The Whip Master

by Breanna Hayse

  Her return to earth always left her vulnerable and hungry—not for food, but for his flesh. She reached her mouth to join his, parting her lips to invite his tongue inside. The tart orange from the juice only made him desire that which was sweeter, and his mouth trailed to her bare womanhood to eagerly taste her sweet offerings.

  "Dorian," One moaned, entwining her fingers in his thick, black hair. "More…"

  "Ask for it," he commanded, his teeth nipping and pulling at her swollen lips.

  "Please, fuck me. Take me hard."

  "How hard, One? How hard do you want your Master to claim you?"

  "Until I scream." Her breath was raspy as she held back her climax.

  "You may not cum until I give you permission," he reminded her, flipping her onto her knees and spreading her legs wide apart. He ran his large hands over her discolored bottom, making her whimper in discomfort before aiming the head of his rigid, pulsating cock to her dripping slit. He lunged himself within her.

  "Is this what you want? Do you like it when I take you from behind?" Dorian clamped his teeth into the back of her neck, his torso pressing against her marred, broken skin.

  One hissed, dipping her head further. "Yesss!" She arched her spine to take him deeper. "More!" She rocked to meet his strokes, swaying her head back and forth as her senses peaked. Her nerves were on edge, waiting impatiently to be thrown into the abyss of delight. She needed more from him and he knew it. Without warning, he slid his cock from her pussy and aimed it at the smaller puckered target. He pierced her, sinking inside her depths and claiming her tight hole with his thick shaft. Plunging in and out, he forced her to feel every glorious inch he had to offer. He then reached between her legs and pinched her clit.

  One released a primal howl as she arched her back and pushed his fullness to embed her to the hilt. His hot seed exploded like magma from a volcanic eruption, coating her insides and soothing her ache. Still buried deep within her dark cocoon, Dorian pulled her back in his arms and sat her upon his lap as he slid to the soft carpet of the floor and leaned his back against the couch. His lips grazed lazily along the length of her neck and she leaned her weight against his chest and sighed.

  "What are you thinking?" he whispered in her ear.

  "Mmm…"

  "Mmm is good. I'll draw us a bath."

  Dorian smiled with satisfaction knowing that, once again, he had left her both satisfied, and speechless. His spent cock slipped from her body and he carefully lifted her from the floor and placed her on the bed. As the large jacuzzi tub filled, he slowly stripped himself of his own clothing, his gaze never leaving the still form of his beautiful wife. Once he, too, was naked, he carried her limp body to the tub and lowered her into the water with him, holding her tenderly to his muscular body.

  One stiffened as her wounds touched the hot water. He knew the salts he had dissolved in the bubbling liquid would be uncomfortable, but it was to ensure the tiny cuts were cleansed well to avoid infection. He also took slight perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that her pain, that which he gave her, was also her pleasure. Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, his long arms reached around to enfold her lovingly, smiling as tiny mewls tiptoed from her lips as he washed her.

  "Meredith? When was the last time I told you how much I love you?"

  "The last time you called me by my given name," came the soft reply.

  "I need to do it more often. I'm sorry," he kissed her temple again.

  "Don't be sorry," she kissed him back under his chin. "You show me how much you love me. That is much more important to me than words. You know that I don't require poetry or songs to know how you feel. I never needed that, just you."

  "I know. I'm just the romantic in this relationship. You serve me and the Manor day and night. You never complain, never ask for anything for yourself, are the example of perfection as a submissive and a wife, and always are the first to comfort someone in pain. I need to verbalize my appreciation more often."

  "You taught me those traits. You have always said that a Graye Maid was to reflect you, and all those things are the examples of selflessness that you demonstrate to us. Don't you see that?"

  "I honestly have never given them any thought."

  "That is one reason everyone loves you so deeply and fully. That is why, year after year, the contracted maids beg their owners to bring them back here to see you again. They love to contribute, as a thanks for what you have done for them."

  "I never considered that," Dorian said quietly.

  "That is one thing I so love about you. You are strong, confident and even a little arrogant at times, but always genuinely humble. I love you." She kissed him.

  "What is your wish, darling? Share your secret desire so that I can try to grant it to you."

  "I have everything I could ever want. I don't require anything more."

  "I believe that statement to be true of your heart. But what of your head? Put aside everything you've been taught, without worry of appearing selfish or needy. Please."

  "There is one thing…" her voice trailed off, and was lost in the quiet sound of the whirring jets beneath the bubbles.

  "Tell me."

  "I cannot," One said, sitting up and pulling away from him.

  Dorian's heart cringed.

  "Damn. I'm sorry," he said, lifting her hand to his lips. "We can still adopt a baby."

  "We've talked about this before. Even if I could have one of my own, this would not be the place to raise a child. And I can't give this up any more than you can." Sadness filled her eyes as she looked up at him. "Some things you just cannot make happen, Dorian Graye. You are smart, powerful, rich and handsome, but you are not God." Her tone was tinged with disappointment.

  No, he was not. If he was, he would have spared her the cancer that had taken her uterus.

  "Hey, don't look so sad." She touched his nose. "You can always buy me a playmate."

