by Maren Smith
Butt fuck the hell out of her, because she hadn’t been paying attention and had walked into his back again.
Her pussy convulsed. This time it wasn’t just wanton warmth and arousal swirling through her nethers and making her sex pulse and her clit ache to be touched. It was nervousness too. Dread of an unknown experience she could all but feel looming in her very near future. She couldn’t see it, but it was there. She couldn’t feel it, but it was on the cusp of bending her over and doing something to her that, up until this prickly moment, had only ever happened in her fantasies.
It was just a threat, Eden told herself. He wasn’t really going to do that to her. He wasn’t really going to sodomize her the way, in the very back of her mind where it had been teasing and titillating her all morning long, she kept imagining might happen. Just like they’d been in the kitchen, with her face mere inches from the filth in the bottom of the sink, her ass on naked display and his strong body riding her the way naughty girls deserved to be ridden. Hard. Fast. Pounding in and out of her like a piston.
Or like a man, turned on by the consequences naughty girls evoked in savage moments like this.
The ginger root in her ass was impossible to ignore. It kept her open. It kept her constantly mindful of being stretched in the most humbling way a girl could be. But Grimsley wasn’t here to enjoy it and Eden was a chickenshit, because when they finished checking one wing and she at last had the chance to break away and go in search of him, the second Terri suggested her dog get some fresh air outside, Eden volunteered to go with her. She hated herself for it the minute those words were out of her mouth, but damn—the alternative was a scary thing. A looming and terrifying unknown experience that was already threatening to make the minor discomfort currently pinching at her backside feel like kitten-play in comparison.
She really wanted to get this thing out of her ass now, but she didn’t. Because he’d told her not to. So instead, she walked Terri and Champ around the Castle grounds, pretending to show Terri the sights, when the sights were also new to her too. With every step, she got a little more tender and a little more scared of what her immediate future might hold.
That future become the present when Terri at last announced that she needed to check in with her partner. They parted company in the main hall; Terri and her canine went upstairs. A runner in the white robes of a Roman slave found her standing in the hall and quickly passed her a note before dashing off again. It was from Grimsley, allowing her to remove the plug (finally) and ordering her back to his office as soon as she was done with the bomb sweep. There was no further delaying the inevitable. Her trepidation growing with every step, Eden started the long trudge down the dark Castle hallways, past the crowded main staircase to a hidden set of servant steps that would lead straight up to the Master Butler’s daytime office.
She didn’t get very far. Distracted as she’d been, Eden never noticed the dark-haired Greek warrior with a scruffy beard who stepped out from behind the curve of the grand circular staircase just a few steps after her passing. He followed her, but it wasn’t until she turned that first corner away from the hustle and bustle of Castle guests hurrying off to their next grand adventure that the man tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, my dear,” he said in a nasal voice.
Eden jumped, her heart leaping into the back of her throat and her body tensing so violently she almost lost control of the ginger plug. She whipped around, grabbing her heart before she could stop herself.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, hand pressed to her chest. She laughed, afraid that if she didn’t, surely he would think her a nut, especially since he was already backing away with hands held high in a show of empty surrender.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said, one corner of his mouth curling and that glint in his dark eyes saying that might not exactly be true.
“No, no. It’s okay.” She laughed again, a little uneasily although she wasn’t sure why. “You didn’t scare me. I was just—” Thinking about getting butt-fucked for punishment, her mind supplied. Cheeks burning, Eden changed the subject. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m lost, I’m afraid.” The man dropped his hands. “Never was one for reading maps right. I was hoping you might help me.”
“Oh.” For a change, that was something Eden did know how to do. “Well,” swallowing her reservations, when he pulled his Castle map from a back pocket, she edged closer for a look. “Where are you headed?”
“The 101 room,” he said, the heat of his coffee-scented breath brushing at her temple. He was looking at her, not the map. For some reason, that made her uncomfortable, although she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. Probably because she was in trouble and jumpy already.
“Okay. Well, let’s see.” She consulted the color-coded key at the bottom, and then the map itself. “Oh. You’re real close. Go back down this hall and up the stairs. At the top, there’s a series of discussion rooms, all of which are called the 101, but the particular discussion will be posted outside the door, so if you know which one you want…”
When she paused, the corner of his mouth curled. “Spanking,” he supplied. “A demonstration, I believe the schedule said. Although I’ve been lost for so long now, I’m afraid I might have missed it.”
“I think it repeats,” Eden said, helpfully. She hadn’t been allowed to sit through the same orientation that the rest of the new-hires had, but she did remember Mrs. Hardwick briefly touching on both the 101 classes and its womanizing instructor. If you’re pretty and you go in there, the headmistress had warned, you will end up on the stage. And don’t think for a second Chelsea’s being there will help you. Not only is she his 101 submissive, but she lives with him. She will happily offer to hold implements so someone else can be his victim for a while.
“Does it now?” the dark-haired man asked, his tone light, friendly even.
“Two classes per day,” Eden said from memory. “Each class repeating three times. Tomorrow it will change, but you should be in time to catch both classes at least once more this evening.”
