Seducing Sandy

by Maren Smith

  “Don’t lose your nerve.” Sandy didn’t mean to say that out loud. She wasn’t even aware she had until Wendy laughed beside her, a slightly deeper, burble of a chuckle.

  “You and me both.” The older woman still grinned and the light of excitement in her eyes hadn’t diminished, but it was mingled now with something that looked a little like fear. Her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

  Sandy’s hands were doing the exact same thing, she suddenly realized.

  Passing beyond the shadow of the wall, the bus crept down a longer drive where the forest at last gave way to neatly manicured grounds all covered in snow. The hedge maze was planted in bristly evergreen shrubs, the only dots of greenness in what was otherwise a landscape of white, marked by naked Greek and Roman statues and salted walkways that cut through an ankle’s depth of ice and snow. Those walkways spiraled out every which way, some leading into the woods and others toward a series of outbuildings, including a massive stable in the distance, easily identified by its numerous corrals.

  Crowning all of that, however, was the Castle itself, guarded by another wall and a portcullis which was raised up high and the drawbridge already lowered over a liquid moat. The water must have been heated, if only to a temperature somewhat warmer than the air above it. It was steaming.

  The bus pulled into a roundabout stop near the entrance, where a cluster of costumed livery men were waiting to unload the luggage. They were an orderly and efficient bunch. Being in the front row had its perks. As soon as the bus was parked and the doors swung open, Wendy and Sandy were the first to disembark and by then, the livery men had the luggage compartments propped open, with several pieces hauled out and stacked into the horse-drawn cart they’d brought with them. It was both a rustic and incredibly fancy touch, considering this was really nothing more than a glorified sex hotel.

  “I’m so excited,” Wendy kept saying as they crossed the drawbridge together, followed by a trail of hopeful koi, begging their passing shadows for food. A burlap bag full of fish pellets set just off the drawbridge quickly identified itself as the reason why, along with a plaque above it that read: Feel free to feed the fish. No more than one handful, please.

  Sandy almost stopped to do so, but squeals from two younger women racing each other to the bag let her know those fish wouldn’t be starving anytime soon. They didn’t take just one handful, either. They took two apiece and made several trips, until a gruff salt-and-pepper haired ‘servant’ in clothes that didn’t look much different than the burlap bag, albeit layered and probably warmer than her own coat, called out to them in a heavy Scottish brogue, “Dinna make me send ye fer switches!”

  “Ooo,” Wendy leaned into Sandy to whisper. “I like him!”

  “Do you like switches?” Sandy whispered back, because really, to her that would have been the bigger concern.

  Wendy just giggled. She might have been fifty, but that giggle had schoolgirl mischief stamped all over it. It was enough to make Sandy laugh too. She shook her head and, despite the seriousness of the cause to which she’d already condemned the Castle, together they went to the admission tables to collect their fake names, their information packets, and the bracelets they would wear for the duration of their stay.

  “Oh my God, this feels so real,” Wendy—now Jasmine—said as they found two empty seats. They sat together, because the devil you knew was always better company than the one you didn’t know, especially at a fantasy BDSM resort. Not that Sandy—now Ginger—had ever been to one before, but it was starting to feel incredibly real to her now too. When she opened her manila envelope and shook the bracelet into her waiting palm, she felt yet another trembling quiver roll through her in waves. This was it. This was the point of no return.

  Which was pretty much her exact same thought the moment she’d boarded the Castle’s private bus.

  And again, when she’d stepped out of her car in the Starbucks parking lot where the other Castle guests stood sipping their lattes, talking about the weather and how much snow was expected before tomorrow, and waiting for the buses to arrive.

  Except this time, it really was the point of no return. She was here. The buses would soon be leaving again, if they hadn’t done so already. The gates would be closing and she would be stuck in the middle of this frozen nowhere, miles outside of town, surrounded by woods—and quite possibly wolves—in a place she had convinced her boss might actually be a sex slave operation.

  The crowning of a new Miss Sheep didn’t seem so bad right now.

