Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

by Maren Smith

  Marshall just wanted her to check in, ask how her stay was going, but Chris suspected someone might have overheard their session and her cousin truly wanted to lay eyes on her and make sure she was doing okay.

  They were in his office for about five minutes before he gave Grace a hug and sent the two of them on their way. By then, they were both hungry and stopped in the Media Room to grab a quick snack from the mini deli there. Chris wanted them to keep their strength up for later activities. There were others there, but they seemed as lost in each other as he’d begun to be with Grace.

  With their energy replenished, they started out on their tour again. Chris reminded Grace to forget some of her incredible skill as they moved from room to room and he described them to her. He was learning to describe the visuals in a different way. More specific and space-related than it’s ‘elegant’ or ‘pretty’ or ‘nicely furnished’. She needed to hear there were two couches directly ahead or a staircase coming up. The Castle, with all its rooms and twists and turns, presented a lot of hazards for anyone who wasn’t paying attention, much less someone who had no sight. Keeping one hand on the back of her neck, he guided her along. “One step up here. The floor might be a little slick there. Stairs to the left.”

  She trailed her hand along the wall whenever possible, stumbling occasionally in a way he suspected was planned more than accidental, but after a while she stopped. “Would it be okay if we go back to the suite? It’s been a busy day already, and I would like to rest for a while before we have to get ready for the masquerade. That is, if it’s all right with you, Sir?”

  He chuckled, pleased she’d continued the term of respect outside their intimacy. “I think that’s a good idea.” Taking a left, he guided her toward the staircase up to the suite. “I might do something to help relax you.”

  A grin accompanied her blush. “Is it something I signed up for? Sir?”

  They reached the top of the stairs, nearly at their destination. “Minx. I might have to punish you for that.”

  She gave a little bounce, and he suppressed outright laughter as he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the suite, across the living room, and into her bedroom. He let her fall onto the bed before reaching into the drawer in the night table and withdrawing some lengths of silken rope.

  First, he removed the blindfold, fairly sure she hated wearing it. “Hold your arms over your head.” The headboard of the four-poster consisted of an openwork of bronze rings which offered a multitude of uses for the bondage inclined. The footboard, although lower, was not only an ingenious combination of the same rings, but also hooks, slots, and plugs—enough to satisfy almost any kink. When Grace complied, he looped lengths of rope around her wrists and ankles and turned the handle he’d discovered made for a “rack” effect. He dug out a pair of paddled nipple clamps and screwed them in place, admiring the shiny black-coated steel against the peaks that became dark red in seconds. Considering the effect, he decided she needed a bit more jewelry. A nice clit clamp should do it. Her squirms and soft squeals pleased him.

  When she was stretched out and at his mercy, he sat in the chair across the room, rolling a Wartenberg wheel on his knee to let her settle in for a bit.

  “Chris, Sir? You’re there, right?”

  “Yes, I won’t leave you without saying something. Just sitting here while you rest.”

  “Rest?” She wriggled. “I can’t rest like this.”

  “If you can’t rest, would you like to play?”

  “Hell, yes… Sir.”

  She was a hoot and a half. “If you insist. Would you like a gag? To keep from drawing a crowd?” Not that she likely would in one of these almost soundproof rooms. But he liked gags sometimes. Especially those that held the sub’s mouth open and didn’t deflect play.

  “I’m okay, Sir,” she murmured. “Just really horny.”

  “Oh?” Rising, Chris padded toward her. “So you are refusing to wear a gag when your Dominant suggests it?”

  Grace shook her head then stopped. “No, Sir. If you want me to wear a gag, I will.”

  “Using your words. Good girl. I think we’ll skip the gag for now, though.” Since he’d never actually intended to use one. Just using the suggestion to build intensity. They were not Castle-approved without special permission. He unzipped his pants and freed his cock then straddled her upper body. “Would you like to suck my cock?”

  She opened her mouth wide enough even for his dick, and he decided not to punish her for not answering aloud. Instead, he tucked a thumb over her lower lip, holding it down and slid his throbbing cock into her mouth. She sucked on it with more enthusiasm than skill, but he could teach technique. And it felt so damn good. With her arms stretched over her head, the soft skin on the undersides was too much to pass up, and he rolled the metal wheel slowly up one then down the other.

