Chapter Thirteen
Silver perched on the hard wooden bench outside Master Marshall's office, her thoughts tumbling over one another as she tried to process them.
What the twins had done to her in the dungeon the previous day had been incredible—so amazing, in fact, that it had only served to increase her sense of devotion to them.
She'd been so blissed out that she'd barely noticed them wrapping her in a blanket, carrying her all the way back up to their apartment, and putting her to bed. Silver hadn't slept so well in months.
Later, after she'd awoken, they fed her some delicious seafood and then the three of them had showered together, the men teasing her as she'd gasped the minute the jetting water had hit the scratches still covering her body.
True to his word, Travis had not cut her—in fact, the lines were already growing faint—and they'd joked that she looked as though she'd been in a fight with a particularly vicious kitten. God, though, that knife. She shivered, clenching her thighs around her moistening sex at the memory.
Glancing in the mirror that morning, she'd been a little disappointed to see that, other than the scratches, there was hardly a mark on her; not even from the five cane strokes she had received.
"Master Marshall will give you something to feel when you sit," Travis had told her with a grin, pinching her bottom. "You're going to see him after lunch."
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, she'd thought, her stomach lurching with sudden terror as she remembered the request she'd made.
"I-I've changed my mind," she'd stammered. "I'd rather stay here. With you."
"Won't even take an hour," Trevor had said, firmly. "I told you yesterday, once you confirm, there won't be any more chance to back out. Didn't I tell you?"
"Y-you did, Master." And Silver knew she had been defeated.
The twins had even taken her to Wardrobe, to dress her in the most ridiculously sexy representation of a school uniform she'd ever seen. The plaid skirt barely covered her groin, and the white blouse had been tied in a knot just below her breasts. She'd been grateful for the plain white panties, however, as they would provide some protection—assuming she would be allowed to keep them on. White, knee-high socks and shiny black Mary Janes completed the outfit.
Despite their laid-back behaviour that morning, Silver had sensed that there was something troubling the two men, and she hoped fervently that she hadn't upset them by requesting a formal session with someone else.
Too late now anyway, I suppose. There's no getting out of this now. Maybe if they knew why I want—no, why I need to do this, they'd understand.
She almost jumped out of her skin as the door to Master Marshall's office opened with a creak, and a stern voice said, "You can come in now."
Silver felt every inch the terrified schoolgirl as she crept into the large, foreboding room. She couldn't take her eyes off the two canes, crossed between the two tall windows behind him, like a sadist's coat of arms.
"What can I do for you?"
She forced herself to meet the glacial blue eyes of Master Marshall, who suddenly seemed far more ominous than the last time she'd seen him—on the day of the ball. Sunlight glinted in his blond hair, and for a long moment, they gazed at each other, noting the similarities in their colouring.
"I-I, uh, Masters Travis and Trevor sent me," she said eventually. "F-for some d-discipline."
"Ah yes, I remember." He looked down at a sheaf of papers on his desk, and she wondered what on earth was written there.
"Have a seat first, please... Silver, is it?"
"Yes, Sir." She did as she was told, perching awkwardly on the chair, surreptitiously wiping her sweaty palms on that pathetic excuse for a skirt she'd been given.
"So tell me, Silver, have you been naughty? Or why do you feel you need some discipline?"
A blush rose to her cheeks. "N-no, Sir, I haven't been naughty. I-I just..." she trailed off, staring at the red and gold rug, wondering how on earth she could put into words what she needed.
There was a long, long pause. When she finally cracked and looked up again, it was to see his icy gaze still on her face.
Silver took a deep breath. "It's just something I need," she whispered. "I don't know how I know, but I just... know."
"You're struggling with something, aren't you?" His tone was much softer.
She shrugged. "A few things."
"I've been told you have a few self-esteem issues," he went on. "Why do you think that is?"
"Please, Sir, I'd really rather not discuss it. I just… I just wanted to see what a real, proper discipline session would feel like. That's all."
