The Whip Master Read online

The time for Elias's discharge grew near, and Dorian used his new-found communication skills to gain support of the club and have Elias admitted as a security officer. The excitement of Elias's homecoming, however, was overshadowed by the news that Dr. Anthony Tatum had unexpectedly passed away in his sleep. Grief consumed the young Dorian, for he had grown to love the old man like the father he'd never had. It was the unconditional love of his friends, Elias and Merry, who brought him back to life. He had been named the sole beneficiary of Tatum's personal assets and life insurance, which included an immense, partially developed island off the Florida coast, and they convinced him to help his mentor's memory live on by creating a program based on Tatum's philosophy of submissive training with the goal of long-term domestic service.

  With the blessing of The Gentlemen's Club, and a promise to continue to represent their interests from afar, the trio began a new life and Graye Manor was born. Potential recruits who did not measure up to the standards of TGC were offered a second chance as a Graye Maid and soon their reputation of quality spread through to interested clients. Jamal had been the first to approach him, handing him a list of his specific needs. Dorian, with the help of Merry and Elias, produced Pleasure. The rest was history.

  ***

  Fifty was setting up his coffee when Dorian emerged from the shower. She had seen him naked countless times, yet that shy blush still rose to her cheeks when confronted by the Master au naturel.

  "Good morning, Master Graye," she said demurely, handing him the cup and taking his towel to dry his back. "Did you sleep well?"

  "Like a baby. It was a very eventful evening. I wish you could have attended."

  "Me too, sir, but I didn't deserve it after my behavior yesterday. Was Mr. Carmichael there?" she asked casually.

  "He joined me at my table."

  "Oh, no!" Fifty's eyes widened. "Please tell me that Master Elias behaved himself."

  "Relax. Just the usual banter. It threw Carmichael off guard for a second but then he seemed to enjoy it. We both know how important it is for a Dom to have a sense of humor, and he certainly has one. He's very bright, too and even managed to keep Pleasure intrigued."

  "That is good, right?"

  "Very much so. I was watching him in the room. He used a Honyaki Fugu-hiki knife at the carving station. I was very impressed. I had no idea he was a licensed fugu chef."

  "What is that?"

  "Fugu is blowfish, which contains a deadly tetrodotoxin. These chefs use a specially forged knife to slice tissue-thin pieces from the fish, and typically arrange them to look like a chrysanthemum. Incidentally, the chrysanthemum symbolizes death in Japan. When Passion saw his knife, she begged him to carve her back. It was amazing. I'll show you the photos later. He is also very proficient with the cane. Almost as good as I am. Speaking of which, how's your bottom?"

  Fifty blushed and immediately fell into position, then lifted her bottom into the air. Even with the sheer white panties in place, Dorian could easily see the swelling and dark bruises from the previous day's caning, ensuring the promised week-long discomfort. The ugly bruises on her thighs were large and multi-colored. He sighed. It was one thing to intentionally mark where nature intended, but another when it was not controlled.

  "Stay there for a moment. I like seeing your backside raised and welcoming."

  Fifty shuddered, saying nothing.

  Dorian felt his cock twitch as he gazed as her moist pink slit and rosy, tight pucker. "When was the last time you were plugged, Fifty?"

  "A few months ago, Master. You were displeased with how I rearranged your schedule without consulting you first."

  "I think you might benefit from being plugged again," he said, tapping his chin with his finger. "I think I even have a vented device here that will allow you to wear it all day."

  Fifty groaned and hid her face in her arms. She hated ass play, and Dorian knew it. The evening's events had brought out his sadistic side, and he intended to indulge—as was his right. Plus, he had a plan.

  He squatted in front of her so she could watch him unwrap a new anal plug. He surveyed it carefully to make sure there were no sharp edges or splits in the seams and then held it in front of her face. "What do you think?"

  "Master, it's huge. I'm not experienced enough to accept that." Her voice trembled with nervousness.

  "Nonsense. Get up on the bed and resume your position."

  Fifty scrambled to obey, not trying to hide her fear. She lifted her mottled bottom high in the air and spread her knees, and then placed her cheek on the mattress.

