Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

by Maren Smith

  Eamon was unable to hold back a disbelieving snort. “That absolutely is not what’s bugging me. Some help you are.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were asking for help.”

  “I wasn’t.” Realizing he wasn’t going to get any further in the conversation, Eamon had headed back to his own tasks…

  The ones near where Tasha was tidying, anyway.

  She’d done an amazing job on the rooms she’d already finished. Considering it was her first day, considering the dark, violet circles under her expressive eyes, considering she’d probably never even set foot in the Dungeon before, she had gone above and beyond to restore the kind of order Dominick loved to maintain in his realm.

  Eamon jumped when the door suddenly opened and she emerged, clutching a filthy rag in one hand and a bulging trash bag in the other.

  “Oh,” she said softly. “Sorry.”

  Not sure why he felt guilty—it was his Dungeon too, after all—Eamon thought he detected a similar look of discomfiture in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.

  “You didn’t.”

  “You’re doing a spectacular job,” he said, when nothing else seemed forthcoming.

  “Thank you.”

  Not wanting to let her leave, for reasons he couldn’t define, he reached out for the garbage. “Here, let me take that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you… done in there?”

  She nodded, her gaze fixed on the floor.

  “Just one more room to go then.” Jesus, man, get a grip. He felt like a twelve-year-old boy at a school dance.

  “And then?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s getting late. Dinner time, I guess.” He realized he had no idea how the Little Maids’ days were structured; when they ate, how they got their assignments. He only knew that, instead of their own apartments like the in-house Masters had, they slept communally, in a dorm. Where was the fun in that? No wonder most of them behaved like alley cats in heat—they couldn’t even masturbate in peace.

  A sudden vision of Tasha, her unusual hair in disarray, her pearly teeth clamped on her plump bottom lip, her eyes cloudy as her hand worked between her thighs, made an unexpected bolt of lust shoot through his groin.

  “I guess I’ll go see Mrs. Hardwick when I’m done then?” It was phrased more like a question than a statement.

  Eamon swallowed. “You should.”

  She began to walk, her bare feet silent. Without the heels, the top of her streaked head barely reached the level of his nipples. He fell into step beside her, even though the chute was in the opposite direction.

  “So, what made you decide you wanted to work here at the Castle?” He would get to the bottom of why she was behaving oddly if it killed him—or he made the biggest fool of himself in the process.

  She gave a noncommittal shrug. “The job kind of fell into my lap.”

  Bullshit. Eamon knew how coveted positions were, how seldom new ones opened up, how rigorous the vetting process was. He stopped walking and gripped her upper arm, halting her forward progress with a jolt. “What did I tell you about lying to me?” he said.

  Her eyes widened—with fear, disbelief, guilt… he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t decipher it and it was driving him crazy.

  “I wasn’t lying!” she said hotly.

  “Let me tell you something,” he went on in a low voice… the same voice he used to great effect on all misbehaving submissives. “This job doesn’t fall into anybody’s lap. Some people are on the waiting list for years. Ergo, you’re lying to me. And if there’s one thing I will not tolerate, it’s being lied to.”

  “I’m not lying!” she said again, a note of such aggression creeping into her voice that he was genuinely taken aback. But only for a moment.

  Eamon had been around hundreds, if not thousands, of submissives in his lifetime—both during his tenure as a Castle Master and in his years of private play before then. He knew full well that some of them used aggression rather than flirtation to goad a Dom into topping them.

  That wasn’t usually his style, and he didn’t usually react—unless he was being paid to do so. But for some reason, everything inside him made him want to wrap his fist around Tasha’s hair, drag her into the nearest playroom, and show her he was not a man to be goaded.

  He was so hard it hurt.

  “Fine,” he snapped, determined not to cave, to give in to his sudden, urgent desire. After all, she was a Castle employee. “Let’s see what the Master Butler has to say about this.”

  Her eyes widened. “Grimsley?”

