by Maren Smith
He smeared her lips with her own fluid before pushing both fingers all the way into her mouth. She was sure he would gag her, but he only coated the whole of her tongue, pushing his scarred fingers in and out in a slow mockery of the fucking she so desperately craved.
“Just in case you need reminding of what the truth tastes like,” he said, fingers withdrawing past her lips once more. Reaching up to grip the top of her head, he applied increasing pressure until she bent, bowing down under the unspoken command until her head was all the way on the floor. She tried to keep her ass down, but he used her own underwear against her. Catching a fistful of ruffles, he turned the cotton into a floss wedgie, forcing her to lift her hips until her ass was sticking all the way up.
Her tiny bib of a white skirt slipped down her back, offering no cover against anyone who might happen into the second floor of the library. And the door was right there. She wasn’t hidden. She was in full sight. A moment later, she felt the airy breeze of absolute humiliation as Reeve skinned her underwear halfway down her thighs.
“I’m going to go get Daddy Eric,” he told her. “If you aren’t in this exact spot and this exact position when I return, my belt will take the hide right off your backside, do you understand me?”
“Yes,” she whispered. It was embarrassing, but it was arousing too. And the worst of it wasn’t being left like this, with her head down and her naked ass thrust up high. Exposed to anyone who happened by.
It wasn’t the reaction of the ‘schoolgirls’ who entered the library shortly after Reeve walked out and who burst into laughter the second they saw her.
The worst of it wasn’t even the tickling liquid of her building excitement as it followed the curve of her thighs all the way to her knees, or the haunting taste that lingered with the phantom pressure of his fingers on her tongue. Despite the embarrassment—maybe because of it—she was more aroused now than she could ever remember being in her life.
The worst of it was now Reeve knew it, too.
Chapter 6
Reeve stood outside the library, every inch of him throbbing with the bone-deep desire to walk right back through that door, seize a fistful of Sandy’s shoulder-length hair and use it as the lovely red tether that kept her from getting too far away from him while he pounded her ass from behind.
I’m so confused, she’d said, in a voice so small and lost that he’d nearly creamed his own fucking pants.
She wanted him. Regardless of what she was willing to admit, there was no confusion about that. She wanted to be on her knees. She wanted to be here. She might even want him, or maybe he was just the unexpected vehicle driving her to this startling revelation about herself—he honestly didn’t care. It surprised him how fiercely he didn’t care; if he’d stayed with her in the library for one second longer, he wouldn’t have just skinned her panties off and walked away. He’d have fucked her all the way down to the floor. And he could tell himself it was hate-fucking all he wanted, but unlike her, he knew the truth without needing to be finger-fucked by it first.
He liked having her on her knees before him. Every dominant fiber of him had come crackling to life from the moment his hand had locked upon her throat, feeling the evidence of her excited heart beating beneath his watchful thumb, to the second her eyes had locked on the front of his pants.
Somewhere within all that journalistic deceit there lurked the passionate soul of a submissive. She belonged at the Castle.
His libido was racing. Reeve tried to ignore it, but the urge to check on her was stronger than his self-control. He silently cracked the library door far enough to peek in at her. She was exactly as he’d left her, but she wasn’t alone. That group of three schoolgirls who had side-stepped out of his way when he’d first come barreling from the room were about ten feet from her, giving a loud and obnoxious accounting of Sandy’s humiliating position to someone on the floor below. The class bell had rung four minutes ago. They and whomever they were talking to were late getting back from lunchbreak, which meant every last one of them was going to have a short, sharp dance under Master Emerson’s switch. They all knew it too, and yet, here they were. Obviously, the pleasure they were getting out of their viciousness was greater than their fear of the consequences.
He might have to do something about that.
“Here you are!”
Startled, Reeve turned to find Eric coming up the hallway.
“What are you doing?” his buddy asked, as Reeve quickly and quietly shut the library door. “Where’s the client?”
A lick of conscience dampening his ardor for the first time, Reeve thumbed at the library door. “In there.”
Eric cocked an eyebrow, eyes widening with surprise. “You left her in there?” He stepped up to the door, cracked it far enough to see inside, and just as quickly shut it again. “You left her alone?” he hissed, more startled than angry. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I didn’t leave her anywhere. I’m still here,” Reeve snapped back, careful to keep his voice down. The door to the library was thick enough to mute the sounds of the canings that so often went on inside, but voices still carried, especially from the outer hall. The acoustics bouncing off these old stones were amphitheater-excellent.
Eric stole another peek, but he just as quickly closed the door again. “I like the pose. What happened?”
“I turned her on.” Reeve tried to ignore the instant flush of gratification that accompanied that admission. “I also got an admission out of her that she’s here with ulterior motives. She practically accused me of pedophilia.”
When Eric cracked the door, Reeve stole another glance in over his friend’s head. The girls were still there. One was tossing little wads of paper at her. Apparently, the game was to see if she could hit the bull’s eye, which might have been Sandy’s puss or it could have been her ass. Either way, Reeve had the girl’s face memorized. Someone would be paying her a visit later on. He’d make sure of it.
“How long has she been like that?” Eric whispered.