  Grace gagged around his dick, and he retreated to let her breathe before feeding it back into her. “That’s it. Take more. You can take it all, can’t you?” She kept sucking and licking, but her limbs trembled, twitched, and a trickle of drool ran down her chin. He’d never had a sub so responsive, or a new one so willing to try new things. His balls tightened, and he gave three strong strokes before his cum poured down her throat.

  The woman swallowed every drop, making him like her even more. Withdrawing, he rested a moment before going back to work with his wheel, rolling it down her chest and, releasing each nipple clamp, he added the wheel’s torture to the pain of returning blood flow, smiling at her shrieks. Crisscrossing her body, he used his toy to wake up every inch of skin before kneeling between her wide spread legs and focusing on the clamp pinching her clit. This one had a quick release that made the returning sensation slam into the victim like a freight train.

  He had his hand on her mouth before she finished her shout, pressing kisses to it. “Sshhh. I’m going to make it hurt so good, pretty girl. Shhh. Can you be quiet?”

  She nodded.

  “Except for safewords… those are always allowed. Required, even. Remind me what they are.” A new sub could forget in the heat of the moment.

  “Green for go, yellow for pause, and red for stop everything.”

  “Good girl.”

  Returning to the foot of the bed, he went back to his wheeled torture, rolling it front to back and front again, giving enough pressure to make the line blur between pain and pleasure. She might be a novice, but he was not. Each time her breathing sped up enough to make him believe she was going to come, he’d stop then start again, driving her to the edge over and over. The muffled sounds from behind her closed lips were pleas. He’d heard the sound often enough to know and was impressed. Reversing the toy, he made the handle slick with her juices and thrust it into her bottom. She shuddered, and he sucked her clit into his mouth and took her hurtling over the edge into sobbing oblivion.

  He freed her bound limbs and gathered her in his arms.

  They both needed a rest.

  Grace

  “I hate this dress!” Grace tugged at the too tight black toga dress, knowing she was acting like an immature brat, but she couldn’t stop. The words and tears bubbled from her so fast it made her head spin. She was so close to doing something stupid like stomping her feet, screaming obscenities, and ripping the dress clean from her back.

  Chris, ever the patient Dom—she rolled her eyes at that—he could be as patient as he wanted. He didn’t have to listen to all the women at their dinner table today gushing about their petticoats and ruched panties, silky stockings, and amazing dresses. The hues making up every color of the damn rainbow. They’d sat at the Master’s table with Kaylee, Marshall, and some of his friends. The men had a great time talking about sports and every other thing guys seemed to like talking about, including an interesting chat about ginger root and butt plugs. But all the women had gone on and on about the gorgeous dresses they would wear, what mask went perfectly with the shade of their eyes.

  What color were Grace’s eyes really? M
ost people said they were a piercing blue, like Marshall’s. But how did she really know? Did she even remember what that kind of blue was? She’d only been to the beach twice. What if the rolling waves crashing, or whatever they’d said, wasn’t the color she envisioned? What if it was more of a purple than a blue? Did her brain have enough paint, pigments, and dyes in its long-term memory storage to actually put the correct color with the term they all used?

  She clenched and unclenched her fists, digging into the charmeuse, trying hard not to break down and sob right there. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d always been in control of herself, her emotions, her surroundings. Well, maybe not her surroundings, but definitely how she reacted to them. Now, she was in a perpetual state of overreaction. And it wasn’t even Chris’ fault. He’d done everything she’d asked. Explaining everything around her, even the colors and textures. He had been so patient and kind with her, and all she could do was lose her temper every time something little came up. This was little, right? A dress for a masquerade ball at a BDSM resort. Right? She wouldn’t look back and remember this night as something more special than anything else. So, what was the problem, and why was she in danger of behaving worse than one of the men or women from the Littles’ program? Only difference was they were pretending, acting out a scene. She was doing this naturally. Shame filled her, and tears fell down her cheeks.

  “Hey, girlfriend, want some help?” Kaylee’s voice sounded behind her, and she shrugged at the tender touch on her shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” Grace said through gritted teeth. “Maybe someone should just lock me away for a few days. Do you have a cell in the back of your Dungeon?”

