Fulfilling Her Fantasy

by Tabitha Black

  "Excellent. Have you decided what you're going to wear? I'm going all out. Well, at least that's the plan, but I really haven't decided yet. Do you want me to give you a tour?" Rosie's excitement was infectious.

  "Slow down, I've only had one coffee, and I don't think it's even noon yet," Sylvia said, half-laughing in protest. "You know I can't function until I've had at least three cups and it's mid-afternoon, at least. Which reminds me, is there a dustbin around here anywhere?"

  "A dustbin?" Rosie's dark blonde eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  "Ugh, are we starting this already? A trash can! I mean, really, we do speak the same language. Apparently."

  Rosie giggled. "Sure, there are several inside. I'll show you once we get there. But first, have you got your bracelet? It should be in your welcome pack. Put it on now and do not take it off. Not even in the shower. Remember?"

  Sylvia frowned as she drew the black bracelet out of the larger envelope. "Black. How boring. Why don't I have a pretty pink one, like you?"

  "Because you're not in the ageplay program. But really, the dungeon? Don't you have any other fantasies?"

  "Well, yeah, but I figured that would pretty much cover most of them. Otherwise I'd hardly be able to lift my arm for the riot of rainbow colours all the way up to my elbow." Sylvia winked.

  "Can I take your comment to mean that you're no longer scared, and are instead looking forward to this adventure, as you should be?"

  "I'm sure the nerves will come rushing back. But in the meantime, look at this place! It's just gorgeous! You're so lucky to work here."

  "It's definitely not the worst place in the world," Rosie agreed, linking her arm through Sylvia's. "And everyone's incredibly friendly. You really won't find a safer place to play, anywhere. Now tell me, what are you going to wear tonight?"

  "I really don't know. I brought a little black dress..." Sylvia looked around. "Oh, shit. I left my suitcase on the bus! Bugger. I got caught up with everyone else when they came off the bus and was just swept along by the crowd—"

  "Don't stress." Rosie patted her arm soothingly. "The porters get your luggage from the bus and take it to your room for you. No doubt your suitcase is already waiting there, all ready for you to unpack."

  "Really?"

  "Really. This place is a well-oiled machine. Master Marshall knows his stuff."

  "Wow." Sylvia allowed her friend to lead her up the front steps and into the castle. It was even more enormous than it had appeared from the outside, and she soon realised that not a single detail had been forgotten. Grecian pillars and the marble floor gave the foyer an opulent, luxurious feel, and there was a hotel reception, gift shop, spa, candy shop, and even an art gallery. There were people everywhere, all wearing the most amazing clothes; from sleek and sexy black leather to neon-coloured Furry costumes, and everything in between. "This place is bloody huge, and there are so many people! I'll never find my way around."

  "Trust me, you will. It's always overwhelming when you first arrive, especially since the foyer is usually so busy," Rosa said, reassuringly.

  "So what do I do first? Is there a map in here?" Sylvia yanked the bigger envelope from her bag.

  "I'll take you to your room so you can make sure your suitcase has been brought in. Do you have the number of the suite you were assigned just now, and the key card for it?"

  "I have no idea." Sylvia pulled yet another form out of the large manila envelope and gave it to Rosa. "Can you make sense of that?"

  "I certainly can. Let me lead the way. Although we should really get to Wardrobe first. If anyone catches you out of costume in here, you'll find out just how out of practice your butt is, sooner rather than later."

  Sylvia grinned at her friend, knowing that they were thinking the same thing—that Rosa's words were more tempting than terrifying.

  The vivacious, petite blonde continued. "I'm up on the third floor where the employees have rooms. They are off limits to guests but I assure you, you're going to love your guest suite. The showers are amazing."

  After a brief tour of the facilities on the way to Sylvia's new, temporary residence, Rosa gave her a quick hug and promised to find her again at the Meet and Greet. Sylvia watched her friend skip away, smiling to herself as she slotted the card into the door lock. She was already feeling calmer for having seen Rosa.

