The Whip Master Page 7

  "Over the desk, my girl. You have some serious correction coming." His firm hand fell on her shoulder and pressed her chest to the smooth wood. "Hold the far edges. You've been here before. Many times, as I recall."

  He placed the thin cane on the table next to her head and rubbed her back before lifting up her dress. The sheer white panties snugly held her plump, rounded bottom in a lovely sling that jiggled as she breathed. He loved the sight of it—especially when the bottom that it covered started to change color.

  "What did I tell you the last time I caned you?"

  Fifty whispered her response. "You said you would need to make my canings more memorable, sir."

  "And what did I mean by that?"

  "That you didn't wish to see me back here because then you would have to believe I enjoyed it. You said that my behavior had better improve, or..."

  "Or what, Fifty? What would be the consequences of ongoing naughtiness?"

  "I would not be sitting well for a week, sir."

  Dorian nodded. "That's correct. You were just strapped last week for exceeding your limit of wine and still have traces of my leather on your backside, yet you did something that you knew would lead you straight back to my office. Do you enjoy being punished?"

  "No, sir," Fifty shivered.

  Dorian leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I think sometimes you do. I think you enjoy the attention, and tolerate the pain to get it. There is no need to be embarrassed by that, but there is a time and a place. I am always happy to meet those needs if asked, but not so happy if provoked."

  "I'm sorry, Master," Fifty whimpered.

  "I'm afraid you will be this time." He swished the cane twice, watching as she cringed. Wood was her least favorite implement, and something she tended to avoid if possible. Ordinarily, he enjoyed using his crop or a belt, but not with Fifty. He was not going to reward her for poor behavior, nor would he be quick to settle this account. "I'm going to try a different approach with you this time. I am going to let the pain settle in between strokes, and give you a moment to consider the next one. I am also not going to determine how many thrashes you will receive. It will be over when I feel you have learned a lesson this time."

  Dorian studied her body language—the tightening of her hands, the shallow breathing, the blush of color to her skin. The only indication that determined that her reaction was based on fear in lieu of excitement, was the tears. Fifty was a crier when faced with discomfort, especially if there was an emotional component.

  He lifted the cane and ran it along the crown of her panty-covered bottom, watching as it clenched with anticipation. Most submissives believed that the first stroke was always the worst, and after suffering the intense agony of the initial stroke, everything that followed merely required endurance. This opinion, however, changed quickly once they experienced the Master's hand. He kept them guessing, off-guard, and dreading what he would do, or not do, with the ensuing strokes.

  The slender rattan caught Fifty full across the base of her cheeks, and she rose with a squeal to her toes. Dorian watched the long, red weal as it came to life through the sheer white material and waited. He swished the cane twice more and watched her bottom clench once again. No, that would not do. The target had to be relaxed, pliable and unsuspecting of the next onslaught of the cane. Without warning, he caught the crown across both globes. Fifty cried out, letting go of the desk to block the next lash. He tapped her palm sharply with the rod, making her remove her hand and return to position.

  "You know better than to reach back, young lady."

  Swish! A loud 'owweee' echoed through the high ceiling of the room. He loved that sound! The pitch was one that told him he'd not only caught a place of sensitivity, but also gave him a baseline of intensity. Now that he had her attention, it was time for the miserable wait until the next stroke.

  "I think that it's good to give you time to think between the stings. Might help you make some choices that will keep you from having to be in this position again anytime soon."

  The cane landed again, this time crossing the other strokes like a hash mark. Fifty screamed out her protest and reached back a second time. Dorian tsked, walked to the back of the desk and removed a pair of soft rope restraints from his drawer. Fifty shook her head, her teary eyes begging him not to restrain her hands.

  "I am not going to risk you getting a finger broken because you cannot exercise self-control," he said, slipping the rings over her wrist and tightening them just enough to prevent her from slipping her hands out. He then clipped the other end to D-rings located under the desk, forcing her to stretch a little further and expose a greater portion of her back end.