  "Buy one? You have your choice of playmates anytime you wish."

  "Yes, I do," she brightened and looked up at him. "But I can't keep any of them as my own."

  Dorian lifted an eyebrow. "Is there one in particular you wish to have?" He knew the answer. She wanted Fifty.

  One nodded. "Yes. But our policy won't permit it."

  "Policies can be changed."

  "I know. But once we start doing that for our own gratification, it could have a snowball effect in the future. You said that yourself."

  "Alas, I did. Let me think on it. You love her, don't you?"

  "With all my heart. You love her, too."

  "Yes, I do. Enough to give her the opportunity to have what's best for her. With us, she would not have the husband and white picket fence that she dreams of."

  "I'm being selfish. Please, forgive me." One looked down at the swirling water.

  Dorian lifted her chin. "You are the most unselfish person I've ever known. Give me some time to think this out. I can't make any promises, though. We have to do what is best for her."

  "She would choose us if we asked."

  "Yes, she would. But she is still very much a child. She doesn't really know what she wants out of life, yet. She needs time to grow and explore her own needs and desires."

  "You're right. May I ask a favor of you?"

  "Of course."

  "Please do not make me be present at the auction. I couldn't bear to see her being sold to a stranger."

  "I promise. Now, let's change the subject to something a little lighter. I want you to wear your emerald gown tonight and show off those beautiful stripes to our guests." He reached out his hand to help her out of the tub. They began to towel dry each other.

  "Consider it my honor, Master Graye. Would you do me a favor as well?"

  "What would you like?"

  "For your socks to match. Just once? Please?"

  "I'll think about it."

  "Dorian!" One scolded, pointing at the mismatched pair of socks in his hand as he sat on the bench to dress.

  Dorian
grinned broadly and slipped on his shoes, chuckling as she threw her hands up in the air. "Yes, dear?"

  "I give up!" One exclaimed. "I'm going to have to live with this quirk forever, aren't I?"

  "After all these years, you are just starting to realize that? It's my own little way to show I refuse to conform. I'm like a native American Indian portrait artist—you know, the kind that deliberately paints in a flaw because only the Creator can be perfect?"

  "You're impossible!"

  "I know," he said with a laugh. "And you love me for it."

  "I certainly do."

  Chapter Three

  One looked magnificent. She always did, but that evening she was exceptional. The beads sparkled in the light, casting tiny rainbows over the flesh left bare to the eye. The stripes graced the full length of her back and upper hips, disappearing under the material as the gown's low cut back dipped to barely cover the tiny divot atop her buttocks. Placing her arm in the crook of his elbow, Dorian led her to the front of the ballroom and sat her at his table with Jamal and his five consorts.

  "You are glowing, darling," One said, kissing the pregnant woman's cheek. "How do you feel?"

  "Like I have sausages for toes and unstoppable heartburn," the woman laughed, hugging her old friend. "You are more beautiful than ever. Those stripes are superb. Are you in much pain?"

  "Sadly, no." One shook her head. "Just a bit of a sting, but you know Dorian refuses to cut any deeper with his whip."

  "My poor, neglected little subbie," Dorian said, wrapping his arms around his wife from behind and kissing her cheek. The contact of her back with his dinner jacket caused her to grimace. "Better?"

  "It is the lasting pain I want, not the momentary, you silly man," One giggled as he nipped her neck. "These new additions are beautiful, by the way. I'm just confused. I've never known you to be more concerned about form than function."

  Dorian followed her finger with his eyes as she pointed out the enormous glowing pedestal table in the dead center of the room. It held an ice structure of a graceful, naked slave, and was surrounded by fresh flowers.

  "Things aren't always what they seem, my dear. Jamal! I'm glad you accepted my offer to join me." Dorian greeted the prince with a strong hug.

  "I would never refuse your table. It would be rude. And foolish. One? You are ravishing. I trust your Master gave you more than these stripes today?"

  One bowed as he kissed the back of her hand. "Thank you, Your Highness. He did. He called me by name."

  "You must have been a very good girl indeed!" Jamal applauded.

  One blushed and dipped her chin down without breaking eye contact. The prince stroked her face. "Dorian, old man, are you aware of what the other houses say regarding your policy of eye contact? They think you are too kind."

  "I don't give a damn about what they think, and you know it. My maids show their trust and understanding when they can meet a handler's gaze. They learn to accept praise without pride, and correction without defiance in this manner. It allows us to read the intent of their hearts as well. I don't breed mindless robots. I raise strong, responsible and secure women who independently chose the type of life that they desire."

  "Ah, yes, which is why I return every year," Jamal agreed. "Your maids are perfection, and our world knows that. The other houses cannot duplicate what you produce here. Some have tried and sorely failed."

  "That is because they don't have the incredible team that we do," a voice said from behind.

  "Elias! How are you faring?" the prince asked, hugging the Master at Arms and Dorian's right hand man.

  "I am doing well. What? No greetings for your old handler?" Elias asked Jamal's five companions. With a squeal, they surrounded him, chattering like excited squirrels over a favorite nut.

  "I'll announce dinner to be served," Dorian said with a laugh, as Elias repeatedly kissed Pleasure's swollen tummy.