  * * * * *

  The first thing Sylvia noticed when she entered her guest chamber was the enormous four poster bed, which dominated the room. Then the hooks and rings on it caught her eye, and her mouth went dry. A vivid image rose unbidden to her mind, of her, bound naked and helpless on the deep violet sheets, writhing in agony—or was it ecstasy—underneath a strong, gorgeous man. Swallowing hard, she turned her back on the bed and opened the door to the ensuite. An enormous shower, complete with spa tub, took up almost the entire space, leaving only enough room for the toilet, sink, cupboard and mirror.

  She was about to go back into the bedroom when she caught sight of herself. Despite her surroundings, despite what she was about to do, she still looked the same; her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her oversized jumper hiding her curves, her cheeks still slightly flushed from the explicit image the bed had aroused in her. Any of her friends from the outside world would recognise her immediately. Rosa had.

  Sylvia frowned at her reflection and tried to imagine how she would be perceived at the forthcoming auction. The people she had seen, as Rosa had led her to her room on the second floor, had been so... exotic. Bawdy, beautiful costumes, lots of skin, amazing bodies. She'd seen a couple of slave girls, a young woman in an incredibly sexy cat costume, and one or two ladies in full medieval gowns complete with corset. She herself hadn't worn a corset in ages.

  "You look dowdy," she told herself sternly. For the first time since she'd found out about and signed up for it, she was struck with a different type of trepidation about the auction. What if no-one bid on her? She wasn't sure which was worse; having to spend the entire time with a troll, or spending it alone because no-one there found her attractive enough to part with their cash, even if it was for a good cause.

  Pulling the sweater back so it outlined her body, Sylvia ran a critical eye over what she saw. Her waist was slim enough, but her hips were entirely too wide and round, as were her thighs. She didn't even want to think about her butt. Stephen hadn't wanted her anymore. Why should anyone else?

  Closing her eyes, she turned away from the mirror before she broke down. Get a grip on yourself—you're overreacting. Of course you look dowdy right now; you got ready in a hurry this morning and besides, you spent the last two days in aeroplanes and airports. You're probably jet lagged, and you've still only had one cup of coffee. Once you've gone to that Wardrobe place and been kitted out, no doubt you'll look and feel much better, she scolded herself. Now put your big girl panties on and deal with it!

  Taking a deep breath, she marched back to the bed without looking at it, and reached for the welcome pack which was still sticking out of her handbag. To her immense relief, she found a map, and saw that the Wardrobe was on the same floor as her room. With a quick glance around to ensure that her suitcase had indeed been delivered by a porter, and to her relief it had, she lifted her chin defiantly, picked up the key, and left the room. It was time for Sylvia to become Silver...

  Available Jan. 24th, 2014 on Amazon, Barnes & Noble & Blushing Books as part of the “Master’s of the Castle” Box Set, “When The Gavel Falls”

  Punishing Portia

  By Darling Adams

  Free Preview

  Chapter One

  "That bitch!" David shouted, slamming a fist down on the stainless steel prep counter so hard he made everything on it pop into the air.

  "I know," Jerry, his sous-chef, said in commiseration.

  Jerry had just brought him the latest Windy City Eats magazine, which carried a scathing review of their new restaurant, and, in particular, of him and his skills as both a chef and a restaurant owner.

 
David read aloud, "Megalomaniac Chef David Dean Marone has opened a second restaurant near the waterfront. As if appearing on the Food Channel and already having a restaurant (Marone's) named after himself wasn't enough, this one, too, takes his name—David Dean's." He skipped ahead. "Overall, David Dean's is much like its owner/chef; arrogant and pretentious. No wine on the menu is under forty dollars, and while our red was decent, it was served too warm, something that shouldn't happen at a restaurant that purports to take pains in sourcing and handling only the highest quality food products. Of course the food is what you would expect from an award-winning chef like Marone, but I found it at times cloying." He jumped to the end. "The service is haughty rather than humble. If you want to be looked down at for not having designer shoes and a matching handbag, this is the place to go. Three stars for food. One and a half for service, one for atmosphere."

