The Whip Master

by Breanna Hayse

  Dorian growled under his breath and stomped towards the Manor, with One trotting behind him. He barged into the house and straight towards his private office, flinging the heavy door open with annoyance. The four stricken girls paled upon seeing him, and quickly dropped to the floor.

  "What happened?" he asked, trying to force his voice to sound calm. He had not missed the darkening spot under Fifty's eye, or her swollen lip. "All of you, stand up. Have you been to the infirmary, Fifty?"

  "Yes, Master," Fifty whispered, accepting the ice pack handed to her by One.

  "Who struck you in the face?"

  She stayed silent.

  Dorian cleared his throat. "The truth is going to come out eventually. Did you really think that a bruised face could be kept hidden, especially when she was up for auction?"

  No response.

  "I either get the truth right now, or every one of you will be demoted to Level One. That means," he glanced at the other women, "two of you will not be on the platform tomorrow."

  "No, Master! That isn't fair!" one girl protested.

  "No, it is not. But that is how it is going to be if I don't receive an answer."

  "I did it to myself, Master," Fifty said quietly.

  Dorian lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. "Lying to me is not acceptable. I thought you learned that lesson already."

  "It was my fault. I told Thirty-two that she could not take half of what you gave to me this morning, sir."

  Dorian frowned and glanced at the tall, dark-haired woman. "What brought that on?"

  "We saw her marks when she went to shower, Master. We, well, we kind of teased her a little."

  "They accused me of being your favorite, and said that you beat me so that you could then fuck me."

  "What?" One gasped. "Did you girls really believe that?"

  "No, ma'am. We were just teasing."

  "You were trying to get a rise out of her. Why?"

  "We were jealous, Master. You know that every woman here who likes cock wants to try you," Thirty-two confessed shamefully.

  "I am appalled and deeply offended," One choked out. "The Master is not a toy for any of you. I—"

  "I'll handle this, One," Dorian said gently. "How did it comes to blows?"

  "I got angry with what they were saying about you," Fifty said. "I shoved Thirty-two and told her not to speak of you with so little respect. That was when she struck me in the face. The other two held me down while she kicked me."

  "She kicked you?"

  "Nothing is broken, Master. Just bruised. I shoved her first, so it was self-defense."

  "Self-defense would be blocking you, not three against one. Fifty? Go with One to my room. You three," he retrieved the authentic three-foot long, hippo-hide sjambok from his cabinet, "are about to discover exactly what being sent to my office entails. Your behavior not only offended my house and my honor, but my wife. You also put another maid at risk of losing her opportunity with physical injury. Three against one? Kicking? Strip!"

  The three girls trembled fearfully as they obeyed.

  "Hands on your heads. All of you are demoted a level. That means no auction, Thirty-two. I will not have any maid of mine who is capable of such uncontrolled behavior be contracted with a client. This is probation, and if I ever so much as hear of any of you ganging up and causing physical harm to a sister maid again, you will be permanently expelled. What does that mean, Thirty-two?"

  Tears fell down the woman's face. "That we are blacklisted from all houses and placed back where we came from with nothing except our personal belongings, a cell phone with an hour's worth of calls, and one thousand dollars for an apartment and transportation to get a job."

  "Exactly. There will be no references and no assistance. I have never had to expel a woman from the Manor. Don't be the first."

  He bent the thick, cane-like whip in his hands. "I've used the sjambok less than five times since the Manor opened for training. Do any of you know why?" He ran the tip along the front of their thighs, watching them tremble. "This device is used to herd cattle and kill snakes. It will split the skin into deep grooves if any kind of strength is put behind it. Ordinarily, I don't believe in blooding for punishment. It tends to scar. But today…"

  The girls began to sob, with true fear reflected in their eyes. Dorian felt no compassion—they had brought it upon themselves. "You used your hands to cause harm. Palms out."

  Panic rose among the three. Dorian waited for them to obey—he had time.

  "Push your palms together and do not move. I have no desire to break a finger—or your hand. Thirty-two? You are first. You are to return to position when you are ready for the next stroke."

  The scream that echoed as the tip of the sjambok struck the center of her palms was ear-splitting. A long, dark bruise began to appear immediately and she sobbed, shaking her hands in agony. The other two fared no better, each one echoing her excruciating howl.

  He waited until they returned to standing, hands on their heads and flexing their burning palms. "Turn around and bend over. Put your elbows on the desk and keep those hands on your heads," he ordered. Sniveling, the three obeyed. "You are not to move. Three against one? You received the first stroke and now will receive two more. I promise that this will not be forgotten by any of you."

  The sjambok sliced cleanly against the sit-spot of each of the three girls, leaving a large, purple welt in its wake. Before their screaming ceased, he repeated the lash, this time across the backs of their thighs. Walking around to the opposite side of the desk, he placed his hands on the surface and leaned into them.

  "I'll double it next time. All three of you report to the kitchen. Without clothing. Dismissed."

  Dorian waited until the door had closed behind the weeping maids before returning the sjambok to its special place in the cabinet. The bruises it left would be something to make them rethink their behavior.