“About… eight minutes now.”
“Is there anything under her knees?”
“Nope.”
“We need to get her off the floor then. These stones are brutal.”
“I know.”
Neither man moved, though. They watched her through the crack in the door. Her breathing was shallow but steady, so Reeve didn’t think she was too affected by what her tormenters were tossing at her. Still, he would have preferred an angle where he could see her face, just to make sure she wasn’t crying.
“What do we do with her now?” Eric asked.
“She’s not a Little,” Reeve said.
“I knew that before we ever took her to Wardrobe.” Eric snorted. “That wasn’t the point of taking her to the Nursery, and I seriously doubt that was the point of your bringing her here.”
No, it hadn’t been.
“She likes being humiliated. At least, when it comes to exhibitionism.”
“Did you know that before or after you stripped her out of her panties and left her to be spit-balled by that group of harpies?”
“Are they using spit?” Reeve pushed Eric aside for a closer look. Oh, hell no. Yanking the door open wide, he didn’t have to announce his entrance to stop all three giggling girls mid-throw and mid-spitball chew. Sandy didn’t move. Apart from their eyes growing huge, neither did the schoolgirls. They froze as he stormed toward them.
“Um…” one said, rubbing her hands on the sides of her thighs. He cut whatever she was going to say off with a look, and then bent to inspect his property. Sure enough, what had started as wads of crumpled paper had morphed into spit-balls. There were two on the folds of Sandy’s pussy, another on her right ass cheek, and another lower down on her left thigh.
Reeve picked them off. Straightening slowly, he gave each of the women a long, angry stare. It took time to wade through all the things he could have said before settling on what he knew that he, as an employee of the Castle, was expe
cted to say. And it didn’t start as he’d have preferred, with ‘what the hell’ or end with ‘you pack of bitches’. “Do you know who I am?”
The girl he was staring at swallowed the spit-ball in her mouth. “No.”
“I’m Master Reeve. When you get to Master Marshall’s office, you be sure to tell him who sent you there, and why. You’ll also want to tell him I have requested a video-recorded reckoning. Because I guarantee if it’s not enough, I’m going to come looking for all three of you. This place is big, but it’s not so big I can’t find you. Bank on it.”
The girls exchanged frightened stares, the bravest among them stammering, “W-we… w-we were just…” She rolled and locked her lips when Reeve frowned at her.
“Go,” he more mouthed than spoke, and the girls scattered. Dodging around Eric, they fled from the library. Reeve continued to glare at the door long after they were gone.
“Impressive,” Eric said. He wasn’t being sincere, but with their shared submissive listening in, he wouldn’t say more until they were alone.
They both turned their attention to Sandy. She’d held her position through all of it. Her head was still down; her ass was still high. Reeve made sure there were no more spit-balls before he drew her panties up to cover her and smoothed down the hem of her babydoll dress. The babydoll dress that looked good, but didn’t at all suit her. Or him, for that matter.
“Sit up.” He wouldn’t know how okay she was until he saw her face. It surprised him, though. As she eased back up on her knees, Sandy seemed calm. Not happy, not angry, not aroused, embarrassed. Not anything in particular. She just looked calm.
She was not okay. That was Reeve’s first thought, and he knew when his gaze met Eric’s that his friend was sharing that assessment.
“Are we done now?” she asked, perfectly polite. Perfectly respectful.
“If you want to explore what it’s like to be a Little, they’ve got a brand-new batch of puppies and kittens from the humane society upstairs.” Eric offered. “Or we could go out and feed the ponies.”
“I think I’d like to get dressed now,” Sandy said with a shake of her head. “I’m not a Little. Thank you, but I’m really not that curious about it anymore.”
Her face was carefully void of anything but calm serenity, but beneath that fake exterior, Reeve was beginning to suspect she might actually be angry. That was almost… he hesitated to think ‘cute’, but there was no denying it did appeal to him.
Shifting from haunches to knees, he sidled up so close behind her that he could feel the stiffness of her back and the underlying tremble that she had locked down so deep inside her that he couldn’t even see it. He could feel it, however, and the subtle vibration when he pulled her unresponsive, unyielding broomstick body back into the cradle of his own spoke volumes. Her ass bumped his hips; he made sure of it. Her tense thighs fit within the confines of his widely splayed ones. He ensured all the right parts of him were touching as much of her as he possibly could before he wrapped a lazy arm around her and let the heat of his open hand come to rest in her lap.
He stroked the tightly clenched crease of her thigh that refused to grant him access to her pussy. He wedged a finger in between, so there would be no misunderstanding on her part when he finally, softly, seductively, ordered her, “Open.”
Of all the things he expected her to do, (the thinly veiled, almost withering glare she shot him absolutely being one of them) Reeve never considered she would use the Castle safeword. Not until she lifted her chin and announced to the ceiling, “Onion!”
An instant crackle of the room’s hidden speakers broke the library’s quiet. “Dominant, step back from your submissive. Security has been dispatched and is on the way. Submissive, what is your name?”
“Anything but Ginger,” Sandy said, and then had the nerve to smile at him. “Somebody kindly get this asshole off me.”
* * *
“Well, this is embarrassing,” Eric said.