  He slapped the magazine down again. "That woman seriously needs to get laid."

  "Honestly, a review like this will only help us," Jerry reasoned. "The phone has been ringing off the hook for reservations, and I don't have a single table free for five weeks."

  David rubbed his face. "Yeah, but where does she get off?" He turned to look at his right-hand man. "Is this true?"

  Jerry hid a grin. "Look, boss. Your confidence is what made you the most successful restaurateur in Chicago. No-one here is complaining about you, and none of our customers are complaining about the atmosphere. The exclusive feel is why they want to see and be seen here."

  David drew a breath in through his nose and exhaled, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders. His upcoming vacation could not be better scheduled. He looked down at the magazine review again. Portia Sands, Critic at Large.

  "I went to school with her," he said, pointing at the byline.

  "Oh yeah? Is that why she has a bone to pick?"

  He snorted. "I have no idea. I never did anything to her. I wouldn't even remember her if she didn't have a name straight out of a Shakespeare play."

  "Was this in college?"

  "No, the Culinary Institute. She and I were the only two who had graduated college first. Most people there were younger—nineteen or twenty. She acted snotty about the program—I think she found the classes below her education level. You know; it was vocational training, as opposed to a graduate degree."

  "So now she writes scathing reviews about the people in her class? Lame."

  David relaxed, calmer now that he had aired his anger.

  "Maybe she had a crush on you and you failed to notice."

  He gave a short bark of laughter. "I think it's the opposite. I asked her out once, just for coffee, but she pulled the old arriving with a gaggle of friends thing. Nothing shows indifference better than bringing all your girlfriends on a date with you."

  Jerry laughed. "Didn't want to get stuck alone with you, eh? That's rough. She really is a stuck-up bitch, isn't she?"'

  David laughed, the gossip eroding his bad mood. "Just frigid, I think. Probably, underneath it all, she's just dying to get nailed, but she can't let herself go." Something teased the back of his mind… as though he'd had a conversation like that with her, all those years ago. Not able to retrieve it, he let it go. She wasn't worth any more brain space.

  The thought of sex lured his mind to his New Year's holiday. Once a year he took a trip to the Castle, a BDSM fantasy locale in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio. A real Scottish castle, transported and reconstructed brick by brick, the vacation spot indulged every sort of fetish, and provided the opportunity for him to play Dom to eager subs.

  It was something his local BDSM group could probably provide as well, but his workaholism interrupted any potential playtime in the city. For him, a getaway was a necessity—and sexual fantasy fulfillment was just the kind of recharge he needed. While he didn't play often, he'd been on the scene for almost twenty years, and sexual dominance had been hard-wired in him since puberty. He also prided himself on being able to read a sub well enough that he'd never had one call her safeword, and he always received repeat invitations to play.

  "Hey boss," Carrie, his house manager called out, coming in early, as usual. Most of his staff hung out even when they were off-shift; David Dean's or his first restaurant, Marone's, becoming their social outlet as much as their place of employment.

  There was an addictiveness to the food industry—the rush from busy shifts, the instant gratification of cash in the pocket at the end of the night. They'd become a tight-knit group, like a family, with all the same in-fighting and love, dependence and dependability, drama and more drama. He adored them all—his mad, mad family.

  "This review is bullshit," she said, throwing Windy City Eats down, her eyes flashing. "I can't believe that bitch. If she ever shows her face in this restaurant again, I will serve her warm red wine with rabbit turds floating in it."

  He burst into laughter. "Thank you, Carrie, I appreciate that. Don't worry, Jerry says the phone's been ringing off the hook for reservations. All that review did was solidify David Dean's position as the place to see and be seen in Chicago."

  Carrie relaxed, taking her cues from him, as always. "You're not upset?"

  He smiled. "Only for a minute. I'm over it now. In fact, I think I'll send her a note thanking her."