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  * * *

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Eric demanded, his blue eyes huge with disbelief.

  “Why the hell are you giving it to us?” Reeve added, taking the assignment file out of Eric’s hands to better see the details for himself. Red hair, green eyes, definitely a looker, judging by the photocopy of her driver’s license. But then, it wasn’t attraction that concerned him regarding this case. It was the word ‘reporter’ spelled out all in caps above her name, highlighted in neon yellow and circled in bright red ink.

  “Two sets of eyes are better than one,” Marshall answered, leaning back in his throne of an office chair, fresh cup of coffee in his hands. Both drapes over the tall, narrow-paned windows behind him were wide open this morning, but ice obscured the glass, which in turn reflected color from one of the waving turret banners, turning it the same eerie shade of blue as Marshall’s eyes.

  Those eyes were almost as well-known as this entire resort. Called the Master of the Masters for a reason, Marshall could make even the brattiest submissive back down and the most alpha of his dominants submit with little more than a stare. The joke below stairs was, it was so penetrating, that stare was all he’d needed to impregnate his wife, Kaylee. Whether Marshall had heard that joke yet was anyone’s guess, but since it was still being passed around, probably not. Regardless, Reeve hated that stare. Marshall only had maybe five years on him, but getting called into the Master of the Master’s office was like getting called into his father’s study at the end of a day that he already knew was about to get a little bit worse. At thirty-one, Reeve would have thought he was too old to spank, but sitting in this straight-backed chair meant for naughty submissives, staring at those two crook-handled canes on the wall directly behind the throne… well, Reeve half-way expected it.

  Every single time he got called in here.

  “I know you two have tag-teamed other guests in the past,” Marshall continued. “I should think this would be just another day on the job.”

  Reeve exchanged looks with Eric. They’d been best friends practically from the day they’d met, serving together in the army, sharing women even then, and certainly sharing the same kind of kinky proclivities that made working at a place like the Castle something of a dream job.

  “You’re setting us up with a vanilla,” Eric told him.

  “A dangerous vanilla,” Reeve added. “The kind that takes notes and files lawsuits.”

  “No, read the file. I’m setting you up with someone who claims to be new to the lifestyle. Unlike some, who lie through their teeth because they don’t want to be seen as ignorant—” Like Marshall’s own Kaylee, who had entered the Castle exactly that way. Reeve and Eric exchanged looks, but neither said that. “—at least she’s willing to tell the truth. She’s also filled out a list of potential likes and dislikes, which she claims eagerness to explore. And that means you get to treat her like any other guest who enters these premises. She’s interested in rope and bondage, right up your alley,” Marshall told Eric, and then turned to Reeve. “She’s also interested in flogging and spanking, which gives you something to explore. Or, at least she says she’s interested. But she’s also a local reporter, born and raised in Granger, and no doubt possessed of all the same prejudices that have plagued us from the moment we decided to set up in this town. So, as I said before, two pairs of eyes watching over her every move are far better
than one, especially while showing her all around our lovely, safe, sane and consensual, and completely law-abiding—” He caught himself and rolled his eyes. “Apart from that whole ‘no adult can lawfully consent to receiving physical bodily harm from another’ bullshit, of course—completely law-abiding establishment. Now, are you willing to accept this assignment, or do I need to find somebody else?”

  That was an order posed as a question and Reeve knew it.

  So did Eric, who stopped rubbing his eyes. He dropped his hand into his lap and pasted on a smile that was only phony to those who knew him well. “I love it. I’m excited about it.”

  “Count me in,” Reeve agreed, but only so he could get out of this chair and out of this office with what few shreds of domly self-esteem he had left.

  “I can’t wait to get started.” Heaving out of his chair, Eric took back the file. “When do we meet her?”

  Marshall didn’t smile, not exactly, but there was a glint of mirth in the ice of his eyes when he said, “Mistress Miranda should be finishing up her speech in the courtyard now. She’ll be waiting for you in the Meet and Greet.”