If both were spanking-oriented, poor Chelsea, she thought. As if she didn’t have enough worries about the future condition of her own ass. Directions given, she started back on her way.
The man caught her arm, fingers hooking her elbow and pulling her up short. “Was that a dog I saw you with earlier?”
Eden fought the urge to yank her arm out of his grip. The man was still smiling, which made it difficult to remind him that consent was an important part of Castle life, and that included not touching people when they hadn’t given it. He was probably new, she rationalized. He probably just didn’t know better.
But then, the vast majority of guests in the Castle were new and everyone knew better, because the topic of consent was touched on thoroughly by Mrs. Hardwick at each and every orientation. Were the headmistress here, she’d likely have wasted no time in touching on it again. But she wasn’t, and being as new as she was, Eden didn’t feel she had a right to lecture anyone. Particularly since, when she pulled, he did let her go.
“Yes,” she answered, rubbing her elbow. He hadn’t hurt her, his grip hadn’t been anywhere near rough enough for that. But for some reason, his touch lingered. Not in a nice way, either, and the more he smiled, the more that smile seemed like a mask, unreflected in the glittering black depths of his stare.
“Yours?” he pressed, slipping a step closer.
Shaking her head, Eden retreated another step back. “He belongs to one of the guests. He’s a therapy dog.”
“Is he?” The man’s mask of a smile broadened as a hint of cool amusement lit his stare. It lasted just a flicker, and then was gone again. “Is he really? I love dogs. I’d love to meet him.”
Eden didn’t want to be here anymore. “I have to go.” Turning, she started walking. Head down, she folded her arms tight across her stomach, just in case he tried grabbing after her again. As it turned out, that man stopped her easily with nothing but his voice
alone.
“What if you don’t have a partner?”
Eden stopped where she was, not more than a dozen steps between them. Her skin crawled. She didn’t understand why every inch of her begged her to keep going, all except for that niggling voice of doubt in the back of her mind that kept whispering she was a Castle employee. It was her job to help the guests whenever and wherever she could. Even the difficult ones, Mrs. Hardwick had said, and what about this man was being difficult? Yes, he had touched her arm, but he wasn’t being rude or angry, or insulting. There was absolutely nothing about him—nothing—that warranted the kind of reaction currently pricking its icy tickles up her spine to perch between her shoulders like the tip of a knife.
Reluctantly, she turned back to face him. “I’m sorry?”
“I don’t have a partner,” he said again, still smiling. He spread his hands, once more showing them empty. It didn’t make him seem less threatening, though. Somehow, he only felt more so. “For the 101,” he specified, when she continued to stare at him. “I don’t see where it would do me much good to sit in on that kind of demonstration without a partner.” One sauntering step at a time, he closed the distance she’d just put between them. “After all, I’m hardly apt to spank myself, now am I?” He showed her his white Dominant’s bracelet. “Definitely not my kink. I know.” He brightened. “How about if you come with me? You’re a submissive.”
She looked down at the yellow bracelet on her arm. Even knowing it would do no good, she still covered it with her hand. As if he hadn’t already seen it and even called attention to it. She wasn’t just any submissive; Eden was a Castle submissive. Guest submissives had the right to say no to anyone they wanted, at any time. Castle submissives—well, she didn’t really know what the protocol was. She was still in her probationary period and too new to be matched with guests. Did that mean she had the right to say no? Should she turn around, like the crawling of her nerves kept begging her to do, and run the other way? Or maybe she could take him up to Master Marshall’s office and let the Master of the Masters find him a suitable submissive partner?
What was the right thing to do here, and if she did the wrong one, would she get in trouble? Eden wrung her fingers, unsure of what to do. Would it be so terrible if she followed him upstairs and just… sat in as his submissive partner in the 101 room? What was the worst that could happen, apart from getting her bottom smacked in a crowded place, where there was not only safety in numbers, but a real Castle Master in attendance?
“I-I…” She swallowed hard, torn.
“Come on,” he coaxed, with that vaguely crocodilian smile. “You always have your safeword. Trust me. I won’t be angry if you want to use it.”
Something deep inside her said he was lying.
But suspicions weren’t rational, responsible reasons. Were they? No, and no matter how she twisted it, it all came down to two very solid facts: One, she was a Castle employee and like all Castle employees, it was her job to make sure the guests had a good time however she could; and two, he was a guest. If guests were always right, then shouldn’t that mean she didn’t have a choice?
“Okay,” she whispered. Rationally, it seemed like the right decision. Inside, though, the minute she agreed, it felt like the biggest mistake of her life.
The dark-haired man held out his hand and Eden grudgingly reached out to take it, all the while telling herself this was the right thing to do. That he wasn’t going to hurt her. For heaven’s sake, if anything was going to hurt it would be what Grimsley was planning and she ought to be more frightened of that right now than some silly over-the-knee spanking in a room full of guests!
He was just closing his hand upon her fingertips, in preparation of drawing her to him, when another arm encased to the wrist in the dark garb of a butler’s jacket erupted into her field of vision. The force with which Grimsley’s hand clamped onto her wrist, snatching her back out of the other man’s reach, should have made her jump, or gasp, or possibly even pee herself. What it should not have done was make her want to throw her arms around his neck in relief and fall crying against his shoulder.
