As I head into Sugargrove, cars line Main Street. Members of Juliet are bused in to allow some relief of the traffic. They keep two lanes open on the South side of the square for traffic. My all too familiar truck rumble can be heard as I catch sight of the bride’s veil and the groom on the big screen. I think I see Zoe stand up and point. Terry will never let me live it down. Exhausted and desperate for a shower, I fail to think about the actual wedding happening by the time I arrive.
“Way to go for silent, Nero.”
The closer I get to Juliet, the more I practice what to say. “Hi, come live with me and I’ll spank you forever,” certainly doesn’t seem to be the way to go, and neither does, “Wanna go out on a date with a badass motherfucker?” I whittle my feelings down to the only ones that count— “Iris, I love you more than words.”
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
JANUARY 2015
Chapter Three
All We Are Is Lost
AFTER NEW YEAR’S EVE Bondage and Bash, the next week brought wars. While not all the students were up for contracts, quite a few left. The best of the best—the original Girl Crew—dissolves.
With Jaid taking the position at Juliet, Jessica Ott’s undercover presence is no longer needed. She took an assignment and lengthy two-year contract with Dom Gennaro in New Orleans. They are combating the mass infestation of criminal activity by a man named Pharm and his rowdy, rambunctious, mask-wearing, and gun-wielding thugs. Her slick moves and cunning attitude makes taking deals to a new height.
A surprise invitation to the exclusive Highlandale Hawthorne sent Nina Kasai across the pond to become a pony girl. Her departure leaves a massive gap in Sal’s ability to practice swings on a willing ass. It is clear why she has been accepted, Nina possesses an easy ability and a charming, sweet personality. Everyone predicts she will thrive in the pony shoes, bit, and bridle.
The beautiful Zoe Hess, once Serene’s submissive and Sal’s quasi-sister—“Sissy”—was given a generous contract with Delarte Cristos. Rumor travels hastily through the campus that she has been sold by Serene. Sal speculates it as well but upon confronting his Mistress, she refuses to even acknowledge the question, passing it off simply as “Zoe’s decision.”
Sal doesn’t mind Cristos as a man, but Zoe is his sister. And his inner older brother flew off the handle, taking a staunch protective stance. The girl is a virgin, and Cristos exhibits a weirdness even for their carnival.
With her drug addiction and self-harm issues, Cassidy “Cas” Hope resided in a private rehab for weeks. The former Crew Captain fell from rank, and freshman, Jenne Pearson, swiftly took her spot as Cas attempts to get her head on straight once and for all.
The Girl Crew rebuilds themselves—they now consist of: Jenne Pearson, Charlotte Tuddle, Jaid Chambers, Allison “Allie” Randall, and Iris Kettles.
Freshman, Jenne Pearson, received her position because her continued schmoozing amongst the members. She redefines social butterfly and never turns down anyone’s invitation to the dungeon. Her position with the Masters led to her place at a certain someone’s exclusive tryst in the woods with twenty-three Doms. She recorded the whole thing.
Although they have little respect for the girl who seemingly spread her legs for anyone and everyone. It is a tricky thing to keep the members and council happy. Subs can’t be too slutty, but they also can’t be prude. The selective ones are far more highly regarded than the cumpots.
The most selective of the new bunch belongs to none other than Charlotte Tuddle. Ella Hemsworth’s niece applies and receives an invitation to the school from provost Anna Ford without her aunt even knowing. With her perfect girl-next-door looks, Charlotte is the darling amongst the Doms, and a stark rivalry exists between Jenne and the up-and-comer.
The quiet student in the back with glasses and pleated skirts, Jaid Chambers, keeps to herself. No one knows she is an undercover agent, looking for cracks and clues in the student body. She may be the geek on campus, but it isn’t long before she is known as a freak in the dungeon, leading to a wait list a mile long for a night with Jaid. She doesn’t mind, but isn’t the type to give up the arch for just anyone. Master Archer and Sir Jack both take a genuine liking to the young girl, but of course they know who and what she is, and she accepts their positions as well.
