his book, but in the way shoppers had of browsing their way through the aisles, there were several close enough to be a concern for someone as shy as Ana. One was absorbed in the book section, thumbing through a copy of Topping From Below by Laura Reese. Two women were picking out gag gifts from among the anatomically correct cake pans. The couple in the vibrator aisle were still chuckling their way through the selection of cock cages and vibrators slim enough to fit inside without causing too much discomfort once he—Miranda presumed—was also wearing it. The potential of public scrutiny alone was probably more than punishment enough for what had taken place upstairs.

  Already Miranda could feel herself wavering.

  Ana sidled closer, furtively begging, "But… what if someone sees?"

  "Do you really want to disobey me further?" Miranda countered, forcing herself to stay the course she had set. After so many years in the lifestyle, she knew well the dangers of issuing a threat and not following through. She had yet to meet the submissive who, although initially relieved at the reprieve, didn't later suffer worse because of it. Consistency; it was the most important aspect of any domestic discipline relationship, second only to communication. And, as Miranda knew well, one subs felt the lack of most keenly when it went absent.

  How many guests were here, right this moment, specifically because of the Castle's greatest illusion: that of a perfect Dominant: one who never relaxed control, and never failed to deliver upon the promise of sensual, sexual, or corporal punishment whenever, wherever, or however their partner invited it? Ana may not have known what she was inviting in the kitchen when she'd let her mouth dig her into a hole of trouble, but she desperately needed to know Miranda would always be there for her. Even if 'for her' sometimes felt as if she were standing against her.

  "Pick your implement," Miranda said, her throat so tight that for a moment she was afraid she might choke on the command.

  Her discomfiture deepening—Miranda's love-struck heart felt for her, it really did—Ana turned her back to face out into the store. Her flush brightened, but she still bent, gathering the hem of her skirt in shaking hands before pulling it up in back as high as her tense thighs.

  "All the way," Miranda told her, waiting until she complied before adding, "Bend over all the way, lovely."

  Obeying, Ana's furtive looks at the other patrons lasted only until Miranda took that first practice swing and then struck, laying two perfect th-whack, th-whacks, back and forehand strokes full across each of Ana's quivering bottom cheeks in turn.

  Lips tightly compressed to hold back her squeal, Ana vaulted upright. Letting her skirt fall, she caught her buttocks, rubbing and bouncing fitfully. It was more embarrassment than any real hurt that made her do so. Miranda hadn't struck anywhere near hard enough to do more than put a faint blush on those nether cheeks. It might sting a little, but Miranda knew this was no Naughty Ana implement.

  Draping the flogger over her shoulder, Miranda directed her attention back to the wall. "Pick again."

  "What am I looking for?" Ana asked, her tone more bewildered than complaining.

  "Something you're not going to like," Miranda replied, which only amplified Ana's anxiety and unhappiness. This truly was a punishment for her, Miranda realized. This, and perhaps no more than one or two follow-up smacks might honestly be all that was required to make sure the lesson took root. If it happened again, then Miranda would have to be severe, but already Ana looked close to tears. Perhaps she could relent a little, after all.

  Her finger trembling, Ana pointed at one of the canes, and looked to Miranda for approval. "That one?"

  "It would hurt," Miranda agreed, but the wielding of such a thing would require Ana to be positioned over the foot of a bed or the back of a chair, with herself standing some distance behind her. Delivering a real punishment was going to be hard enough—on them both—without the added torture of separation between them. No, Miranda decided. If she was going to do this, then she needed to be able to hold Ana while it happened. She needed to touch her, comfort while the hurt was being dispensed, so that Ana would know from the first dreadful swat to the last, that she was not suffering alone.

  Miranda let her expert eye rove over the choices before she finally pointed. "That one, I think, is what we're looking for. Bring it to me."