  Reeve startled. “What, she’s here now?”

  “We don’t even get a day to plan it out?” Eric seconded. He kept his smile and his falsely cheerful tone, however. “Well, this just gets better and better. I can’t wait.”

  “Dismissed.” Marshall chuckled.

  “I just can’t wait,” Eric repeated on his way to the door, still cheerful although the strain to remain so could be heard in his voice. As soon as the door shut behind him, he dropped both the smile and the false tone, smacked the folder against his thigh and grumbled, “I just can’t wait to wrap my hands around her neck and throttle her. Wait. Does she like breath-play?” He opened the file to look. “Hard limit. Damn.”

  Reeve scrubbed his face with both hands. Already his analytical mind was drafting a list of things to do. “We need to get into costume, reserve a room, figure out a game plan… Any ideas?”

  Flipping through papers, Eric said, “She put no to role-playing, but yes to age-play.”

  Reeve snorted. “She probably thinks we’re peddling out children.”

  “Probably,” Eric agreed. “But that gives us a place to start. What do you think, should we be brothers again or just really good friends?”

  “Do I have to see you naked if I say the latter?”

  Eric snapped the file folder closed long enough to give him a wounded gasp. “You love seeing me naked. It gives you something to aspire to.”

  Reeve punched him in the arm, but his amusement was short lived. As they walked, Eric opened the file, acquainting himself with her limits and her likes, and Reeve stole another glance at the woman’s photo ID, stapled to the upper inner corner of the folder jacket. She really was pretty—a redhead with a shapely face that probably crowned an equally shapely body.

  Not that that mattered. She was a Granger reporter; she was here looking for trouble. Knowing what he did about this town and its incredibly small-minded populace, Reeve was glad all the rooms came with a fully stocked chest of adult toys. It wasn’t often that he opted for man-made when it came to sexually fulfilling his role as the ultimate Dom and seducer of an assigned submissive. But in this case, he’d happily purchase all the toys it took, because he would not be touching her intimately.

  All that pretty red hair, shapely curves and a smile that looked so innocent and friendly. Reeve tsked and shook his head.

  If only a person’s appearance matched the deviousness of their intentions…

  Chapter 2

  This was, bar none, the most exciting thing she’d ever done in her life and she knew better than to think that way, but it was impossible not to. Sandy had never once been in a ballroom before. Apart from in the movies, she’d never seen one or imagined anything could look as nice as this, but this… this was like something right out of Beauty and the Beast. The size of a basketball court, the grey stones were lit up by what looked like torches at first glance, but with flame shaped bulbs that moved and flickered like real fire. She’d had to get right up under one before she could tell for sure that these torches were electric and not the real thing. Ten minutes later, she found herself checking another one… just to make sure. They looked so real!

  But that wasn’t all. In addition to the lights, red velvet curtains swept from floor to ceiling, softening the severity of the castle stone. Matching crimson and gold rugs softened the cobblestone floor, too, and at one end of the room, a raised dais sported a pair of royal thrones centered upon it. Any minute now, Sandy expected the king and queen of the “realm” to make their royal entrance.

  There were servants too. Men and women, all dressed in eighteenth century valet and maid costumes. All wearing the armbands of submissives, some in collars and some not. Royal guards stood watch at every door, politely redirecting any guests who neared back to the softly playing orchestra or the banquet table, laden with meat, cheese, breads, pastries and fruits. She’d stepped right off the bus into the middle of the Victorian era. And to make matters worse, directly after orientation, with the guests separated into groups according to which program fit them best, they’d been escorted straight to Wardrobe. Now they were all in costume too. Sandy knew this wasn’t real, but it all looked so authentic. It was really messing with her head.

  “Have you ever seen anything so posh?” Wendy whispered, practically clinging to her arm as they moved together through the crowd.

  “Never,” Sandy whispered back. Truth be told, they were clinging to each other.

