"You've made it clear for over twenty years that life cannot go forward unless our socks match," Elias snickered, lifting his trouser legs and displaying his own mismatched pair.
Merry rolled her eyes. "I know damn well that both of you started this sock thing to annoy me. You're adults now. Time to grow up, boys."
"She comes out as the House Mistress and now thinks she can boss us around, huh?"
"She's always tried to boss us around," Dorian said. "It never gets any further than her crossing her arms and pouting because we won't mind her."
"Yeah, that's our big, bad Domme. Chillax, little sister. You make it too easy to tease you."
"You need to take me seriously."
"We take you seriously for things that need to be serious. Choose your battles, Mistress Merry," Elias said. "Otherwise, just try to have some fun."
"Speaking of fun—what's going on over there?" Dorian asked, gesturing towards a cart being drawn by a pony girl.
"There's going to be a branding ceremony," Elias said proudly. "They signed a permanent contract last week, and have asked to consummate it in the presence of the herd and the handlers."
"That's wonderful!" Merry clapped happily. "Are they going to get married?"
"Yep. They want to hold the wedding here during the next Festival."
"Master Graye, sir? Mr. Richards wishes to speak with you."
Dorian followed the woman to the arena and shook the hand of the stocky man holding a riding quirt. "Steven! Elias just told me about your contract and upcoming nuptials. Congratulations!"
"Thank you. This would not have happened if not for you and Graye Manor. I have a special request."
"Anything, my friend. What can I do for you," Dorian asked gleefully.
"I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if you would do us both the honors and apply the brand. I have the permit from the Manor's physician clearing her physically."
Dorian raised an eyebrow as he examined the form that stated the woman to be in sound physical health. "Are you certain you want me to do it? It is customary for the mare's Master to burn the brand himself."
"Yes, I know. One thing that Graye Manor has taught us is that we are not confined to custom. We discussed this. She wants me to take her publically during the branding."
"I do recall her being quite the exhibitionist," Dorian said with a smile. "Will she be restrained?"
"Yes. We will use a branding frame and keep her there for the mating. She also wants to be reddened."
Dorian glanced at the woman, who was fully tacked with a bit in her mouth. "Do you wish this?"
She whinnied and nodded her response.
"It will be my pleasure. Corral her."
The human mare snorted in feigned protest as two handlers pulled her into a narrow chute made of aluminum bars. They placed a cushioned board under her torso and then bent her over to secure her wrists to the lower set of bars in front of her body. Her ankles were firmly tied to the bottom bar on the opposite side, leaving her bottom and spread thighs exposed and vulnerable. As a final precaution, the harness that surrounded her body was used to lock her over the board and prevent any movement.
Dorian went to her head and gently stroked her hair. "One last chance to refuse. No harm will come to you if you do. Do you wish to be released?"
She shook her head.
"You know the pain will be excruciating."
She nodded.
He patted her cheek and smiled. "Then let's get started. Would you like to be paddled first?"
She nodded eagerly.
Dorian accepted the heavy paddle from her owner and turned it over in his hands to admire the work that had gone into its making. The dark ironwood had been polished to a shiny luster and held a deeply carved design of vines, leaves and flowers—guaranteed to leave a heavy imprint upon the milky perfection of her skin.
He ran the smooth side of the paddle across her trembling bottom, pulled his arm back, and laid it directly across the span of both cheeks. He heard her yelp through the bit and waited for her to inhale through her gag. A second blow descended upon her backside, turning it a pleasant shade of pink. Her cheeks tensed and loosened, and she managed to arch her back a tiny bit—inviting more.
He then turned the paddle so that the carved side would make contact. Her resultant outburst was muffled by the bit, and her body tensed as the image of the carving was etched into her flesh. Dorian ran his hand over the artistic welts. He did not wish to blood her, as that would add additional stress upon her body to heal. The branding would take enough out of her as it was. The paddle fell again, lower, leaving the sharp outlines of the image upon her sit-spots and upper thighs. She trembled with the pain, yet her pussy glistened with need.
He nodded for her owner to come forth. "I will ready the iron. Are you going to allow her to climax?"
"Yes."
"Will you be able to join her when she cums? That will allow me to brand for both of you."
"That sounds perfect!"
The man removed his thick cock from his pants and positioned himself behind the bound woman. He wet the tip and without warning, buried himself inside her. She groaned, tensed and then relaxed as he mounted her. Reaching around, he began to circle and tease her clit, still moving in and out.
Dorian watched, fascinated as always by the way the human body engaged in sexual pleasure. He wiped the side of the woman's left thigh with alcohol, placed blacksmith gloves on his hands and waited for the moment in which her body tightened and breathing changed. Dorian wrapped his hand around the short-handled iron that had an 'R' on the end, checking it to make certain that it had turned to the color of ash red in the bucket of coals. Satisfied, he prepared to make his move.
She climaxed with a yell, joined instantly by her owner. Dorian took careful aim and pressed the iron to her thigh. The yell changed to a high pitched scream as her flesh sizzled, and did not stop even after he removed the source of her pain.
