"I wish to sit in on Fifty's interviews," One said quietly.
"No. I will. Don't worry," he said, squeezing her knee, "I will make sure that she is properly cared for. Not another word about it either, missy."
"Master Graye? I'm Lawrence Smythe. We spoke on the phone?"
Dorian stood to shake the hand of the tiny, old man with a fringe of gray hair and old-world mustache. "Mr. Smythe, it's good to finally meet you. Meredith? Mr. Smythe is the recruiter I was discussing with you. This is Meredith; the first Graye Maid and my beloved wife, whom I call One."
"Pleased to meet you, Mistress Graye."
"I am not a Mistress, but thank you."
Mr. Smythe kissed the back of her hand. "Dearest lady, please forgive my assumptions. A man's sensibilities vanish in the presence of a true goddess. I was born into beauty in terms of art, history and culture, which translates into the appreciation of feminine exquisiteness when I come across it. And, madam? I just did."
The women witnessing the scene twittered as One covered her mouth with her free hand. "Oh, my! We must keep this one, Dorian!"
"I am known as the Snake Charmer, my lady. I can turn the most vicious viper into a harmless caterpillar. I was raised under the roof of The Gentleman's Club from childhood, and trained in service by a Lady of Day."
"You are an original Valet?" One gasped, grabbing Dorian's hand. "He's an original! Dorian! An original!"
"Father was a Gentleman of Parliament and Mother was in his service. I chose service when I came of age."
Dorian smiled, watching his wife's reaction at meeting one of the blue-blooded descendants of the very institution that every consort provider in modern history emulated. Only the children born of British nobility were permitted to claim being raised under the roof of the exclusive club, and those who entered service were gifted with the elite title of Valet or Lady of Day. To the classically trained domestic, it was like coming face to face with Santa Claus.
"Did you bring the candidate?" Dorian asked, lowering One back into her chair and gently closing her jaw.
"Yes, Master Graye. When would you like her delivered?"
"This evening will be fine. I made certain that my schedule was cleared through the morning. One? Please cancel your plans for this evening, I have a surprise for you."
"For me? What is it?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?"
"But…" His raised eyebrow caused her to shrink slightly in her chair. "Yes, Dorian."
Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear, "Just because you are out of livery doesn't give you leave to argue. Must I make an example of you in front of our guests?"
One quickly shook her head. "No. I'm sorry."
He touched her lips with his thumb. "We will discuss this later, then. Let's eat our meal. Mr. Smythe? There's an extra seat at my table. Would you care to join us? This is Prince Jamal of Nigeria…"
The meal and conversation were outstanding, as expected, but Dorian's mind was focused now on the candidate that Mr. Smythe had brought for him to evaluate for the next rotation of maids. He was trying a different approach by opening his doors to those who had experienced prior training from private handlers of good reputation, including ones who did not quite 'fit' TGC's needs or standards. As he stood to depart, Fifty approached him.
"Yes, my dear?" He looked down at her kneeling form.
"I just wanted to update you, Master."
"Stand. Straighten your shoulders," he gently corrected. "Good girl. Lift your chin and meet my eyes without fear. People are watching, and a Graye Maid must not hide her pride in who she is. Excellent! Now what do you wish to tell me?"
Tears glistened in her eyes, as they did every time he spoke kindly to her. There was no doubt that the girl was in love with him, he sighed inwardly. Would it hurt her heart to know that his attraction to her was purely platonic? He loved her, as he did all his girls, but in a more protective manner—like a daughter, not a lover. He was in a conundrum.
"… completed. Is there anything I can do?"
"About what? My mind drifted."
Fifty smiled. "You've been pushing yourself too hard again, Master. I'll send for the masseuse to visit you in the morning."
He was amused at the way she shifted from her service mentality to being his PA. "That would be lovely. Please repeat your question."