  His fingers slipped to the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down to the backs of her thighs. The stripes were a vivid, hot pink color against her skin, with a couple of raised areas just barely noticeable. Dorian ran his warm hand over her flesh, feeling for both the temperature and the degree of welting. Stepping back, he released another swing, and caught her cleanly across the crease of the thigh and under curve of the buttocks.

  There was a nanosecond of silence before Fifty yelled out. Dorian suppressed a smile, knowing that her bottom was roaring with an engulfing fire that would not extinguish completely before the next lash. He waited until her breath returned and let go with another, paralleling it to the other hash mark in a perfect diagonal line that cut across the horizontal welts. He paused to finger the skin, making certain that it was not close to splitting, and then set another right next to it.

  Fifty wiggled uselessly, dancing on her toes and vigorously wagging her bottom back and forth. Dorian watched her movements with amusement, wondering why so many submissives shared in this little oddity. It did not deflect the pain, nor did it cause the cane to go into a less sensitive region. But it was adorable, and for that reason alone, Dorian never attempted to force his maids to stay put unless he was training them to full service as slaves.

  An astonishingly hard stroke sliced dead-center in the middle of her mounds, followed by a low, guttural wail. Another was placed over the exact same spot, causing the welt to raise to a dark red weal. As Fifty writhed and sobbed, Dorian calmly took the opportunity to deliver a long lecture on the virtues of morality and obedience, and the grim punishments that awaited naughty maids who failed to learn these lessons. He counted seven horizontal stripes, each artfully placed, with a specific distance between each long, crimson line. The two diagonal slashes, from the lower left cheek to the middle of the right cheek, crisscrossed the others. Now it was time to get creative.

  His reputation was above anyone else's when it came to his artistic ability with an implement. A submissive who carried his marks did so with both shame and pride—shame, for being sent to the office meant that the transgression was significant, and pride for having endured the severity of the discipline.

  "For how long did I promise that you would not sit comfortably?" he asked, running the tip of the cane down the backs of her snowy thighs.

  "One week, sir," Fifty sobbed, lifting a single foot up while bouncing on the other.

  "Do you think you deserve one week of removal of your sitting privileges?" he asked. The subs hated being asked questions such as these because they demanded honesty.

  "Yes, sir. I mean, nooo, sir! I don't want that!"

  "No? Are you sure? For someone who likes to sit, you certainly find your way over the desk quite often."

  "I mean, yes sir. I mean… I don't know what I mean!"

  "Well, how about you think about it as I continue? I think we will raise it up a notch as well, and perhaps make a more permanent impression."

  Fifty dissolved into a shuddering sobs before the next two strokes and began to beg for forgiveness, confessing her selfish manipulation, and promising to be the perfect Graye Maid if only he stopped. Her body was drenched with sweat and her bobbing grew more and more frantic between blows. After crossing the horizontal lines another three times, Dorian switched sides to paint anothe
r five lines, completing a large 'X' over her swelling buttocks.

  "Whom did you offend today with your jealousy?"

  Fifty wept, trying to catch her breath. "Y-you and One. Marilyn?"

  "Yes, Marilyn. Who else?"

  "Mr. Carmichael?"

  "Yes."

  "And myself. And the legacy of Graye Manor."

  "Five people were offended by your behavior. With every stroke, I want to hear you apologize to each one of them and ask for their forgiveness. Begin."

  The cane burned across the backs of her thighs, and the decibel level of Fifty's screech made him wince.

  "Master," she blubbered, "I beg your forgiveness for offending you. I'm sorry."

  "Good girl," he said softly. "Breathe…"

  The cane fell again and striped the area mid-thigh, producing an even louder wail and an angry, red welt.

  "In your presence, I ask for One's forgiveness for offending her. I'm sorry."