  The dining hall buzzed with excitement as the Master of Graye Manor opened the weekend's events with a welcoming speech, a list of activities to participate in, and an invitation to attend training demonstrations. He waited for the twitter to die down before continuing.

  "Graye Manor Maids have always had the reputation of being women worthy of honor, trust and exemplary behavior. They are chosen for their character, intelligence and individual, unique skills and talents that our staff nurture and develop to help them grow to become the perfect companion for the client's way of life. Many of our girls have gone on to marry their Masters, and some have even begun to have families. Our purpose here, above all things, is to ensure a match that is as near to perfect as possible. Under your place settings, there is an envelope with the profiles and pictures of the ladies that we believe match your own needs, desires and lifestyles."

  He waited for his guests to remove the contents of their envelopes and shuffle through them before continuing. "Fifty? Step forward, please."

  Fifty, dressed in a knee-length, black and gold maid uniform, rushed to her Master's side and dropped to her knees. He stroked her head tenderly. "Fifty will be responsible for setting up your interview and discussing your contract limits this weekend. Please set up an appointment with her to meet the maids face to face if you want to be issued a number for the auction. For those who are first time clients, I would just like to remind of you of our consent policy. Contracts can only be authorized under the condition that the maid and potential Master participate in at least one fifteen minute interview, after which they both must sign an agreement of approval."

  "Mr. Graye!" a man called out. "The other houses don't require slave approval for the owners, and I've been to them all. That is absolutely ridiculous. A slave is neither capable, nor entitled, to choose the best Master for her. This 'consent policy' will lead them to believe that they are our equals and forget their place. I also protest you allowing women to bid in the auction. These females have also forgotten the superiority of the male role."

  The crowd growled at his statement, and Dorian bristled at the man's condescending tone. How had this revolting man manage to obtain an invite? Then he remembered that members of The Gentleman's Club received an open invitation to all public events. That was a policy that needed changing, if there ever was one!

  "Ah, Mr. Cliffton. Yes, I know that you've been to them all—several times, in fact. Your reputation precedes you." He frowned as the man lifted his head with pride. "I will remind you that not all reputation is good, which is why you continually walk away empty-handed from the auctions you attend."

  "Well, I never!" Mr. Cliffton sputtered. "How dare you speak to a member of The Gentleman's Club in this manner?"

  "You, sir, are no gentleman, and I will be certain to discuss this public display with the TGC Board of Directors. I will only say this one time: that Graye Manor is not one of the 'other houses', nor are my maids pieces of livestock or trained to become mindless idiots. These are women of value and purpose and with that, each has the option to choose the type of life she wants. With the type of Master, or Mistress, she desires."

  "Are you that foolish to believe that slaves have choices?"

  "They are trained domestics, not a piece of property."

  "They are women!"

  "They are intelligent human beings and not a piece of meat."

  "How can you call yourself a Master? You are no better than one of those… those… D&S Dominants!"

  "I do not care for your tone, nor will I put any of my maids or my guests at risk with such a liability. Master at Arms? Please escort Willy to the door."

  "I am Master Wilfred Cliffton! How dare you insult me!"

  "My house means my rules. Failure to exercise courtesy and respect within the confines of my walls is grounds for removal. Read the Access Agreement that you signed prior to setting foot on this property. Oh yes, and Willy?" Dorian's eyes flashed. "Next time you attempt to insult me, please chose your words more effectively. My mentor, Dr. Anthony Tatum, was like a father to me—and he was a D&S Dominant whose p
hilosophy and generosity allowed Graye Manor to be built. To compare me to him was the greatest compliment I could ever ask for, so thank you. Master Elias? Please assemble an armed escort to remove him from the premises, and ensure that he immediately boards a plane back to England without disruption."

  The other people in the room clapped wildly as the angry, stammering man was dragged outside.

  "Master?" Fifty whispered in his ear. "What if he goes to the police or the media to hurt you?"

  "He has nothing to hurt me with. No proof, only assumptions. Elias makes certain that there are no cell phones or recorders brought in here, nor was anything said that can be used against us to imply flesh peddling. He also brought up the TGC in a public environment, which is grounds for dismissal."

  "Aren't you the primary legal counsel for that organization?"

  "I am. Don't you worry, okay? They will do their part to silence him, as will we." Dorian squeezed her pointed chin gently. "Thanks to Master Elias and his military connections, I have a very effective security network, and an album full of rather embarrassing pictures that the media would love to see."

  "Master! Blackmail?" She looked appalled.

  "Protection, my sweet. I will do anything to protect my family from people like him. Remember that."

  Dorian addressed the buzzing room. "I apologize for the interruption. I assure you that he will go no further than his words this evening. You have my word."

  He waited until the room quieted again. "There is a flag near your place setting. If you wish to set up an appointment, raise it and Fifty will come by your table. To maintain the integrity of the auction, I ask that none of you share your information with anyone outside of your team. Each maid has been assigned unique identifying numbers that are known only to myself and my prime handler. There will be ten stations manned by select staff members to observe the interviews and help Fifty with the pre-contract agreements. In the meantime, dinner is served."