He raised an eyebrow. "Far be it from me to pry. Your Masters seem to think that this is something you should have, so you shall have it."
Something told her that he knew exactly what was going on in her head, but she was so grateful that he hadn't forced the issue of her past, that she squared her shoulders and continued the lie. "Thank you, Sir."
He pointed to a shallow tray of what looked like rice kernels in the corner of his office. "Go and kneel over there, and think about what you have coming to you, and why." With that, he bent back down to his paperwork.
As the tiny, hard grains dug uncomfortably into her knees, Silver wondered who on earth had come up with such a sadistic idea. Someone, somewhere, had to have woken up one day and thought: kneeling on uncooked rice, now that would be a bitch! Taking a deep breath, she began to focus her mind, trying to figure out why what she was about to do was something she had felt she needed for longer than she could even remember.
I obviously feel like I deserve to be punished, but why? I'm inherently a good person. I've never intentionally hurt anyone—it's not in my nature. Master Marshall asked whether I've been naughty, and I haven't. I mean, I'm guilty of being lazy sometimes, or having that second slice of chocolate cake, but that's pretty much it. So why am I here, in this stately, terrifying office, with bits of rice sticking to my knees, about to be—gah, I don't even know what that man is going to do to me, and I don't think I want to know.
She shifted her weight, and more kernels bit into her flesh. The pain helped her focus. It always did. Then it hit her, like a flash. I need to be broken.
"Silver?"
She jumped, startled. "Y-yes, Sir?"
"Come over here, young lady."
Her heart was thumping so hard it almost hurt, and her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth, but even so there was an undeniable pulsing between her legs. My body just loves it when I'm scared, she thought ruefully, getting gingerly to her feet and brushing the rice off her knees.
"This is a punishment, young lady, so there are some basic rules."
Master Marshall fixed her with his frosty stare, and she gazed back at him. His eyes are so different to Travis and Trevor's, she found herself thinking, and suddenly she wished with all her heart that she was back in their bed, their thick arms around her, their treacle voices whispering that she was beautiful. No, you mustn't think of that. This place is an illusion. Those men are an illusion. Not real.
"You will not curse at me, nor will you move out of position. If you straighten up or try to cover yourself, you will receive extra." Marshall's voice seemed to be coming from very far away.
"Yes, Sir."
"Do you trust me to know when you've had enough, or would you like a safeword?"
"I-I trust you, Sir." She didn't want a safety net for this one. And despite his austere, imposing demeanour, she found that she did trust the man standing in front of her, who was slowly and deliberately rolling up his sleeves in a way which made her knees go weak and her panties moisten. Something about his eyes was reassuring—she felt as though he probably knew more about what she needed than she did herself.
"Excellent," he went on. "Then you had better raise your skirt and bend over my desk."
Silver obeyed, her blood pressure and clit competing for her attention. The smooth mahogany surface was cool to the touch, and she stretch
ed her upper body across it with a frantically pounding heart. As his fingers took hold of the waistband of her knickers, sliding them down to mid-thigh, she bit her lip and laid her cheek down on the wood. Breathe, she reminded herself. You've fantasized about this scenario so many times. You're about to find out why.
"All punishments should be on the bare, don't you agree?"
She murmured her assent.
"I think we'll start with the strap. You may cry if you need to; don't worry about spoiling my desk."
"Th-thank you, Sir," she whispered, then whimpered as she felt the cool leather brush against her bare backside. It was wide; the whole thing almost covered her entire—
THWAP! It felt as though someone had doused her butt in petrol and touched it with a match.
Silver whimpered, relieved when that first instant of searing agony subsided quickly, fading to a lingering stinging sensation across both her bottom-cheeks.
THWAP! The second stroke landed exactly over the first, and she was clutching the sides of his desk as though she were drowning and it was a life raft. Fucking breathe, she told herself, over and over again.
THWAP! The third lick made her cry out.
"You regret asking for this yet?" His voice was filled with quiet authority.