"May we release her and dress the wound?" he asked the owner, who had collapsed with exhaustion across his mare's back. A nod set the stable hands to work, taking the semi-conscious human pony from the cage and setting her on the grass. The harnesses and bit were removed and juice was held to her lips while her owner cradled her lovingly. Dorian himself carefully cleansed the brand, gently applied the antibiotic ointment, and then covered it with a bandage to protect it from infection.
"I'm so proud of you," he said to the girl.
"Thank you, Master Graye. For everything," she whispered.
"That was glorious," Merry said, when Dorian returned to her. "I want to be branded."
"You want a lot of things you are not going to get," came the response.
"You are so mean, do you know that?"
"Of course. Isn't that the job of a sadist?"
He hid his smile at her return grunt.
Chapter Nine
"Dorian? You need to come see this," Elias said several hours later.
"What now?"
"Don't look so distressed. This is good. Hurry."
"Is it really necessary? I'm busy."
"I wouldn't bother you if it weren't."
"When we open your side of the facility, I'm going to make you draft the contracts. Then you can see why disruptions are such a nuisance," Dorian grumbled as he rose from his desk. He had just finished the negotiations and signing of the auction acceptance contracts, and was in the middle of drafting the Terms of Service for the final sales. It was his least favorite chore, but a necessary one that required him to focus.
"You're the attorney, not me, so that isn't going to happen."
"Where are we going?"
"To the orchid gardens. A little bird came to my window to share something."
Orchid gardens. Fifty? The long-legged stride of both men brought them to the tree house tower—a structure designed to blend in to the exotic environment and often used for observation and amorous interludes.
"A little bird? Like one of the securi
ty men watching the camera? If this is not a safety issue, why would you have been informed of the activity?"
"I have no idea." Elias shrugged.
"Liar. You're spying on her. Why?"
"I know she means a lot to you and Merry, and I wanted to make sure she was safe with this new guy."
Dorian followed him up the spiral staircase and into the little garden-themed room. "Look." He pointed to the couple below them.
Fifty was half-kneeling, half-perched on her hip on the grass across from a young man dressed in khaki shorts and a t-shirt. She twirled a flower in her hand as she spoke, her eyes cast demurely downward. The man reached across to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, tucked it over her ear, and then touched her bruised check with his thumb.
"I'll be damned," Dorian said, shifting to the telescope to get a better look. "She's flirting with him!"
"And he seems to be quite intrigued as well. May I offer a suggestion?"
"Yeah…" Dorian's voice trailed off as he watched Fifty smile and lean into the man's palm. She looked genuinely happy. Was that jealousy he felt rising in his heart? He pushed it back down. She wasn't his to have, he reminded himself sadly.
"You took her off the public block, right? Since the other two interested parties are more focused on her skills, and have signed up to auction for other maids, let's remove her from bidding. You know Jamal will understand completely, especially if he knows she might have a chance at love. And the Tin Man would not care, as long as he had somebody to take home to play with."
"I don't know," Dorian said hesitantly. "He can be a bit temperamental. I don't want to lose him as a client."
"He's listed on ten auctions, all for Valet. He only knows the girls by number, too. I don't think Fifty has even met him yet."
"Okay, remove her from his interview list. I'll speak with Jamal. It isn't our policy, but—"
"But it is for her best. Maybe even his. He looks quite smitten."
Dorian watched the couple. "Yes, he does. He could give her everything she desires, and he appears to be quite concerned about her injuries. Will he be able to handle the discipline side of what she needs?"
"I can't say for sure. We could provide a trial period, being that he's a new client. That is an option in our policy to evaluate the less experienced owners. This way they can both determine compatibility without commitment."
"You sneaky little bastard." Dorian placed his hands on his hips. "Why didn't I think of that?"
"Because you were too busy fucking my sister and playing Master Graye to the hordes."
"Maybe I should invite him to join me tonight and let Pleasure and Merry take a stab at him."
"Are you looking for a fight? There are older, more established clients who have never been invited to your table. There are going to be some fits being thrown."
"They haven't been invited for a reason. I don't like them," Dorian said with a chuckle. "People like that are too assuming and it does not interest me. They are the same ones who want to stay in the Manor instead of the guest cottages because they feel they are entitled. This is my world, and they will play by my rules."
"You're the boss." Elias shrugged. "Oh, by the way…"
"What's in that basket?" Dorian asked, pointing down at the couple. A maid had come out of nowhere and handed a large picnic basket to the dark-haired man, curtseyed and scurried away.
"I thought they might be a little thirsty, you know, since it's so hot out."
"You old softie! I didn't know you had it in you," Dorian exclaimed. "A champagne picnic lunch?"
"Only the best for our guests, right?"
"Let's get out of here. I'm starting to feel like I'm intruding."
***
"Would you like some champagne?"
Fifty smiled and nodded, gazing into the man's warm eyes. As hard as she tried to resist, she was finding herself liking Gregory Carmichael. He had been very understanding, and genuinely concerned, about her situation. There was also something very endearing about his demeanor, which drew her interest. She cautiously allowed him to direct their conversation, trying to determine if he was as charming as he appeared or simply just an outstanding con-artist. He was gentle—too gentle, for her liking—but she suspected there was a side of him that he kept in practiced control. He was, as she previous believed, very much like Dorian Graye.