  With a loud sigh, he started towards his side of the Manor, feeling very much like a father with a houseful of naughty teenage girls. Fifty was in One's arms, crying against her shoulder as the older woman rocked her quietly. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to them and touched the girl's thigh.

  "What's going on, Annie? Talk to us."

  "I'm so sorry I messed up your day, Master," she cried. "I really tried to ignore them but they wouldn't stop."

  "Did more occur than what you shared? Be truthful."

  "They kicked her thighs pretty hard," One said, pulling up Fifty's hem to reveal dark blotches. "She can't go on the block like this, Dorian."

  "Damn it. One? Get me the arnica. Fifty, lie down on the bed and pull up your dress."

  "Master?"

  "Mind me."

  As he gently massaged the ointment into the deep bruises along the outside of her snowy thighs, Dorian's thoughts drifted to the day the tear-stained girl showed up on his doorstep, and the story she had shared with him.

  ***

  Annie Winchester had lived in a very well-to-do home with her parents, a younger sister, and an array of household help. Her father owned one of the largest stock holding companies in the nation, as well as half the town, so she had been afforded a private education, high-end clothing, and anything else that money could buy. She lacked nothing in light of material things, but her lackluster appearance and shy disposition left her bereft of meaningful friends. She had learned to shift through life being invisible, never calling attention to herself and perfecting the art of being the perpetual wallflower.

  Until the day she met Bart. It did not take long for his charming words and promises of eternal happiness to touch her lonely heart and make her fall hopelessly in love with the attractive young man. He spoke of marriage and children, of living a life away from the uncomfortable social demands that always left her feeling inadequate. He wooed her into his bed, clumsily taking her virginity and speaking words of love to her, intermingled with questions about her father's business. She had no way of knowing that the young man wo
rked for her father's greatest rival, or that he would use her innocent pillow talk as a weapon to destroy Mr. Winchester's company.

  She was blamed for the bankruptcy and shame, and cast from her home with a small suitcase and fifty dollars in her pocket. Nothing else—no phone, no computer, and no experience with which to get a job. The few friends she had accused her of being untrustworthy and turned their backs on her, leaving her with nowhere to go, and no one to turn to. Faced with no other choices, the despondent nineteen-year-old walked fifteen miles into the town and collapsed in a booth at the local pub, her body and heart wrapped in pain.

  The early autumn air grew frigid as darkness began to fall, and Annie's fear grew as she realized she could not stay where she was all night. She was hungry and cold, and knew that the money she had would not even cover the expenses of a hotel room. She was not religious by any means, but that did not prevent her from starting to pray for a miracle. Then the idea struck her to approach the local church for help and as she stood to leave, the pub's waitress informed her that the car had 'finally' arrived to take her to the Manor. Annie was dumbstruck. Miracles did happen! With the belief that her family had changed their minds and sent a car to bring her back home, she hurried outside. She shivered in the damp, icy cold air as she slid into the back of the large vehicle, and was filled with gratitude that she would be warm and safe in her own bed very shortly. It did not take long before the physical and emotional exhaustion caught up with her, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  The sun was full on the horizon when she was awakened by the rumbling of the tires upon a grated surface. Sitting up, she looked out the window as they drove over a long, metal bridge towards a rocky island in the center of a channel. She drummed on the glass insert to get the driver's attention, but her pounding and shouts were ignored. Within minutes, they pulled into the driveway of a large stone manor that resembled the house she had seen in a Batman movie long ago. When the door was opened for her exit, she demanded she be returned to her home. Her request was denied as the driver explained that he was under orders not to allow any of the trainees to change their minds before they had a chance to meet the Master.

  Annie was livid and followed the driver into the house. She gaped silently at the enormity of it all, until her attention was redirected with a loud clap and sharp order to stop dawdling. She was escorted into the high-ceilinged office that was decorated with cherry furnishings, shelves of unique Murano glasswork, and a massive antique oriental cabinet with brass handles and mother-of-pearl inlay. The décor itself spoke volumes about the occupant. It was a man's room: classy, reserved, and timeless with a hint of mystery. She also had the sense that the owner was a person accustomed to getting his way, who did not accept the word 'no' very easily. Regardless, he should be able to understand that her presence had been a mere accident, right? Annie tried not to panic as she considered the possibility of him calling the police and having her dragged away like a criminal.

  Then he walked in. Intimidating? Menacing? Drop-dead gorgeous? The words to describe his stance and form evaded her. The dark eyes belonging to the handsome face bore through her soul as he studied her like an oddity in a specimen jar, leaving her feeling very naked and vulnerable. She gulped as he lowered himself into the studded burgundy leather desk chair, twined his fingers together and leaned towards her on his forearms.

  "My name is Dorian Graye and I am the owner and Head Master of this institution of learning. I like to welcome my girls personally and introduce them to the program. Please hold your questions until I am done speaking. At that time, you may ask anything you wish, will be given paperwork to sign as evidence of your consent to be here, and then we will bring you into the dorms and get you settled. Are you hungry?"

  "Y-yes," Annie whispered.

  Dorian pressed a button on his phone. "Bring food here immediately. Also some coffee." He turned back to the girl. "I trust your trip was comfortable?"