She managed not to do any of that, but only because Grimsley had already yanked her back behind him, inserting himself neatly between her and the no-longer smiling guest—a physical shield in the shape of a very tall and imposing butler. The only hint of annoyance he showed was in the way his fingers flexed upon the braided leather handle of the multi-switch, willow birch he held at his side. He slapped it once against his own leg and her bottom clenched. So did her sex.
“I beg your pardon,” Grimsley politely said. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
The dark-haired man slunk half a step back before he caught himself. Though he tried to reclaim his smile, it was merely a ghost of its former smugness. Even less touched his eyes now than before.
“You may step aside,” he finally replied. “The lady has just agreed to be my submissive.”
Grimsley’s grip on the willow birch tightened, then his fingers flexed again, all four readjusting themselves on the handle, followed by a subtle tightening of his thumb. “Has she, indeed.”
“N-no, that wasn’t…” Eden tried to shake her head, but she jumped and fell silent when he again smacked the birch against his leg. He never looked at her.
“I’m taking her to the 101,” the man said, his nasal voice dipping low and dangerous. “She’s agreed to be my partner.”
“Has she,” Grimsley repeated flatly, still calm, still polite, so much so that it felt like her imagination trying to put those bottom-crawling inflections in amongst those two innocuous words. “Well,” Grimsley said, “you may rest assured, sir, this particular Little Maid is about to receive all the spanking she never knew she wanted in any one session. Sadly, however, it will not be delivered by your hand. She is spoken for, sir. If you lack a partner, one will be provided for you when you reach the 101 classroom. If you need help finding your way, I will summon Security, who will be happy to provide you with an escort.”
The other man scowled, dark eyes glittering with a level of resentment his slipping mask could not hide. For her part, though, Eden could have kissed Grimsley. She was pretty sure her knees were going to buckle out from under her the second she tried to move, but ludicrous as it was, she’d never had anyone do anything half as heroic as this before.
Before he punished her, she really hoped she got the chance to tell him so.
Chapter 10
Grimsley stood in the hall, body tense, watching the other man walk away. Once he was gone, he continued to stand there, waiting to make sure he wouldn’t return. He wasn’t angry, he told himself, but he was annoyed. He was supremely annoyed. So much so, that every few minutes he smacked the birch against his leg again. The sting was grounding. It helped to keep him focused in the moment when every riled and bristling instinct he had wanted to snap about on his heel, bend Eden across his hip and let her feel the full and unbridled fury of the kind of sting a real birching could impart.
He didn’t do that.
Because, regardless of what he was telling himself, he was angry. Furious, in fact, but in a weird way he hadn’t ever felt before. Instead of cold and purposeful, all he felt was the heat of his anger burning across the nape of his neck and up under the back of his skull. It pulsed there, keeping time with the aggravation of his thoughts.
She’d agreed to be another Dom’s submissive, had she? If any other woman had done that to him, he’d have released her that very second and walked away without another thought. He had more respect for himself than to let a submissive play that game, especially with his offer of protection less than twenty-four hours old.
She was going to accompany him up to the 101 room, was she?
Well, if she was that desperate for a spanking, he could well accommodate her needs.
Except he’d have to wait. In the mood he was in, he could easily take it too far. And, she had protested the other man’s accounting of the situation. B
efore he did anything, Grimsley would give her a chance to explain herself and then, when he was calm, cool and collected, then he would order her to bend over, like any other maid in his program.
—except he could already feel her, hesitating and wringing her hands, biting her bottom lip even as she laid herself across his waiting lap—
He’d flip her tiny bib of a skirt up onto her back.
—bare her naked ass for the harsh application of his hand while her bottom cringed in dread expectation, her thighs and knees clamped tight against the building urge to kick and fuss—
He’d lash her backside with six hearty birch strokes, lecturing all the while about what she had done that was wrong; calm and impersonal.
—it was personal. It was oh so personal, and it would not be the birch he used to impress on her just how deeply she had offended him. It would be his hand. His bare hand on her bare bottom, a strong and steady application that numbered a hell of a lot more than six, all of them raining down hard and fast until she couldn’t even fight him anymore. She would just lie there, absorbing the punishment he meted out until every inch of her was a deep shade of crimson and she was sobbing her remorse—
With tears on her lashes and hands rubbing frantically to put out the sting, she’d stand before him while he calmly and patiently repeated what she’d done wrong, what she should have done if she’d wanted to avoid punishment, and then he’d end the lecture by reinforcing exactly what his expectations were for the arrangement that they had.
—and then he’d kiss her fucking senseless. He’d drag her up until she was sitting on his lap, her bottom so hot she could barely hold still while he grabbed twin fistfuls of her hair and crushed her salty-sweet tear-stained mouth beneath his.
A pang of pure wanting thumped through his gut, echoing in the base of his cock and pulling at his balls until the tightness of them was damn near painful. He didn’t kiss Little Maids. He’d never kissed them. He’d never before kissed a paying guest, either.