  “Master Grimsley, yes. I’m sure you’ve met him. Tall. Dark. No-nonsense.” Too late, he realized his mistake. If he took this to her direct supervisor, it would be Eamon’s word against a new hire’s, and he knew full well he’d win. That wasn’t the issue. Tasha would be dismissed on the spot. And for some reason, that was the last thing he wanted.

  He was desperate to get to the bottom of this little blonde-brunette enigma first.

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes flashing. “I’ve spent most of the day in Orientation with Master Grimsley and Mrs. Hardwick. I know who he is.”

  Ignoring her undeniably snarky tone of voice, Eamon drew himself up to his full height and glowered down at her. “Do you want to be fired, missy?”

  Almost immediately, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “No.”

  “No, what? You sure have a tendency to forget proper honorifics in this environment, don’t you?”

  “No… Sir.”

  “That’s better.” Realizing he was still gripping her arm, he tugged her toward him, just a tiny bit, just enough to shift her weight until she was teetering slightly off-balance. “This is your first day,” he said, purposely putting his lips so close to her ear that they almost touched it. “Which is why you get one free pass. You’ve just used it. By rights, I should haul your ass upstairs to Master Grimsley and let him deal with you—or take you into the nearest room, strap you down as naked as the day you were born, and take my belt to you until you’re begging me to stop and promising that you’ll never, ever lie to anybody again. Especially me.”

  He paused for effect, watching for the telltale signs: the sudden shortness of breath, dilating pupils, licking of lips.

  Tasha displayed none of those. Instead she remained stock still, her eyes fixed to the floor as if by some invisible glue, her expression maddeningly unreadable.

  “And believe me, if you ever tell me anything but the goddamn truth again, that’s exactly what I’ll do. On second thought, maybe I won’t waste my time. I’ll let Master Grimsley deal with you instead. If you’re lucky, you’ll be on the receiving end of the worst switching you’ve ever had. If you’re not… well, there are plenty of girls who’d kill to be in your position.”

  And wasn’t that just the truth? Which was why Eamon couldn’t for the life of him figure out her behavior. It was almost as if she didn’t really want to be there. As if she wasn’t kinky.

  As if she really had ended up a Little Maid by accident.

  But that was impossible.

  When she still didn’t react, he gave her arm the tiniest shake. “Have I made myself clear?”

  “Yes, Sir,” she said dully, still staring at the floor. Far from reacting in any way he would have expected, she seemed suddenly leaden. No pleas to be good, no apologies, not even further argument. Puzzled and intrigued beyond belief, he let her go, then, unable to take his eyes off her as she smoothed her hair back and straightened her skirt with exaggerated calm. “May I please finish my work?”

  “You may. I’ll be watching you closely.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” She moved away in the direction of the stock room, still clutching the dirty rag. Not once did she glance back at him.

  Unable to stop himself from admiring her full backside and shapely legs, Eamon stared after her, the trash bag all but forgotten in his fist. The pressure in his cock had receded to a dull ache and his heart was pounding in his ears;
a combination of anger, frustration and, strangely, lust. As she disappeared around the corner, he was only able to form one coherent thought.

  What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter 3

  She could still feel him. Several hours later, the skin around Tasha’s bicep prickled as if caressed by the ghost of his fingers. Eamon’s fingers. Even though she was anything but skinny, his hand had been so huge that he’d circled her upper arm completely and with ease. And while the grip had been firm; meant to intimidate, meant to display dominance, it had done things to her insides she’d really rather not think about.

  Unfortunately, she’d done nothing but think about it—about him—ever since that last, awkward interaction in the Dungeon.

  While she’d finished cleaning the last room.

  While she’d made her way back upstairs to be told where to go for dinner.

  While she’d picked her way through the (admittedly delicious) Italian buffet, suddenly realizing she’d lost her appetite.

  While she’d taken a long, gloriously hot shower and got ready for bed.