The oldest one of the bunch, Allison “Allie” Randall graduated from Thread in Japan last semester. She spent the last six years studying the art of the rope—in both Dom and sub positions. Her submission heralded as some of the best kinbaku around which led to many modeling photo shoots of the thirty-one-year-old Brit.
Not surprisingly, Sal took an immediate liking to her early on, and it wasn’t long before he finds a willing participant to replace Nina and practice his craft. Their sessions quickly become not just one of D/s, but student and teacher. Sal teaches her whip techniques, and she infuses him with a love of the shibari.
Before Iris has a chance to even get to know the new and improved bunch of girls, she signed the private contract. No one knows who it is with or even why she takes it. Her two-year curriculum portrays the submissive to beat, and that would have warranted a hefty stipend on completing her studies.
But she didn’t wait.
Instead, Iris opts to take the contract for an anonymous Master in an unknown house. The talk about campus goes wild with speculation. In the end, most agree she bolted to one of the fine Houses overseas to continue her fetish. A few bitter ones believe she isn’t even worthy of Juliet training— “the chubby girl never fit in.”
Of course, the students are careful in their rumor mongering. Iris earned a high amount of respect during her initiation, and the Dom’s in attendance are not the kind to tolerate disrespect much less put up with bullying.
The changes at Juliet are not unusual, but what is—the addition of—Master Raniero—on the list of staff Dominants for the spring term.
The new eleven-member Board consists of: Kate Capri, Serene Stanton, Dr. Jack Kerris, Francis “Tank” Gregory, Delarte Cristos, Ella Hemsworth, Thelis Chastain, Dom Gennaro, Sophie Stevens, Lily Miller-Armstrong, and Brody Brinks. And not a single one of them expected the change coming from Anna Ford. In addition to her decision to add Sal Raniero amongst the staff, she expanded the board by three and desires to add two more. Her bold decisions chart the course for the future of her life’s work.
The Board knows of Anna’s favoritism with Sal and rumblings of his placement to their rank are opinionated and strong. The clearest opposition comes from Lily Miller-Armstrong, who does most of her voting via certified mail. Even Serene has not met the woman, but her generous donations to the school earn her seat.
Her persuasive emails start coming the moment she takes her placement on January 10. Upon learning Sal notches up to staff, the well-composed letters became a listing of his shortcomings or just comings altogether. Her words illustrate issues which do not make him a suitable contender for Anna’s board or any board. Ms. Miller-Armstrong isn’t even aware of Sal’s mafia connections or rogue status. Her politeness undercuts with side of snide. She almost sounds jealous to not make the cut in his Little Black Book.
The flip side to Sal’s new presence on staff brings into play none other than Kate Capri. News recently broke of Chance Ballister’s daughter—Mierne Risen—and widow, Iris Kettles. Kate is instantly by Sal’s side, serving as his own personal cheerleader.
With both of their names floating in Anna’s son’s scandal, no one wants to touch it, much less ask the old woman about it. Mierne Risen rightly deserves a place on the board, and an argument can be made for her inheriting the entire thing.
Iris Kettles rights are far less defined as his widow, but the one thing everyone agrees upon—she should have maintained member privileges all along as Juliet harbors the no drama policy concerning marriage. Both spouses will be admitted or neither, but not just one. The fact Anna Ford kept the secret and Iris out of the loop is a hotbed of questionable activity.
Did she
do it to protect her son?
His lover William Sands?
Or were her reasons even more unfathomable—did she do it to protect the woman she hardly knew—Iris?
Whatever Anna’s reasons were, she isn’t sharing with Sal and doubtful anyone else. She makes no excuses nor apologies. What is done is done, and she stands by her actions for whatever her motivations may have been. There is no policy in place for what to do if Anna makes bad decisions. It is her school, and she runs it the way she sees fit with input from a growing board of directors. The sketchy activity needs a PR fix to wash over and make the members forget her breaking the rules when it comes to her own son. For this, Anna calls an impromptu mid-January soiree.