  There had to be two hundred people in this room. There’d only been forty or so trucked in on the buses this morning. Certainly, no more than sixty had taken the orientation. She didn’t know how many servants there were, but most of the others were dressed up like royalty in fabulous ball gowns or stunningly attractive formal black-tie attire. Sprinkled in amongst them were women in little “Alice in Wonderland” dresses and men in short pants, matching jackets and neck bow ties. She saw two kittens and three puppies, one superhero—a rather portly and balding Thor, complete with hammer—and even a Snow White, who was anything but female. In this room, Sandy discovered as she looked around, gender didn’t seem to matter. Snow White wasn’t the only man wearing a dress, and more than one woman walked by, dapper as could be in her gentleman’s evening attire. One even wore a mustache. She was very pretty, with or without it.

  Sandy’s costume was more like Wendy’s. She only vaguely remembered checking the Royalty Program while filling out her online form. Of all the selections available to her, that had seemed like the safest. So here she was, decked out in dark green velvet with gold buttons and white lace trim. Her hair had been pulled back in a pearl-dotted net, and her waist had been tamed by a black and gold corset tied just tight enough to make her breasts plump up to their absolute best advantage. The girls looked great. No lie.

  Wendy’s princess gown was similar to Sandy’s, but it was shiny satin red with a neckline not quite so revealing. If she could have found one with a collar that went right up to her chin, she’d have worn that instead, but the Wardrobe attendant’s gentle coaxing had finally won her over.

  “You only live once, right?” Wendy had giggled, more nervous than happy as she stood in front of those stark dressing room mirrors and watched as she was stripped out of her modern clothes and redone up again as… well, royalty. A traveling Renaissance fair had come to Granger once and Sandy had done the reporting on it. Frankly, that was what this was starting to feel like. The only things missing were the knights in full battle regalia, a jousting tournament and vendors selling turkey legs.

  Surely most of these people had to be guests, right? But, Sandy thought as she and Wendy both eyed the room, some surely had to be Castle employees too, didn’t they? It just didn’t make sense for there to be so many guests in attendance when only forty or so were newly arrived. But if even half of all these people were employees, how did one go about distinguishin
g them from visitors? Everyone was in costume. Everyone wore color-coded armbands—yellow for servants; she and Wendy were both in purple, which made sense since that was the color for royalty; as for the others—red, blue, pink, tiger-striped, green, grey, black—she didn’t have a clue. Some even wore a white bracelet in addition to another color, she had no idea what that stood for either.

  “Want something to eat?” Wendy asked, signaling a passing maid.

  Dressed in the scantiest French maid outfit Sandy had ever seen outside of a porn shop, the young woman finished serving the timid-looking kitty-girl she’d bumped into first, then obediently came to offer them pastries from her silver tray.

  “That looks like that would be fun,” Wendy said, gesturing to both the maid, her outfit and even the tray as she swiped two appetizers and a napkin. “Pretending to do chores all day while sneaking a bit of hanky-panky time with some handsome livery boy you’ll probably never see again?” Grabbing Sandy’s arm, Wendy muffled a squeal and did a bouncy little dance of pure delight. “I never thought I’d hear myself say such a thing and think it was great! My God, I love this place.” She turned back to the amused and trying not to show it maid. “Tell me you’ve done something a little like that. Please? Let me live vicariously through your wild, youthful wantonness.”

  “We—Jasmine!” Sandy scolded, catching herself in time to keep from revealing her new friend’s real name. She didn’t know whether to laugh or be appalled.

  Far from offended, the maid started to smile, but quickly squelched it. She stole quick peeks over both shoulders, then huddled in closer. “It’s not let’s pretend,” she said. “We really do clean this place, top to bottom, almost every day. And you can have trysts, lots of people do, but you can’t get caught doing it. Way back when, if a maid was found playing where she shouldn’t, she got fired. Here, if you get caught by one of the floor masters… Master Derrick or Master Paul… oh!” The maid shuddered, but her eyes were alight with excitement. “Master Paul has this beast of a leather strap, with holes all down the end, and Master Grimsley? It only takes one time with that awful switch he carries for you to—”