"N-no, Sir."
THWAP! "You will, by the time I'm through with you."
Her breath hitched at his words, even as the heavy strap exploded across her blazing skin for the fifth time. The sixth lick was lower, catching the tops of her thighs where they curved into her buttocks. Unable to stop herself, she cried out again.
"You can yell as much as you want, young lady, I'm not stopping until I feel you've had enough. And we've a long way to go yet. You're barely even pink."
I don't mark easily—doesn't mean I don't feel it, she wanted to scream at him.
The heavy leather whacked across her bottom and backs of her thighs again and again, but by the tenth stroke, the endorphins were kicking in, and Silver felt the tension leave her body. Her thighs were trembling uncontrollably, but she felt strangely calm.
Master Marshall was as ruthless as he was precise, and once he'd delivered no less than fifteen hard strokes, he laid the strap aside.
"Th-thank you, Sir," Silver whispered.
"Sweet of you, but you're still not where you need to be. You asked me for this for a reason, and I intend to make sure you find out exactly what that was."
"Yes, Sir."
"I'm going to give you ten with the paddle. And I won't be holding back, so you'd better brace yourself."
CRACK! Hard, unforgiving wood met Silver's tender flesh with a resounding wallop, and the new sensation brought her crashing back to the present. With a helpless squeal, she went up on her toes, only just preventing herself from straightening up and clutching her backside.
"Well now, this seems to be making more of an impression. Remember, you straighten up, we start over."
Before she could respond, another swat exploded over the first.
"Still think you deserve this, girl?"
"Y-yes, Sir. I d-do." Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes.
"Must be feeling an awful lot of guilt, or self-loathing, if you think you need a punishment this severe..." CRACK! "I mean, it's not like you were sent to me for discipline because your Masters felt you deserve it," he went on calmly. "From what they tell me, you're as sweet and kind as you are beautiful..." CRACK!
Tears filled her eyes at the thought of the twins, her Masters. In just a couple of days' time, she'd have to say goodbye, and never see them again. The pain Master Marshall was delivering with each swat of his paddle was nothing compared to the ache in her heart at that thought.
"So I must admit I'm curious, Sylvia, as to why you think you deserve to be bent over a stranger's desk and have your butt blistered until you won't be able to sit down comfortably for days—maybe even weeks."
At his use of her real name, the tears escaped from her closed eyelids and began to slide silently down her cheeks, plopping wetly on to the mahogany.
"Do you feel guilty because your marriage to Stephen failed?" CRACK!
"Do you think it was your fault that he dumped you? That you just weren't pretty, or sweet, or loveable enough for him to want to stay?" CRACK!
A combination of endorphins and the repeated application of wood had made her backside feel numb; and while each new swat of the paddle barely hurt anymore, hearing her innermost thoughts and fears being repeated in his stern, even voice was pushing Silver close to breaking point.
"Don't think you're the first girl to come here hoping to escape her inner demons, Sylvia." CRACK! "But it won't work. The demons will just follow you—you have to find the inner strength to banish them."
She was crying openly by then, her broken sobs echoing around Marshall's office as he punctuated his relentless home truths with swats of the paddle.
"This is the first step, girl. You have to let go... all that pain and fear and self-hatred you've been bottling up... it all has to come out." THWACK!
She could still feel the paddle striking her, but it no longer hurt. Perhaps he was only tapping her now... she didn't know, nor did she care.
"You're so much stronger than you think, sweetheart. And you deserve so much better than you think you do. You deserve to be loved. You deserve to be happy. It doesn't matter what happened in the past."
Silver couldn't respond as he set the paddle down and ran an experienced hand over her buttocks, probably making sure he hadn't caused any lasting damage. "You think you've had enough?" he said, gently.
A part of her wanted to say no, that she could spend the rest of her life over his desk and would never feel as though it was enough, but another part of her understood that he was right; that no matter how much physical punishment he or others gave her, she would only be able to banish her demons if she did it herself.