"Many of the clients are interested in interviewing several maids. I've set it up so that they can do so in the same time slot and not miss out on attending the festivities. I need to ask what you would have me do with the ones who want to interview them in clusters."
"That is permitted only if they are interested in contracting multiples. We don't want any more jealousy permeating the maids' quarters than is already there. Everyone knows how I loathe jealous behavior. Why did you just look away?"
Fifty reddened, her eyes meeting the floor. "I'm sorry, Master. I am guilty of jealousy as well. Even while setting up these appointments, I found myself becoming angry as the same numbers came in demand."
"Why were you angry? This is our job."
"I was angry because I know that those numbers were not assigned to me."
Ah, her insecurities were taking over. This could be a problem if she was paired with a Master or Mistress who enjoyed multiple partners. "The feelings are not the problem, Fifty. It is what we do with these feelings and how we project them. You know I won't coddle or placate any of you when it comes to such a thing."
"Yes, Master." she hung her head.
Dorian placed his hands on her shoulders. "Look up at me. Have I ever led you astray?"
"No, sir."
"Go to Mr. Smythe and tell him that I want you to assist him this evening with the new candidate. He is our new recruiter—that elderly gentlemen kissing the backs of all the ladies' hands. Follow his instructions regarding the introductions."
"You want me to bring a candidate to you? Me?" Fifty looked stunned. "That is usually Master Elias's job!"
"I am aware of that. You are then to join One and me in the morning to talk about how the evening affected you. What's wrong?"
She wiped a tear off her face with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, Master. Some of the maids say that I am too needy and childish to be a Graye Maid, and that I don't deserve to be auctioned. Everyone knows that I'm not used like the rest of them, and that my inability to stay in place during punishment is shameful. The lack of bidding makes me think that they might be right."
"This is why I discourage sharing or comparing training with one another. It always leads to jealousy and builds insecurities. Let me make myself clear. I have personally trained you in the way that I feel is best for you and your needs. I am grooming you for a different life than the other girls because of your skills and personality. Further, no one determines who is worthy of my name except me. Understood?" She cowered slightly at his firmness and simply nodded. "Go now, and I don't ever want to hear any more nonsense about your place in this house. You are exactly where I want you to be. Period."
"You treat that one differently than the others, you know," Elias said, joining Dorian as he left with One towards their rooms. "The quarters buzz with gossip about favoritism. They have not been kind to her because of it."
"She is my personal assistant, and that brings with it responsibilities and privileges that others would not receive. Has anyone hurt her?"
"No, not physically. Yet. Several have cornered and verbally accosted her."
One said, "You must stop it, Dorian. She's still a child and…"
"She must learn to stand up for herself and not allow anyone to bully her. You experienced the same treatment when you trained at The Gentlemen's Club because you were exclusive to a handler, remember?"
One winced. "Yes, and you constantly made an example of me."
"I did. They needed to see that being a favorite required an expectation of perfection. A maid who is unable to handle herself with the social nonsense that comes wit
h living in a house will not survive long-term service. Remember our goal is for permanent placement. This is not Rent-A-Maid. Elias? Keep me informed. I want details."
"Of course." Elias held the door open for the couple to enter. "Is there anything you need from me before I retire for the evening?"
"Just keep your eyes and ears open at the quarters. Most of the graduates are wise enough to know that Fifty's power as scheduler can affect their contracts, but the others might not have realize that and lash out. Interfere only if things decline to a physical fight. I will not tolerate that for any reason."
"Were we ever that silly?" One asked, as the door closed behind them.
"Yes. And the only thing that has changed is our ability to hide it. I need you to change into your dungeon gear. We have a candidate to evaluate tonight."
Excitement sparked from her eyes. "You are allowing me to partner with you?"
"I am allowing you to observe and offer input if needed. Surprised?"
She hugged him happily. "I've never seen you evaluate a candidate. This is so exciting! You are wonderful!"