  "You need to breathe," Dorian coaxed, peeling her panties from her bottom and then drawing them completely off. He placed his warm hands over both her cheeks and spread her bottom wide before him. A thick dollop of lube was applied over her anus and he gently massaged around the tight ring until it started to relax under his touch. Slowly, he inserted his finger, stretching and probing until the nervous girl started to subconsciously push her body into his hand. He pressed the tip of the plug against her reluctant entrance and carefully moved it in and out, increasing the pressure until her resistance had lessened enough that he could ease the first two-thirds of the device into her. She balked at the width of the flange which sat above the slender neck of the plug. That would be the most difficult to work past the tight ring, but would also guarantee that the insert stayed in position.

  Her body fought the insistent pushing of the probe, but was no match for Dorian. He pushed the plug inside, grinning as a squeal accompanied the process. Once it was seated and he was certain it would go nowhere, he suddenly flipped her onto her back.

  "Say it, Fifty."

  "I can't, Master."

  "Then I will make the decision for you." He planted his mouth upon her clit, his tongue lapping over her, savoring her flavor as though she were an exotic delicacy. Her muffled protests changed to contented moans in response to his talented mouth. He pressed the plug with his right hand and released it, repeating the motion while continuing to suck and lick at her flowing slit and swollen clit.

  With his left hand, he spread her lips wide, removing the imaginary resistance that the folds of flesh pretended to offer. With his index and middle finger, he pressed the plug firmly and slipped his thumb into the recess of her pulsating womanhood.

  Fifty's moans changed to tiny mewls, squirming under his ministrations and quietly crying out her hunger. He pressed his thumb deeper inside, feeling her muscles try to grip him like an imaginary penis. And then he bit down, making her scream as the orgasm took possession of her body in countless, explosive spasms.

  He knelt between her splayed legs and looked at her blissful face. "You will follow my orders today, won't you?"

  "Yes, Master," she panted.

  "You won't protest or talk back, will you?"

  "No, sir." Her eyes were drooping.

  He rested his naked body on top of hers and let his cock lean upon her pussy. "You will have what I believe is best for you, and will not fight me. Am I understood?"

  "Yes, Master," she whispered hoarsely. "Anything you want, I'll do it."

  "Good. I want you to be happy." Dorian pulled himself to his feet and dressed quickly. "When you are ready, meet me in my office. I am cancelling your session with One this afternoon."

  "But Master, my outburst yesterday—"

  "It will be handled."

  "Master? Have I… have I displeased you?" The girl winced as she tried to sit up straight on the bed.

  "Did that feel like I was displeased?" Dorian asked gruffly, zipping his trousers after tucking his shirt neatly into the waist band.

  "No, sir. I mean, I don't know. May I ask why you gifted me?"

  "Gifted you? That was for my pleasure. It had nothing do with you."

  He loved the look of confusion on her face. The thought that an owner would give pleasure because it pleased him was still beyond the grasp of most of the submissives. Dorian slowly guided his leather belt through the loops, not missing Fifty's eyes h
oning hungrily into it. Despite the tenderness from her caning, she would have eagerly consented to a bout with the strap.

  "You're not getting the belt on top of those bruises from me, so don't get your hopes up." Disappointment raced across her face. He hid his smile. "Polish my boots while I dry my hair."

  "Yes, Master!" Fifty happily ran to his closet to obey.

  "Subbies," he grunted, shaking his head.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dorian tapped his pen against his coffee cup and glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I'm sorry. I should have given her a specific time to arrive."

  "I'm in no hurry. It's given me a few extra minutes to pick your brain."

  "If you plan on coming here for whip training, you will have more brain picking than you know what to do with. Fifty! Where have you been?"

  "I apologize, Master." She dropped to the floor. "Master Elias demanded that I show him my bruises."

  "Let me guess. He insisted on poking each and every one of them, didn't he?"

  "Yes, sir," Fifty said, wrinkling her nose.

  "Stand up. You remember Mr. Carmichael, don't you?" Dorian asked slyly.