The staff has been busy the first week of the year funneling bids after Bondage & Bash, and another auction will only leave them with loads of paperwork. Even more so because people always come out of the woodwork to help save headmistress and provost Anna Ford’s reputation from utter demise. Members who haven’t been seen nor heard from in years send in their RSVP for the event.
And on January 31, the hottest ticket in the fetish world belongs to none other than—A Black-Tie Rendezvous—the formal dinner and auction at Juliet.
I say therefore to the unmarried and widows,
It is good for them if they abide even as I.
But if they cannot contain, let them marry:
for it is better to marry than to burn.
I Corinthians 7:8-9
II: Circinate Vernation
Baby Girl Blue
Baby girl don’t be so blue
Your boy will return soon.
My stallion don’t you fear
Only you can keep my tears.
K.M. Hope
Chapter Four
Be a Good Girl
IRIS
BECOMING A SEX SLAVE was never in my plans.
I am a girl. My husband died. I ran away, uncovering his truth and finding my own. Fast forward nine months. I am there—standing on the doorstep to Jack’s sprawling country estate and knowing everything changed.
The house mere weeks ago stood in an abandoned, desolate state. Walking along the path, I notice flower beds, brimming with color as lights illuminate with an eerie, magnetic glow. I can’t escape—for six months—held captive by my own will. My own request. But I cannot leave—not with what I know.
Especially after what they put me through.
Lights fill the house as I gaze through the window panes. Furniture. New. Appliances. Unwrapped. Doormat. Normal. Something is not right—staging and putting on for show—but given the other option what am I to do?
If I run back to Juliet, I could beg for another Master—any other Master. I understood long ago who the Queen Bitch of the Academy truly is—Mierne—and not a chance in heaven, hell, or high water that she will let me leave Sugargrove. My mind and body exist as a product, a parcel, a commodity to be traded and exploited.
A flight home to Chicago will only lead them to following me. A kidnapping, a gang rape, a disappearance of the bookstore owner; I will never once be missed. Because it is that easy. Take the girl. And make her invisible.
Trapped in every direction, I chose my fate and my descent into madness. I wish the picture matched the darkness, but it doesn’t. Everything is off, skewing and twisting, tangling and betraying. Theories in math cannot prove shit when it comes to the deliberate malfunction in the game.
I am not his puppet—I am their puppet, plaything, and toy.
And this is their castle.
The pastures serve as their mote. The cedar rail fencing stands as grand gates poise with sentinel eyes on the posts. Barricaded and locked in, I will not be forgotten, but praised, worshipped, and adored. The kept princess lost in the creepy castle of kink.
The large, foreboding, wooden door opens with a creak. Shaking and fidgeting, my eyes dart low as I nervously whisper his name, “Jack.”
The pause goes on too long as I look up with surprise. “Georgia?”
Music fills my ears, and the smell of burning wood permeates my nose. The gorgeous house breathes with life, turning the prison into a beautiful sanctuary like the garden of Eden.
Georgia Wills, Mierne’s secretary, welcomes and appears whimsical as always. With her fluffy, bottle blonde hair adorned with two fake flowers in red and blue, she wears an Aggie sweatshirt and loose-fitting blue jeans. Her glasses frames emblazed with a large black bow. She squeals in delight shutting the door. “Hi! He will be back tomorrow night, but I have been given very specific instructions on handling you.”
The way Georgia says the word handling elicits thoughts of some rare butterfly like Jack calling me his precious. Perhaps I will not find my confinement to be in a dank, dark hole, but rather under glass, admired and adored.
Dead butterfly.
“I hate to do this, but I have to blindfold you,” Georgia says, smiling through the preservation technique. “And as soon as we get inside I have to take off all your clothes.”