Her eyes and nose streaming, she managed to nod. "Yes, th-thank you, S-sir," she hiccupped.
"Good girl." He was stroking her back. "Come here, let me give you a cuddle."
Shakily, still weeping, she managed to get up off the desk, wincing as she realised just how sore her buttocks were, before burying her face in his shirt as he stroked her hair and soothed her.
"You want me to get Travis and Trevor?" he said eventually, once she had calmed down somewhat.
"No!" She didn't trust herself to be in their company in the state she was in. Her emotions were too raw; she might well end up saying something she regretted. Like how I've fallen in love with them.
"Well I can't let you walk out of here in the state you're in, not alone. You want me to send for Kaylee?"
Silver shook her head; bad enough that she'd burdened Master Marshall with her torrent of emotions, she didn't want to subject his girl to the same. Suddenly she remembered someone else who was possibly still there at the Castle.
"R-Rosa," she whispered. "Is she still here? I want to see her. Please."
"Rosa? The Nanny?"
"Yes. Is-is she still here?"
"She's still here, sweetheart. I think she's extended her auction period through the weekend, though, so she won't be in the Nursery. Let me call the guest suite—they might be in."
As he dialled, Silver smiled through her tears as she realised that Rosa seemed to be having a good time. It must have been a crazy few days for her friend as well, and she wondered how it was all going. Good, she hoped—if anyone deserved to be loved and adored, it was Rosie. Oh shit though, what if they were currently in the middle of something? She'd hate to disturb... "Wait," she said desperately, but Master Marshall raised his hand to shush her and began to speak.
"Grant? Yes, this is Marshall. Am I interrupting anything? Oh, good. I'm in my office with Rosie's friend, Silver. Well, she's a little emotional and so I was wondering whether you could spare Rosie for a little while..."
A short time later, he put down the phone. Silver had stopped crying at last, and she realised with horror
that she'd managed to get mascara all over his formerly pristine shirt. "Oh gosh," she stammered, "I'm so sorry—"
"Don't worry about it. I keep a few spare shirts down here for this exact reason." He smiled and pointed to a door she hadn't even noticed before. "There's a bathroom in there. Would you like to pop in and clean yourself up a bit while we wait for Rosie to arrive?"
"Yes please. Thank you."
As she stared in the mirror, Silver was glad she hadn't allowed the twins to see her. Her eyes and nose were almost as red as her butt must be—every step she took reminded her with a dull ache of the lesson Master Marshall had driven home. She had more mascara on her cheeks than on her eyelashes, and her lower lip was swollen from where she had bitten it throughout the paddling. And yet she felt strangely cleansed, as though an enormous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. After a quick visit to the toilet, which had her groaning as her bruised ass hit the seat, she set about straightening herself out as much as she could with water and a tissue.
There was a timid knock on the bathroom door. "Silver?"
"Rosa?" She opened the door and fell on her friend.
"Oh God, sweetheart, what happened to you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah... I'm so glad to see you, though. I'm sorry if I dragged you away from anything—"
Rosie's beautiful blue eyes were filled with concern. "Don't be silly. Hey, do you have your room key?"
"I, uh..." Silver hadn't been in her own room since the day she'd arrived at the Castle. She was no longer sure exactly where her key was; probably in the twins' apartment, she guessed. "I-I think it's..."
"No matter. I'll organize us a spare. Is there anything else you need?"
"I could murder a coffee," Silver said, ruefully. "Is there anywhere private we could go to get one? I'd really rather not head over to the Buffet or café in my current state."
To her amazement, Rosie chuckled.
"What was funny about that?"
"I'll tell you in a little while. Let's just say for now that I won't be having a coffee with you. But I can definitely get you one."
Silver turned to Master Marshall. "Thank you, Sir," she said, her voice hoarse from crying. "That-that was just what I needed. It-it's been an intense couple of days and I, I... well, I just wanted to thank you, that's all."
When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle) Page 20