  She shook her head. "Yes, but you don't understand. I'm not supposed to be here. I was kicked out, and thought that Daddy was sending a car to pick me up."

  Dorian chuckled. "I've heard every creative story in the book, honey. It's normal to get cold feet when you realize this is actually happening. You don't need to be afraid. It will be difficult, but not impossible. You have what it takes to be here, otherwise you would not have been chosen."

  "Mr. Graye, please listen! My name is Annie Winchester and this is a terrible misunderstanding. I don't know what this place is, or—"

  Dorian continued to talk, nodding his thanks as a silver tray of pastries, cheese and fruit was set on his desk by a young attractive maid, along with a large glass of juice and a carafe of coffee. "Cream and sugar?" he asked, seeing her nod. He prepared her cup and handed it to her. "Please eat. We aim to make your training as comfortable as possible, given the circumstances. All of your material needs will be taken care of, and an allowance will be given so you can purchase anything additional that you might like. We do adhere to a strict policy of no smoking, alcohol, or recreational drug use. I don't mind the girls having wine on occasion, but excess indulgence is forbidden. Because I have some ladies who will argue about what is considered excess, I will specify by telling you that means no more than two six ounce glasses."

  "Mr. Graye—"

  "We are fully stocked and completely independent from the mainland. Besides room, board, and appropriate clothing, we provide full medical and dental care, counseling services, and thorough training in whatever skills you need to succeed. I also encourage talent, so if there is anything you feel that you excel in or would like to experiment with, let us know so we can help you nurture and refine it."

  Annie's ears perked up. Perhaps this was the miracle she was praying for after all?

  He took a sip of his coffee and sighed. "One of these days, I will find someone who makes this the way I like it. I digress. If you're going to be one of my maids, you also need to learn proper respect. We will begin that lesson right now by having you sit up straight, knees together, your feet flat on the floor, and your hands placed in the center of your lap. How you carry yourself tells others about your self-confidence and assurance. There you go," he praised. "Chin up a little more. That's right, now tuck your head back just a tad. It feels awkward at first, but soon your muscles will be used to it.

  "My house policies are different than most others—mainly in that I prefer you to look me in the eye rather than down. I do not want you to be afraid of me, but rather to respect me. I also want you to learn how to respect yourself. These rules might change when you're contracted off, but right now this is how things will be done."

  "I'm confused. Are you training me for a job as a maid?"

  "The Maids of Graye Manor are world renowned and highly sought after by only the most discerning and elite of clients. We choose our clientele as carefully as we choose our candidates and give both sides the option for bidding on a contract. In other words, we want the maid to be as comfortable with being paired to a client as possible. An initial contract is drawn up with Graye Manor policies for safety, care, and requirements from both the client and the maid. A second contract containing the maid's limits, if any, are included with the contract prior to bidding and can be modified down at any time."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Let's say you have respiratory problems when you are around ammonia, so you avoid washing windows. Your contract will state that window washing is a limit under the condition certain chemicals are used. Therefore, the chore is neither expected nor forced. You arrive at the client's home and he provides a natural chemical that you have no reaction to. That limit is removed and is considered a nonreversible down modification. Most of the time, the contract is not even adjusted. There are also raised modifications. That means that initially, you didn't mind washing windows… until you discovered that he has three hundred of them, all on the third floor, and you are terrified of heights. If the client is insistent, or if there is a sa
fety risk, you can call a negotiator to modify. If the client refuses, the contract is terminated without refund, and you return to the facility. Truthfully, I have never had that occur in the fifteen years since our founding. Nor have I ever had a maid refuse to do standard chores unless there is an allergy, phobia or some other issue involved. Not liking to do something is not an acceptable excuse to write it out of a contract."

  "Oh."

  "We believe in full disclosure and work diligently for both sides to be fulfilled within the reasonable confines of domestic service. A client who wins a contract will keep the maid for a period of one year. Renegotiation is open at that time to continue, change, or terminate the written agreement. Our ultimate goal is life-long placement in a client's home. Completion of the year will leave you with $30,000 in a bank account and three months to set up a place to stay. We will help you find employment, however, you cannot return to a contract for an entire year and must attend six months of retraining prior to bidding. If you leave a contract a second time, the doors are closed permanently."

  "Are you saying that I can have a job as long as I want, with all expenses paid, and if I quit I will actually have time and money to have a life of my own?"

  Dorian frowned. "Yes," he said hesitantly. "But I will tell you this much. In all the years that I've been running this program, I have had only two girls quit. The first should never have been accepted in the first place, which happened due to my inexperience. The second was justified because she was severely injured in an accident that could have been avoided had the safety clauses been put into place. She was made a permanent member of our overseas staff and will be cared for her entire life."

  "Wow," Annie said softly. "Not even Workman's Comp does that."

  "My maids are my family and are like daughters to me. I want each of them to be happy and feel fulfilled in their desires. Nobody hurts my family and gets away with it." His eyes went dark as he stared at her. "Sit up straight. So tell me, Annie Winchester, what is your desire?"

  "I don't know," she shrugged. "Just like anyone else. A good job, a great husband, a couple of kids and a little house. I don't want a lot. Just to be happy."