"Yes, I know. I'm just waiting for you to realize that you are. When are you going to come out, Merry? You're a switch, and this Manor needs a Mistress."
"I will when I'm ready. I just haven't felt the urge yet."
"Maybe tonight will help."
"I can't make any promises, darling. You know that. I need to be comfortable with the role I play, and I can't if I feel I'm being forced."
"I understand. Now get dressed. Red leathers, please."
Chapter Four
"Wear this until we arrive at the Master's quarters," Fifty told the tall, lithe woman dressed in a tailored, cream pantsuit. She buckled the velvet blindfold carefully around the woman's eyes and moved her black hair out of the way. "You'll be able to walk until we get there."
"The blindfold brings the submissive to a place of focus," Mr. Smythe explained. "For many, the darkness and loss of the sense of sight not only heightens the experience, but also weakens the resolve and allows them to relinquish their control. We cannot release ourselves to serve if we're still clinging to our will to dictate our own path. Now lead her as you would wish to be led."
Fifty nodded, trying to control the shaking of her hands as this legend of a man shared his wisdom and knowledge with her. She took the woman's hand and guided her from the waiting area, down the corridor and to the grand staircase. The woman's heels clicked loudly against the wood and echoed in the spacious room, and Fifty felt her heart pound as rapidly as the pulse of the one she led. She placed the woman's right hand on top of the smooth banister rail.
"There are thirty-four steps to the top floor and the Master's wing. The final step is a little shorter in height than the others. Careful."
"Good directions," Mr. Smythe praised from behind them. "Did you notice how her breathing relaxed when you gave her the directions?"
"Yes, but her palms are damp and I can feel her pulse racing when I touch her wrist."
"Normal signs of anxiety. It is excellent that you paid attention to them. Awareness is a mark of a good handler."
"I cannot be a handler, Mr. Smythe. I'm a maid of service."
"Handlers come in many shapes and forms, and serve different purposes. Mrs. Graye is one such as you, yes?"
"Yes."
"Yet she functions as the leader among your group. Do not be concerned with titles, my dear. Be concerned with action. She is a Mistress and, perhaps one day, you will also be one who leads others as she does."
Fifty nodded, and slowly led the candidate up the staircase and down another corridor in the direction of Dorian's rooms. The architecture of the Manor was designed to accommodate different needs, and included multiple paths to the different regions. The path they had chosen would lead the candidate through the training area which was presently quiet due to the late hour. The scent of leather dominated the senses, and both Fifty and the candidate simultaneously inhaled the delicious aroma.
The three paused at the double-doors at the end of the hall, and Fifty lifted her hand to the knocker. Why was she trembling as much as the candidate?
"Enter," Dorian's voice called from the other side. Fifty bit her lip as she walked into the enormous private training area that the Manor's Master reserved for his own, personal use. "Bring her over here and strip her down. I want a good look at what you have brought me, Mr. Smythe. Be quick about it, girl."
No instruction was given to the candidate, and she stood in silence as Fifty rapidly removed her heeled shoes, jacket, slacks, blouse, bra, and panties until the woman was completely bare before them. Only the blindfold remained.
"I like to remove any perception of protection and expose the vulnerability. She doesn't shrink as she stands here. Is she accustomed to being naked?"
"Yes, sir, Master Graye. She is third floor."
"What is that?" Fifty asked in confusion.
"Our forefathers began this profession under the umbrella of the old British system of domestic service," One chimed in, wrapping her arm around Fifty's waist and kissing the girl's cheek. "The high floor chamber staff were often being trained as either a Lady's maid or a valet, and were responsible for taking care of the owner's chambers and his or her private and public needs, much like a personal assistant. As it translated to our form of domestic service, many were taught to remove their uniforms at the door."
Dorian cleared his throat, demanding silence. "Spread your legs." The woman obeyed, her face showing no sign of emotion as he snatched her wrist, secured it in a soft, Velcro cuff and then snapped the D-ring to a chain above his head. He repeated the motion with her other wrist.