  "Yes, sir. We spent a lot of time talking yesterday in the orchid garden. Good morning, Mr. Carmichael." She offered a sweet, perfunctory curtsy.

  "Good morning, Fifty. What bruises are you talking about?"

  "I, uh…" she looked at Dorian with a hint of fear.

  "How is your bottom, Fifty?"

  The young woman's face grew bright red and she hesitated slightly before assuming the position of display. Dorian winked at Greg.

  "It looks like you were a naughty girl," Greg said, rising from his chair and circling behind her. "A very naughty girl. Did you deserve this?"

  "Yes, sir," Fifty mumbled.

  "In addition, the dear child was supposed to present to Mistress Meredith this afternoon to discuss a little inappropriate outburst during her punishment," Dorian said, standing next to the other man as they gazed at the heart-shaped bottom.

  "What outburst was that?"

  "I said 'fuck' during my caning, sir." She sounded miserable.

  "She didn't! Please tell me that you don't believe that 'fuck' is a safeword?"

  "No, sir."

  Dorian crossed his arms and smiled. Fifty thrived when she was subject to a good scolding, loving it almost as much as the strap. Could Greg do it?

  "I would think that a sub who calls out 'fuck' in the middle of a session is asking to be fucked. That must have been the case! You just wanted to be fucked, right?"

  "No, sir!"

  "Really? If not, then what? It couldn't be loss of self-control or any kind of protest or rebellion, surely? That would have been very poor form, given your training and respect for Master Graye. You hold a position in this house as a senior submissive—that means providing an example to the less experienced ladies. Doesn't it?"

  "Yes, sir." Her voice sounded choked. Excellent!

  "How does that reflect on your Master, and yourself as a Graye Maid, when you are incapable of controlling your temper? If I were your Master, I would be so disappointed."

  Fifty burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, Master Graye. Please forgive me. I'm sorry!"

  "Why did you behave in that manner, then? Please enlighten me," Greg said.

  "I was jealous and acted out of line, and I'm sorry!" she sobbed.

  Dorian smirked. He was in her head! It had not taken long for Greg to get into her head with his calm, confident voice and firm resolve… and Dorian was delighted.

  "You say you are sorry, but what guarantees that you won't do it again? What promises can you keep that will inhibit any future outbursts?"

  "I can't promise anything," she cried in her arms. "I can only keep trying to behave myself appropriately. I'm so ashamed of myself. It came from defiance, not submission. Please forgive me, Master! I want to be worthy of you."

  "Little acts of rebellion don't indicate a lack of worth, Fifty. They merely indicate the need for more discipline. Mr. Graye? May I ask what Mistress Meredith would have done to this defiant little girl?"

  "She would have administered a sound spanking and then had her stand in the corner."

  "That sounds appropriate," Greg pondered.

  "Mr. Carmichael? What with the possibility of Fifty being contracted to you, I was wondering if you would care to do the honors and administer her spanking?"

  "No!" Fifty gasped.

  "I think I would. Why the protest?" Greg asked.

  "I-I've never been punished by anyone other than Masters Graye and Elias, and One… uh, Mistress Meredith."

  "In my house, you would only have to face me should you misbehave. Perhaps we should see how well you can accept discipline from another source?"

  "Master Graye?" Fifty looked unsure.

  "I already gave my permission when I made the offer."

  "Let's start with you across my knees, young lady," Greg said, sitting in a straight-backed chair and patting his thigh. "You are to keep your hands and feet on the floor. No kicking, squirming or reaching back."

  Good luck with that, Dorian thought to himself, as Fifty draped herself unhappily over the long platform of two solid thighs. She whimpered nervously as Greg peeled her dress up to her waist and then slowly rolled her sheer panties down past her thighs. Instantly, a vivid red handprint appeared on Fifty's already discolored bottom.

  "Ow!" she called out, twisting to look at Greg with surprise. "That hurt!"

  "Of course it hurt. Did you think it wouldn't?" Another swat fell on the other side, and Fifty instantly broke position to cover her incredibly tender backside with her right hand. Greg smacked her palm, making her yelp.