"So what made you apply as a Graye Maid?" he asked, pouring her a glass and handing it to her.
"Thank you. I didn't apply. It was by accident that I came here. Actually, a miracle of sorts." She recounted the events that had led her to Dorian's door, and into a life of service.
He touched his glass to hers. "To miracles," he toasted. "Hungry? There is cheese and crackers, and some pastries. I must say, this treatment of guests is very considerate. I don't think I've ever witnessed such attentiveness."
"We aim to please, Mr. Carmichael. We are trained to anticipate needs and to appropriately provide for them. Some are better than others, which is why we provide different categories of domestic service."
"What is your specialty exactly?"
"I've been Master Graye's secretary and personal assistant since I arrived. I can predict almost every need he has and serve him before he requests it."
"Every need?" The man's eyes flashed. Hmm, Fifty pondered, was that possessiveness she saw? Or excitement? He was difficult to read.
"Yes, sir. His coffee, meeting preparation, accounts, haircuts. Every need."
"Even sexual?"
"His wife, One, tends to that. Master Graye does not usually engage sexually with his maids."
"He doesn't?" Mr. Carmichael sounded surprised.
"No, sir. I mean, he will use sex as a means to dominate, and punish, even. And he will play with the Insatiables to keep them from losing control, but he doesn't make a habit of bedding every maid."
"So he has never touched you?"
"No, sir, nor has anybody else. He forbids it." Fifty looked away, suddenly feeling ashamed. "There are a handful of us who are considered virgins. Not necessarily intact, if you understand what I mean, but inexperienced. We only engage if we make the request."
"You have to get permission to have sex?"
"No, sir, we have to give permission to have sex. And we are required to go directly through him. I've never requested it."
"Do you find that inappropriate or controlling?"
Fifty frowned. "He's the Master of the House. He owns us. He can take whatever he wants, and doesn't. He wants to protect us from a negative experience with someone who might be more concerned with his own needs than ours."
"I don't mean to offend. This type of training is very different than any of the others that I am familiar with."
"That is why Graye Manor Maids are so desired. You see," Fifty said, drawing in a breath, "we aren't here to be trained as slaves. Some go in that direction, depending on their own personality, but others do not. The Grayes want us to be skilled in caring for our partners, hopefully in a permanent arrangement. The majority of contracts end up resulting in marriage or life-long placement. In its own way, this place is a BDSM matchmaking service."
Mr. Carmichael was quiet, sipping on his champagne as he contemplated her words.
"It's been a long time since I've been able to sit with a beautiful, intelligent woman and just talk," he finally said. "I'm enjoying myself thoroughly."
"I'm not beautiful."
"Who told you that? I think you're stunning." He pulled her hair from the tight bun and let it drop to her shoulders. "Your hair is the color of antique gold when the sun hits it."
"It's just brown."
"No, it is not. And your eyes remind me of the melted sugar you see on top of a Crème Brûlée before fire is applied."
"You're embarrassing me." Fifty squirmed under his gaze, part of her wishing that he was sincere in his praise. Dorian had said similar things, but she expected him to want to build her self-esteem and confidence. It was part of her training.
"Because I'm honest? Have you ever looked at your complexion? It is perfect. Even that little splattering of freckles on the bridge of your nose is lovely. I've been to other Houses, including The Gentlemen's Club, and I've always left feeling, well, dissatisfied. I want a submissive, but I also want a companion and a life partner."
"There are lots of girls outside of the Houses who could give you that. Why come here?"
"Because I've met the types of girls outside the Houses. This life is just a game to the majority of them, and I'm a target for gold diggers."
"Surely not everyone is like that."
"Maybe not, but you can't convince me by the ones I've come across. I did an experiment once." He flashed her a straight, white smile. "I threw on some old clothes and went to a local club to play. No sex, mind you. The girls were all very interested in me until they found out that I worked as a waiter."
"But you aren't a waiter, are you?"
"No. Not anymore. I started out as a waiter in Denny's, learned the art of Sushi and food carving, and then worked my way into owning five high-end Japanese restaurants in the US and Europe."
"How did you get around that little fib?" Fifty asked with a snicker.
"I rented a cheap apartment in town to take my dates to. Instead of the Four Seasons, I took them on a picnic. That did not go over well." He chuckled.
"I love picnics. I was raised in a wealthy environment where we were catered to and given everything we wanted. I remember when I was little and saw a family having a picnic at a lake. I asked my mother why we never did that. She said that we had the money to indulge in a decent meal, and didn't have to put up with mediocre food, ants and flies."
"How sad. Some of my happiness childhood memories center around picnics." He lifted a strawberry and brought it to her lips.
"Why a maid?" she asked gently. "Why pick someone like me?"
"I read your profile. I knew about the wealthy background, just not the details. I want someone who isn't spoiled or afraid of hard work, who doesn't think they are entitled or that the world owes them anything. I found that most women who come to places like this are either extremely masochistic and can't find anywhere to settle, desperate to belong somewhere—anywhere, or truly have a heart of submission and want to grow and be part of this life."
The Whip Master Page 11