Eric and Reeve sat side by side on one of the hard benches in the hallway just outside Master Marshall’s office. Now and then, they caught speculative glances from the people passing by. This was where naughty submissives had to sit, waiting their turn to be chastened by the infamous Master of the Masters.
“I’ll bet we get spanked for this.” One foot jiggling up and down, Eric nodded, more curious than concerned. “You know; I really don’t know if I’m up for getting spanked today.”
“He’s not going to spank us,” Reeve said, with far more confidence than he felt. Nobody ever knew what Marshall would do. The man was a legend; legends, as a rule, were unfathomable.
“I don’t know,” Eric argued. “Kade once told me there was this guy…”
“Kade bullshits,” Reeve said. “I wouldn’t believe anything that came out of his mouth, unless Jackson or Sam corroborates it.”
“You’re right.” Eric thought about it. “Marshall’s more of a caning kind of guy, anyway.” The jiggling of his leg paused a moment, then started up again. “I really don’t think I’m up for getting caned. You know, this is like orientation all over again. Hey, remember when Jackson was taking us through protocol and he kept saying how Castle dominants are the best of the breed. Highly trained, highly disciplined, and how what separates us from all the other doms and dommes of the world is the fact that at no time are we ever not allowed to know how our submissive is doing, how they’re feeling, what they’re going through? At no time. Remember that look he gave us right before that cheese-eating grin when he ordered us to pick a cane from the back of the room and line up?” Sniffing, Eric rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I remember that look. I remember that wicked wrist-snap too. Kinda feels like that all over again right now.”
“We’re not going to get caned,” Reeve assured, but he wasn’t any more confident about that than he’d been the first time. He wished he could hear what was going on in Marshall’s office. Sandy was in there, telling her side of whatever bullshit story she wanted. For his part, Reeve didn’t think he was in trouble. The only part he might get censured for was leaving her alone to get pegged by spit-balls, but even then, he hadn’t really left her. He’d been less than ten feet from her the entire time, just outside the door and keeping his eye on her the entire time. He’d just… left her with the illusion that she was alone. This was the Castle, a place founded on carefully crafted illusions. He was fairly certain Marshall would agree with his course of action.
Right up to the spit-balling.
Regardless of intent, he’d fucked up there. Even though once he’d realized what was happening, he’d put a stop to it, and even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he could have done to prevent it, he’d had a responsibility. Could have, would have, should have… none of that mattered. A submissive had come to harm in his care; that was all Marshall would care about and it was that Reeve would have to explain.
He wasn’t entirely sure he could.
The door to Marshall’s office swung open. Eric looked up as Sandy and Marshall exited. Standing in the threshold, Marshall gestured for her to take a seat. “Wait here, if you would. Masters.” His icy gaze found Eric and Reeve. “I’d like a word with you both, please.”
Here we go, Eric said via the look he exchanged with Reeve. They stood up together. Eric sidestepped Sandy, and she took his place on the bench. Her back was still broomstick straight; her chin was high. She didn’t look at Reeve at all, which made her hard to read.
Marshall was even harder. Fuck it. Reeve followed Eric into the Master’s office and together they headed for the chairs positioned opposite Marshall’s throne and desk.
“First of all,” Master Marshall said, closing his office door for privacy before trailing alongside them. “The client would like it to be known that through no fault on her dominants’ parts, she feels the relationship is not working out. Therefore, she has requested a few changes be made. First, she wants to be removed from your care.”
“We’re being replaced?” Eric said, stu
nned. He stared from Marshall to Reeve, then back again. “Now, wait a minute. I’ve never been replaced, ever. I mean, I didn’t… Not to throw anyone under the bus or anything, but I wasn’t even there!”
“No, you weren’t.” The look Marshall gave him could have withered the vines that had completely taken over the entire north side of the perimeter wall. “Refresh my memory, where should you have been?”
Eric’s shoulders slumped. Releasing a puff of frustration, he succumbed to the lecture. “With my client.”
“So, not being with your client when you should have been is, in fact, not the valid excuse you would have it be.”
“No, it’s not,” Eric agreed, subdued.
“No, it’s not,” Marshall echoed. He turned his frosty gaze back on Reeve. “You weren’t with your client, either. Would you like to tell me where you were?”
“I was, actually,” Reeve replied, holding himself up not exactly proudly but at least straight without withering.
“So you were standing there in the library with her, watching as she was assaulted by three women in the schoolgirl program?”
“No, I was standing outside the door, no more than ten, fifteen feet away. At no point was she alone. I was keeping an eye on her, and when I realized what was happening, I took steps—”
“You took steps?”
“Yes, I—”
“Your client—my guest—was being assaulted less than fifteen feet away from you,” Marshall said, enunciating each word so the significance would not get lost in translation between them. “Under your watchful eye, I might add.” He enunciated that, too. “She has requested that she be released from any association with either one of you. She’d like to carry on the rest of her stay alone. I have something of a problem with that. Would either of you two screw-ups like to take a guess as to what that problem might be?”
Reeve was starting to feel the effects of that withering stare. “She’d be a reporter running loose and unsupervised through the Castle.”