While this should be awkward, I have grown accustom to my flesh on display. This is nothing but a trivial detail of the landscape. I sort of expect it. Clearly, Georgia has experience in dealing with submissive and her immunity to modesty. She wraps the black fabric over my eyes carefully avoiding the pulling of any loose strands of hair.
“Are you okay? Are we good?”
I nod anxiously as her pudgy little fingers touch my cheek intentionally like the caress of something fragile, sterile, and whole. Of course, I don’t believe I am any of those things, but I don’t see what they do. I don’t know.
How can I?
It isn’t like you can walk into the mall and purchase a submissive. I have no idea what they are looking for, but apparently, whatever—it—is, I have it. I embrace the newfound escape like a champ. After all, I trained for this. I am prepared.
Her fingers drift to my elbow as we begin the journey to my ascent or demise, depending on when you ask. Again, she repeats, “Are you okay? Are we good?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I am,” I say, taking a breath and flipping the question. “Are you?”
Georgia stops dead in her tracks, not expecting a bottom to ever concern themselves with her well-being. I have yet to comprehend how the hierarchal arrangement plays in real time on the board. I speak two words fluently—Dom and sub. Little did I know, levels upon levels beckon in their secret society.
I cannot comprehend that—I am not just any bottom; I am precious with special handling instructions. Apparently, Georgia knew from the moment I walked into Dr. Mierne Risen’s office back in the summer.
“I understand why all the Doms were fighting for you,” Georgia mutters softly, taking my clothes off. “And yes, I am fine. Thank you for asking.”
Georgia slips my shoes off, the cold tile piercing beneath my feet. Furrowing my brow, I cause the blindfold to bunch up. “They were?”
“Oh yeah, hon. There was almost a war over who would get you first. No one expected you would want to take a contract so soon,” she reveals, undoing the stockings from the garter and sliding them down. “Especially one for so long.”
I haven’t really taken the time to think how long six months is. Instinctively, I went into survival mode when I waited outside of Mierne’s office. I needed away from him. Or them. Or at least I thought I did.
Georgia finishes undressing me and says, “Unfortunately, you cannot have your bags either, dear.” Everything I brought sat in the foyer of Jack’s ranch house. I wouldn’t see it for months. All but three things—the diamond cuffs given to me by Ella Hemsworth, a sketchbook from him, and strangely, my phone. My charger is confiscated.
The unusual cruelty begins.
So, I can call for help, but better make it quick.
As Georgia leads my shivering, insecure body through the maze of the house, my mind analyzes the psychology of it all. I practiced not crying during this moment. The art of self-disciplining moves closer to the perilous edge with every step as I wan
t to cry for one of them—The Masters—to come and save me. The pain of not saying their names sends pinpricks through me and proves so much more difficult than even giving up my charger. Essentially, the steak is in the cage with the lioness and I can eat it or savor it—the choice is mine.
Yes, Dr. Jack Kerris’ sadism is a thing of infamy.
Only having one long-term submissive, a woman named Janine, starts a slew of many tales being spread about Jack. He is not a Master for the weak. And he will not take any old sub either. No, the good doctor insists on the classic, refined beauty. Although my hips betray me at times, my genetically gifted face never does.
With desperate blue eyes and red spiral curls to my bottom, I cascade along with Georgia as a product of voluptuous seduction. Though I rarely utilize the gift enough for it to be advantageous, I always ultimately remain the homely nerd with odd eyes and high cheekbones.
“As soon as I leave, you may remove the blindfold,” Georgia says, rubbing my shoulders. “Enjoy your stay, Iris. Don’t fall.”
Tilting my head, I question, “Fall?”
“In love with being pampered,” she warns, “Many do and upon release find themselves lost and incapable of outside survival.”
“You make it sound like I have gone to a deserted world.”
“In a way, you have,” she enlightens, “Goodnight.”
Shortly after Georgia leaves the room, I chunk the blindfold as my phone buzzes with a text from Jack.
Use your phone to call or text whomever, but you have no charger.
Salt Kissed Love (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 1) Page 5