Fifty licked her lips, imagining the heat from his body pressing against hers. She glanced guiltily at One and, to her relief, received a wink and a gesture to sit down next to her.
"Your pulse is pounding yet you don't struggle. You are excited, not afraid," he observed, walking around the woman. "You don't know me. There should be some sort of fear. Mr. Smythe? Explain."
"She knows of your reputation through TGC and, more importantly, she trusts me not to ever put her in a position of harm."
"Excellent. We breed respect and obedience here, not fear. Relax your control," the Master ordered, his warm hand trailing across the woman's shoulders. "Do I have your consent to test your limits? Speak immediately when asked a question, and answer honestly and completely. I do not demand silence unless necessary."
"Yes, Master Graye."
"I am not yet your Master," he corrected her. "I don't want to remind you again, so please remember that."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Graye. Yes, sir, you have my consent to perform whatever you desire."
"Drop the rituals. I want to evaluate you as a person. Hard limits?"
She inhaled sharply and turned her head towards where she had heard Mr. Smythe before answering. "Breath play and hygiene, sir."
"Do you have a name?"
"Yes, sir. Dorothy."
Without warning, Dorian sailed his favorite strap across the back of the woman's thighs, making her gasp and whimper from the sharp, delicious sting. He smiled, glancing over as Fifty grabbed One's arm, slender fingers digging into her flesh with excitement.
"Head up, Dorothy. Higher. I have two ladies here who are becoming quite aroused and would enjoy seeing a good show."
"Yes, sir," Dorothy said, sucking in a deep breath of air to recover from the unexpected sting.
Dorian ran his hands over her breasts, pausing to pinch and twist the nipples into hardness. He studied her reaction, occasionally turning his head to observe the facial expressions belonging to his wife and Fifty. They were spellbound, their breathing mimicking that of the restrained woman.
"Pleasure is earned here," he was saying, as Dorothy pressed her lips lightly together while he teased a nipple with his fingertip. Deft fingers closed rubber-tipped clamps over the peaks of her breasts, tightening them just enough to gain a reaction.
; "See how she tightened her jawline and her shoulders tensed? She is also starting to sweat," he pointed out to his audience. He patted Dorothy's shoulder and then carefully added a small weight to both clamp hangers.
"She likes that," Fifty whispered in One's ear.
"If you want to try it, let me know," One whispered back.
Fifty nodded, her eyes glued to Dorian as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. He moved behind the woman, his hand running along the curve of her waist and hips in a lingering caress. "Do you enjoy Greek?"
"Greek, sir?"
"Anal penetration. It happens to be a favorite direction of play for me. Answer me."
Fifty shivered, her mouth suddenly going dry as she pondered the question. Her one, and only, sexual experience had been when she lost her virginity to the man who betrayed her. He had not even gone near her ass. She doubted she would ever allow Dorian access to her body like that.
Several seconds passed. "If it pleases you, sir."
"I demand honesty from my maids, not ritualistic responses of protocol. Forget what you learned at TGC and answer truthfully."
She hesitated. "No, sir. I hate it."
He removed the blindfold and stepped back so she could look around the room. A St. Andrews cross, polished to a dark glow, stood in a dimly lit corner. Benches, tables, T-bars, harnesses and various stockades were tastefully placed in various sections, with extensive distance between devices that allowed for freedom of movement. A chrome suspension crane twinkled against a wall that held an enormous array of implements. Paddles, whips, straps, canes, and leather—so much leather! Several recessed cabinets held various toys, clamps, and sensation devices for medical and electrical play.
"That's the same expression you had when you first saw our playroom," One whispered in Fifty's ear.
"Except I was terrified."
"So is she. See how tense her neck muscles are, and how she is clutching the chains? She has never faced anything like this before. Watch how Dorian turns all that fear to him."
The Whip Master Page 4