  "Really? Two spanks and already you are disobeying me."

  "Please, Mr. Carmichael! I am so sore from yesterday, and—"

  "Put your hands back on the floor or I will ask for a hairbrush. Then you will know what sore really feels like."

  Dorian's grin matched Greg's as the two men looked at each other. Then the spanking continued, and soon the individual handprints merged into two large, bright red ovals that jiggled furiously with every smack.

  "Oh, my God! You're killing me!" Fifty yelled out, her legs starting to kick vigorously.

  "She's a squealer and a squirmer, huh? Dorian? Do you have a brush on hand?"

  "No! I'm sorry! I'll stay still! Nooo!"

  "I don't repeat myself, darling. Thank you," Greg said, accepting the broad, boar-bristle brush from Dorian.

  Fifty began to sob, begging for mercy and apologizing for everything she had ever done wrong. Dorian leaned forward, thoroughly enjoying the show. He was impressed with Greg's technique and, more so, with Fifty's reactions. Her sobs turned to loud wails and high shrieks, and she twisted, kicked and flailed her arms in every attempt to escape. The only thing she did not do was reach back again. Swat after swat, the brush splatted in an easy tempo over her shaking mounds until she was cherry-red, from the crown of her cheeks to the soft, sweet spots right under the generous curves. Greg paused to survey his handiwork.

  "Seems like I missed a spot or two. Open your thighs, Fifty."

  "Master Graye! Stop him!"

  "You will not give any orders to anyone while you are being disciplined, young lady," Greg announced, putting the brush down and landing a hard whack to the inside of her soft thigh with his hand. Fifty shrieked again, placing her palms on his knees and pushing her torso into the air. Greg pressed her back down without missing a beat.

  He continued to spank her thighs until she stopped fighting him, and then returned to her backside for a couple of extra hard smacks. By then, Fifty was limp and panting with exhaustion. Greg kept her over his lap and rubbed her back as he spoke with Dorian.

  "I gather your training doesn't include position maintenance."

  "The training for each maid is specific to her personality, abilities and needs. Fifty is not a masochist or a slave, so punishment to her is very personal. She enjoys some leather play
now and then, but primarily responds to a more old-fashioned approach. She will also act up on occasion if she is feeling insecure, frightened or neglected. Because of that, we decided to allow her the freedom to react normally during discipline—with some ground rules, of course."

  "Interesting. I never considered the different ways to approach punishment. I'm going to have to reconsider some of my views. I prefer to keep a 1950's type home, as you know."

  "That's why a maid who is position trained might not be appropriate for you. You enjoy the struggle, and gaining the submission. That is also my personal preference."

  Greg helped Fifty to her feet, smiling as she immediately reached back to rub her scorched bottom. He placed his hands on her hips and looked her straight in the eye. "No rubbing. This is just a taste of what you will experience should you come to work for me. Master Graye and I have decided that a trial period would be appropriate because I'm a new client and am specifically looking for a permanent arrangement. I wanted you to have one last chance to refuse before anything is finalized."

  "Y-yes, sir," Fifty sniffed.

  "After this, have you changed your mind and want to reconsider contracting with me?"

  Fifty remained quiet for a moment, her internal struggle evident on her face. "No, sir. I have not changed my mind. I would like to learn how to serve you."

  "I'm happy to hear that. You will find me to be both strict and fair. I discipline harshly, but I also reward generously. Bend over the edge of the desk."

  At first, she did not seem to comprehend his instructions. She followed his pointing finger to Dorian's desk and her face fell. New tears erupted from her eyes, but she obediently walked to the broad, polished piece of furniture and bent over it, presenting her bare bottom for whatever Greg had decided to do with it.

  She jumped at the sound of Greg unbuckling his belt and pulling it from the loops of his pants. He walked in front of her head, the strap doubled in his hand, and leaned in close to her face.

  "Do not move from this desk. I don't want to have to ask Mr. Graye for a cane. Understood? Do you like the smell of leather?" he asked, running the belt in front of her nose and watching as she deeply inhaled the aroma.