  He waited until she was able to inhale without coughing on her tears, and watched for her body to give up the exhausting battle and relax before he proceeded with the third stroke for Marilyn, and then the fourth for Mr. Carmichael. She slumped on the surface of the desk, her cheek soaking in the puddle left by her tears. Dorian's heart ached—but just for the moment. He was a man of integrity and when he made a promise, it would be fulfilled. Even if that promise was unpleasant.

  "One more, sweetheart. It will be the hardest, because forgiving yourself is often the most difficult of all the tasks you could ever undertake."

  The stroke fell across the very tops of her thighs and across the dark apex where he could see the pink lips of her pussy peeking out. That was when Fifty did the unthinkable.

  "FUCK!" she screamed, lifting up from the desk.

  Dorian stood in shocked disbelief. "Did I just hear you say 'fuck'? And during a punishment?"

  "Oh, my God, I'm sorry! I swear, I'm sorry! I couldn't help it, it just escaped. Please…"

  "Go put that bottom in the corner. We have another unpleasant few minutes together still to come. You know my feelings about my girls and swearing." His voice was sad. He would have preferred to hold and soothe her, not to punish her more. He rubbed the back of his neck as she stood with her back to the room, holding up the hem of her uniform dress to reveal her well-caned bottom.

  She had taken about all she could handle for today, he decided, as he sat in the over-stuffed armless chair. The poor kid could barely stand. "Fifty? To me." He patted his lap.

  She hesitated before settling her swollen backside on his hard thighs and then sighed aloud as he wrapped his arms around her.

  "I'm not going to punish you for the outburst."

  "I'm so sorry, Master Graye."

  "I know, baby. But you will report to One on Sunday before the auction and tell her what has happened."

  "You want me to see One, sir? I don't understand."

  "Do as you're told."

  "Yes, Master."

  "Fifty? You know that I love you, right?" he said softly. "Sometimes love means having to say 'no'. I can't allow you to destroy a chance for a future and the life you desire."

  "I know. Thank you."

  "I want you to reconsider Mr. Carmichael. He would be the best for you."

  "Whatever you feel is right, Master."

  "I'm not forcing you. I just want you to think about it. Maybe spend some time with him this weekend."

  "I can't. I'll be in the kitchens."

  "I will arrange some interview time. I will also have One check him out to make certain I'm not missing anything. Of course, he will be bidding against two other potential Masters."

  "I understand."

  Dorian rocked her lovingly, his left hand cradling her burning hot backside. More than ever, he wished he could break his own rules…

  Chapter Six

  After escorting Fifty to the kitchens and advising Mrs. Lyon of the situation, Dorian returned to his room.

  "Did you actually start without me?" he asked, hands on his hips.

  One waved at him from the chair where she was getting her feet massaged. "Come join me. How's our girl?"

  "Very contrite, except when she ended the session by yelling out the word 'fuck."

  "She didn't!" One gasped. "During punishment?"

  "Yes, she did. It was quite an unrestrained reaction that surprised her as much as it did me. Her emotions are starting to really awaken and come to the surface now. I'm concerned that she will have a difficult time transitioning to a different household."

  "I don't want her transitioning to a different household, Dorian."

  "I know, baby," he said, kissing her cheek. "She is to come see you on Sunday before the auction and confess her outburst to you. I expect you to take a mother's role with her. She will need that before she goes on the block."

  "Are you sure? It might make her more upset."

  "Have I ever been wrong about the needs of my girls?"

  "No."

  "Then trust me. Especially with this one. I would like you to spend some time with Mr. Carmichael, though. Perhaps get a feel for him. On paper, he appears to be a good choice, but we all know how that goes."

  "Is he is the only bidder for her?" One asked sadly.

  "No; Jamal and the Tin Man also have applied. Jamal wants her for administrative purposes, and we know Mr. Tin just likes having a pretty face around, even though he can't get it up. He really doesn't care who the face belongs to."