  While she’d been shown to her cot in the Little Maids’ dorm and wondered why anyone over the age of, say, twelve, would ever want to permanently share a bedroom with several other people.

  And now, while she was lying in the dark, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

  It was as if the same questions were on permanent rotation in her head, on an endless loop, not to be quieted until she had answers.

  While he was certainly attractive in the conventional (or rather, unconventional, tattooed) sense, what was it about Eamon that had given her such a visceral reaction? His voice? His eyes? His sheer commanding presence?

  Why wasn’t she focusing on her real reason for being there—William, and finding Carmen so she could find William?

  Why had Eamon been such a jerk to her?

  Why had her body responded the way it had when he’d threatened her? Jesus… the man had threatened to strap her down naked and take his belt to her! If that wasn’t a valid description of sexual and physical assault, Tasha didn’t know what else could be. But the sudden tightening in her groin at his gravelly, whispered words had been unmistakable, as had the sudden rush of liquid desire in those ridiculous black lacy panties she’d been wearing. In fact, a very large part of her had secretly hoped he’d actually make good on his threat, and had wondered what she could do or say to make it happen.

  What the hell was up with that?

  She held her breath as a tall man entered the room, gently depositing a woman into the cot beside her. With a soft moan, the blonde rolled onto her stomach and the man paused to draw the blanket over her, watching her for a minute or two. There was something about him which seemed familiar in the faint glow of the evenly spaced nightlights in the dorm. His height, his rigid stance. In fact, he looked an awful lot like Master Grimsley.

  Before she could even begin to wonder what the heck the Master Butler was doing in the dorm, how strangely gentle he now seemed in comparison to his usual stern self, he straightened his spine even more, turned on his highly polished heels, and left.

  Just a few moments later, Tasha heard a rustling as another Little Maid got into the vacant bed on her other side. Taking a deep breath, summoning all her courage, she rolled over to face the dark shape. “Hi,” she whispered.

  There was a pause. Then, “Hi.”

  “I’m Tasha.”

  “Lishy.”

  “Pretty name.”

  “Short for Alicia.”

  “Did you start today, too?” Tasha asked.

  There was a muffled snort. “No. I’ve been here a while. How are you finding it?”

  Surreal. Confusing. Intimidating. “Not like I imagined,” Tasha said carefully.

  “Oh? In what way?”

  Crap. She was torn between asking frankly for advice and cutting the conversation short. But this girl seemed sweet enough, and Tasha was desperate for some answers. She just wasn’t sure which questions to ask. “A lot of ways, I guess. How did you find your first day? Was it like you imagined?”

  There was a pause while Lishy considered for a moment. “It was even better,” she said conspiratorially. “Although the heels took some getting used to.”

  “I find the skirt a little on the short side, too.”

  “Yes, but that’s a definite bonus. Certainly gets the Masters’ attention.”

  Tasha could practically hear the smile in Lishy’s voice. “No kidding. Is there…” she swallowed, “are there any rules about dating between colleagues?”

  Lishy giggled. “You don’t waste any time, do you? Only been here a few hours and you’ve already set your sights on someone! Who is it?”

  Suddenly, Tasha realized she didn’t want to tell the shapely silhouette in the cot a couple of feet away from her. It was too private a thing to admit to a stranger whose face you could barely make out. Besides, saying it aloud might make it all feel more real somehow. “Oh, no one yet,” she said hastily. “I just meant in general.”

  “Some of them are pretty damn gorgeous, aren’t they?” Lishy said dreamily. “And some even more so than others. Personally, I like the quiet ones. The guys who seem unassuming—almost nerdy—until you do something to set off their inner Dom. Yum.”

  “Mmmn,” Tasha agreed. “What made you decide to come and work here?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m a painslut, always have been. And this place is legendary. To go to work every day not knowing what will happen… will someone play with you or won’t they, to be admired and lusted after by pretty much everybody, to flaunt my goodies in a sexy uniform. It’s all a dream come true.”