  Giving her bottom one last rueful rub, Ana reached up high to take the hairbrush down off its display shelf. It was long, a full twelve inches from tip to tip, with a curve to the handle to aid a firm grip and an oval head no larger than Miranda's open palm. Made of pale oak, the wood was light, but thick. Miranda didn't need more than a single testing smack to her own hand to know it would impart a devilish bite.

  "Turn around," she said, leveling Ana with a serious look.

  Ana's dark eyes both pleaded and descended into unhappy resignation. She turned and, without needing to be told, bent down and gathered the hem of her skirt again. She lifted, haltingly baring her own backside. Soft, smooth, pale bottom flesh, barely stained pink from the flogger's kiss.

  Miranda moved into position at her side. Wrapping her arm around Ana's hips, she tucked her securely into her side and let the wide, flat head of the hairbrush come to rest in ominous coolness against the fullest curve of her right nate. "Are you going to take better care of what you say from here on out?"

  Beneath the feather-light caress of the hairbrush, Ana's bottom tensed. "Y-yes, ma'am."

  Miranda's already soft will melted even further. Two crisp smacks echoed through the gift shop, each one echoed by first a shrill gasp, and then an even shriller squeal. Two was all Miranda could bring herself to deliver, but she kept Ana in position, her hands gripping fitfully at her skirts to keep from grabbing her stinging flesh where twin prints of the brush were already beginning to stand out.

  People might not have been looking before, but that familiar sound called attention to them from all over the store. The man at the book rack glanced over at them with one eyebrow raised. The women at the cake pans were snickering and casting them looks. Even the couple in the vibrators aisle glanced at them over the display shelves.

  Patting Ana's hip, Miranda let her absorb the lesson for a moment longer before she took her arm from around her waist and allowed her to rise.

  Her northern cheeks were far, far redder than the southern pair. Letting her dress fall, Ana locked her hands in front of her and stubbornly resisted the need to rub. Miranda knew hairbrushes very well. Under those skirts, the sting had to be unbearable. She could still remember how it had felt the few times Don had applied this very correction. She also still remembered the dread associated with having to go and bring the hairbrush to him. When she held the implement out to Ana, she saw that same measure of reluctance to touch it in Ana's eyes.

  She made Ana carry it to the front of the store. They had to wait in line behind two other customers—the man with his book and the two women with their twin-breasted cake pan—before they reached the register.

  "I love the flogger," a woman spoke up from
behind them, just as they were about to hand their purchases to Casey.

  "It's a Castle original," Miranda said, glancing back long enough to give the Gorean-dressed slave girl behind them a practiced smile.

  "They make those here?"

  "They do indeed."

  "Can I touch it?"

  Up until that moment, Ana had been facing forward, her head bowed, a picture of penitence. But when Miranda started to hand the flogger back to the other woman, Ana quickly turned. She all but snatched the flogger from them both and quickly put it on the counter, pushing it toward Casey and out of the other woman's reach. Ana didn't look at either one of them directly, but Miranda could have sworn she saw flickering hints of jealousy cutting through her blushing unhappiness.

  The Gorean slave girl took a step back in surprise.

  "I apologize for her rudeness," Miranda said tactfully, but it was hard to keep a cool tone when all she wanted to do was wrap Ana in her arms and let her know with a touch, if not actual words, that she wasn't flirting, nor was the woman behind them the slightest threat to her affections. "Ana's just received her very first punishment spanking. Apparently, it's been so long overdue that she needs another."

  Ana's flush deepened.

  "Oh," the woman behind them said, then she giggled. "I see."

  Although Miranda knew the answer full well, she drove the embarrassment home by turning to Casey and asking, "Is it too late to have something engraved in the hairbrush?"

  Casey kept his gaze on Miranda and his tone professional, despite the glimmer of amusement that lit the depths of his blue eyes. "Nope. You can leave it with me, if you like. I'll send it back to Master Vin, or you can take it down to him yourself. He's always in his shop at this time of day. At least then you won't have to wait to put it to proper use."