  "Both are harmless. Jamal's harem would keep her busy and he would encourage her to pursue his male servants for attention. As for the Tin Man…" She shook her head. "All his previous maids adore him, they just can't live with him. She would not stay with him long-term, I can guarantee that, but she would also be quite safe and have time to grow."

  "Yes, she would. She would also become quite adept at changing hearing aid batteries."

  "Very true! Dorian? Are you all right?" One asked.

  "I'm not happy with how severe I had to be with her. Do you realize she's been in my office nearly every week, for some fairly serious offenses? Last week she got drunk. The week before, she got into a hair pulling fight with one of the parlor maids. It disturbs me."

  "She's acting out, honey," One said, reaching for his hand. "She's scared and looking for something to make her feel stable. Punishment does that for a lot of us."

  "Why doesn't she just request a session? She knows that option is available if needed."

  "The same reason most of us don't just ask. First, there is a chance of being refused. The process to make sure that we aren't asking for pleasure purposes versus helping us stabilize in a time of stress is annoyingly long. So much so that we would just rather act up and earn a good punishment. Another reason is that most of us prefer to have the option of choice removed so we can't back out of it."

  Dorian remained silent, contemplating her words. They made sense on so many levels, including the abdication of personal responsibility. After all, it was easier to blame others than own up to a bad choice.

  "Did I make a mistake by allowing Fifty into our intimate circle?" he asked quietly.

  "If you did, it's too late to change it. None of us predicted how we would grow to love each other. I just pray that she is mature enough to accept necessary change."

  "I am afraid for her. Or maybe I'm more afraid for myself."

  "It isn't like you to second guess your decisions."

  "It isn't like me to love one of my maids as deeply as I love this one, either. I have realized that I've become as accustomed to her presence in our lives as she has to ours. Except for you, Fifty is the only other person I would trust to handle my personal life. Her loyalty and faith in me are unwavering. I'm so afraid that I'm going to disappoint her because I am obligated to do the right thing."

  "This is a Dom's dilemma, my love." One squeezed his hand. "You have a father's heart. It's always going to break when you see your little girls leave your protection. You can't help it." />
  "It hurts," the man confessed.

  "I know. Mine is hurting as well. But we can't let the girls—any of the girls—see our pain. They have to believe that we are excited for them. Even Fifty."

  "I love you, Merry. Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For always being my voice of reason."

  "You've always been mine, right? Oh, and if I don't care for Mr. Carmichael…"

  "Then I promise I will remove him from Fifty's auction slot. I trust your judgment even above my own."

  "Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that. Now, finish your massage. We have a long day today, and you need to be ready in an hour."

  ***

  It was already too warm to even consider wearing a suit to the opening ceremonies, so Dorian garbed himself in 'Island' attire consisting of a loose, white cotton shirt and white pants. His ever-present black riding crop stood out starkly against the pants and emphasized his darker, Grecian features. His tall, sinewy body was kept hard by daily sparring and workouts, and his natural olive skin gave him enough edge to look menacing—even in white.

  His thick, raven black hair was combed meticulously back and held in place with gel, emphasizing his strong, square chin and dark eyes framed by long, sooty lashes. But it was not his height, strength or even the rugged beauty of his face that held a woman captive. It was his mouth—the smooth, plumps lips and a shocking white smile—which was the weapon that sent her falling upon her knees with both desire and fear. When he flashed his smile, only two people in his life had the capacity to refuse him—his beloved wife, and his oldest and dearest friend, Elias.

  "Are you going to stand there and admire yourself all day, pretty boy?"

  Dorian turned to see Elias enter his room. "I didn't hear you knock."

  "That's because I didn't. I don't follow protocol in this part of the building, remember? What's up with Fifty?"

  Dorian sighed and began to pace, explaining the predicament.

  "Yeah, you got yourself into a mess this time," Elias said with a shake of his head. "I met Carmichael. Nice enough fellow. The horses like him."