  "Just don't invite her back, because I'm serious about the rabbit turds. You know I have a pet bunny, right?"

  He laughed again. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the bunny turds at home, Carrie, even though she does deserve them."

  Carrie grinned. "Okay, boss. But I have them if you need them."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Now, you both know I'm going away for New Year's."

  "Yep," Carrie said.

  "Jerry is in charge, but I expect you to run things smoothly out here, because he might be needed in the kitchen."

  "Yep, no problem. I can handle it."

  "I know you can."

  "Where are you going? Any place fun?"

  "Ohio, actually. And it will definitely be fun." He said no more and Carrie was too well-mannered to pry.

  "Well, it's a good time to get away, what with the review and all."

  "I can't wait," he said, Portia Sands already forgotten as he contemplated all the sexy women with whom he would get to play.

  #

  Portia took another sip of her ginger spice latte. She and her friend Tina stood outside the coffee shop, watching the people get off the bus that had just pulled in from the Castle. Just the sight of it made her want to chuck her beverage in the trash and run for the rental car. What the hell was she doing here?

  She'd been on the BDSM scene for a little more than two years—ever since her divorce from Fred, when she'd finally admitted to herself that the reason she'd never wanted to have sex with him was because she didn't like slow and tender. She regretted not learning that one important fact about herself earlier, because it probably could have saved her marriage. After ten years of her perceived frigidity, her husband had thrown in the towel. Her inability to conceive may have helped his decision—no children to keep things together. The doctors had never found anything wrong with either of them, but she always felt as though Fred blamed her for it.

  But she couldn't hate Fred for calling it quits. She wouldn't have wanted to be married to herself, either. The years of trying everything—spending their entire savings on one in vitro treatment after the next—only to wallow in failures, had left her more than a little bitter. The divorce had been a wake-up call.

  She discovered yoga. And BDSM. She'd learned more about herself in the past two years than she had in the entire first thirty-seven years of her life. What a fucking waste.

  She pulled out the crumpled letter accepting her as a slave for the New Year's Eve auction. She'd read and re-read it a dozen times. Her questionnaire, with her interests and hard limits, would be passed on to the Dom who bought her. Her safeword would always be honored. So why did she feel like the coffee was shooting through her digestive system like the met
al ball in a pinball machine? Because knowing she was a submissive who likes it rough was one thing; volunteering to sell herself in a charity slave auction quite another. What the hell did she know about being a slave? For three nights and two days, no less.

  This was going to be a total disaster.

  "Look how happy everyone looks getting off," Tina chirped, with her characteristic optimism.

  Portia saw nothing of the kind. Some people looked relaxed; some exhausted. Some actually looked like they were going to cry, but that probably didn't mean they'd had a terrible time. She'd felt like crying at the end of a BDSM party before.

  Tina had talked her into volunteering to be a slave along with her because it gave them a chance to experience the Castle for free, when normally a three night stay like this would cost upwards of four thousand dollars. It had been on her wish list to attend ever since she'd first heard of the place. The idea of showing up and being someone else—leaving her entire, uptight, barren journalist life behind and just living out her fantasies—made her ache with wanting.

  But now the reality of it had her chewing the inside of her cheek. She'd never scened with any man for more than a few hours—how could she possibly be one man's slave for seventy-two? What if she didn't like him? What if he played too rough? Well, of course she knew she'd have a safeword, but still... she didn't want to fail at this. Failure was the one thing she avoided at all costs.

  A car pulled up and two good-looking men got out, looking confident in the way Dominants always do. Her heart rate picked up speed just thinking about all the alpha men she'd be rubbing elbows—and other parts—with very soon.

  "Mmm, mmm. They look yummy," Tina remarked out of the side of her mouth, not turning away from the men.

  "Tell me about it. Oh shit!" Portia said, dropping the coffee cup, which promptly lost its lid and splattered creamy liquid all over her boots. "Oh no. Oh God. This is bad," she said, turning away from the men and pulling up the collar of her coat.