  Tasha realized with a sinking feeling just how much she’d revealed about herself to Eamon by not answering his question with the same breathy enthusiasm. “I hear ya,” she said absently. Then, “Has anyone ever done anything to you that you didn’t want, though? I have to admit I’m worried about that.”

  “Understandable,” Lishy replied. “I’d be lying if I said there was chemistry with every single guest who comes here, or that I fancied the pants off every guy I was asked to play with, but consent is a big thing and something everyone takes very seriously. We all have safewords for a reason. And if you really don’t like someone you’re asked to play with, you can always discreetly ask for a transfer.”

  “To another job?”

  Lishy giggled again. “No, to another guest. There are so many visitors here that there’s bound to be someone you’ll click with. And a Little Maid for everyone who wants one.”

  “Oh. I see.” Tasha was silent for a moment. So many questions were on the tip of her tongue but she didn’t dare ask them for fear of looking like a complete idiot. How could anybody enjoy receiving pain? Or getting into trouble? Would she get the same assignments every day, or would they always be different? If Little Maids weren’t employed to do any actual cleaning, as she had been told so often that day, what were their duties really? While Orientation had been all about Castle policy, demerits, uniforms, consent and safety measures, very little had been said about the actual job itself. Was Master Eamon single? Wait, where did that one come from?

  “Anyway,” Lishy said, “I’m not trying to be rude but I’m really tired. We can have lunch together tomorrow if you want, if you have more questions you’d like to ask me. I remember what it was like to be new. So many rules, so many things to remember. It can be very overwhelming.”

  “That would be lovely, thank you.” Tasha was genuinely touched. “I really appreciate it.”

  “We Little Maids have to stick together, after all. Sweet dreams.” There was a rustling of sheets as Lishy rolled over, and Tasha closed her eyes, trying to banish the handsome, brooding face she kept seeing in the darkness.

  Get a grip, she told herself firmly. Stop thinking about Eamon. Remember why you’re here. You need to find Carmen and find a way to get him to tell you what happened to William.

  A sudden thought struck he
r. Carmen was no doubt at the Castle because he harbored some secret kinky desires. Maybe she could somehow get herself matched up to him. Use her feminine charms to get the answers she sought.

  A wave of nausea roiled through her stomach at the very thought, but it seemed like the best plan she’d come up with so far. She had to get close to him somehow, and he had never seen her before. He wouldn’t have a clue who she was—she and William had never really looked alike.

  Could she do it, though? Pretend she didn’t want to put a fork through his eyeball, or vomit at the mere mention of his name?

  And would she get to have any control over whom she was matched with? If so, how? Lishy would know, she realized, listening to the soft snores coming from her new friend’s cot.

  So her objective was simple: talk to Lishy, get matched up with Carmen—or his henchman, no doubt he would know too—and cozy up to him enough to find out where her brother was. Whether he was even still alive.

  She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.

  Even though she was surrounded by some thirty cots, most of which contained sleeping women, Tasha was in a strange place, surrounded by people whose desires (and even, in some cases, terminology) she didn’t understand, with a massive credit card debt and a new job she didn’t even know how to perform.

  She had never felt more alone.

  “Good morning, ladies. I hope you slept well?” Mrs. Hardwick raised an elegant eyebrow and waited just a beat before resuming her speech.

  Tasha almost let out a snort. As if anyone would dare say so if they hadn’t.

  “Some of you already have assignments today; if I read out your name in a moment, please come forward. The rest of you, please make yourselves available and useful until you’re given something specific to do.”

  Perfect, Tasha thought. Without an assigned task, she could go and look for Carmen. Put her plan into motion. Please, she prayed, don’t let Mrs. Hardwick call out my name.

  “Tasha.”

  Damnit. Barely able to contain a sigh of frustration, she shuffled forward. Exhausted by the previous day’s events—and all that travel beforehand—she had overslept and missed breakfast. If she didn’t get some coffee soon…