  Kaylee laughed, and Chris’ low voice could be heard telling the Wardrobe attendants to leave.

  “You don’t need a cell, padded or otherwise, or shackles or chains, or any of that stuff. I know just what you need. No Master Nelson, not a butt plug or spanking, so hush on the commentary for one sec, if you please.”

  “I’m going to give you girls some time to talk everything out and get on the same sheet of music. I’ll be out in the hall making sure no one comes in for a little bit. After that…” His firm hand tilted Grace’s chin up so she had to meet his words squarely with her unseeing eyes. It had the same effect as if she could see his stern gaze. “You and I are going to talk respectfully about your needs. If you don’t want to go to the ball, we don’t have to. But you do need to talk to me. Capisce?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Okay. Get this sorted out. I’m right outside the door. Yell if you need me.” His dress pants rubbed together as he strode to the exit and closed the door behind him.

  “Come on. Let’s get this thing off you and find something you like.” Kaylee took her hand, and Grace wrenched it away from her.

  “Sorry. I just need to walk myself over to the dresses. Mind leading the way and talking as you go?”

  “Sure. Sorry about that. I’m walking around two huge chairs and then a straight shot into the dress closet.”

  Grace followed a few steps behind her, feeling the guilt build in her. She shouldn’t have yelled at her friend. This was her favorite cousin’s wife, and she had been nothing but nice to her. “I don’t really hate the dress.”

  “Mmhmm.” Kaylee’s voice echoed a tiny bit in the large closet they entered.

  “It’s just… I don’t know how to say what I’m thinking.”

  “There’s a chair just off to your left if you want to sit.”

  Grace found it and sat down, her knee touching Kaylee’s skirt as she sat next to her. “I don’t remember fuchsia or ice blue. I don’t remember if my room was lavender or lilac. I don’t know the difference between sea-foam green and mint. And here I am, five minutes before my first dance—yeah, hard to believe, but I’ve never been to a dance before. No middle school Sadie Hawkins, no high school prom, no friends getting married. And I’m wearing the only color I truly remember. That’s if he was being honest with me. But what if he was wrong? What if the dress isn’t even black? What if it’s onyx or coal or like a dark grey?”

  Kaylee’s hand touched hers, and Grace grabbed it like a lifeline.

  “I normally don’t care about things like shades of colors and hues and vibrance. I deal with sound, touch, smell, energy,” Grace said. “How does someone or something make me feel? How do I behave when I interact with someone or in a certain environment? I catalog it and keep it in my memory for down the road when I need it again. The stoplight outside my apartment? It stays green for seventeen seconds before turning yellow. Almost everyone speeds up to get through which is why the dinging of the red light turning on comes about two seconds later than most stop lights. There’s a grate right before the corner on the right. I always wait for the sounds of another car pulling up to that grate, and the squeal of brakes or the bump of the wheels rolling over it, before I go into the crosswalk. It’s something necessary. I need to remember those sounds, the timing, everything, because it is crucial to my physical safety.”

  Kaylee squeezed her hand but didn’t say a word, leaving the moment open for Grace to continue.

  “I need to know what the microwave sounds like when my food is done, what my stove and oven sound like when they click to let me know they’re still hot. The sound of my carbon monoxide detector, which is four chirps every five seconds, with a lower pitch than my smoke alarm, which is a higher pitch and more constant. I need those. Fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, roses, gravel, curbs, stairs, wet paint, sharp objects. I need to remember all of them. But the one thing I can’t remember is the colors you ladies are wearing for your dresses tonight; I don’t need to know that to live safely. But it’s hurting me as if it was the most important thing in the world, and I can’t let it go.”

  She slumped back, releasing Kaylee’s hand to rub her eyes. “I’m wearing a black dress, chosen for me by someone who is taking over every aspect of my current life. Ugh. All my control and independence gone in a matter of days, just because of some hot sex and… other stuff. But what’s bothering me most isn’t the life-or-death stuff. It’s the damn colors.” Leaning forward, she put her elbows on her knees, head in her palms, and sobbed. “I’m being such a drama queen. Please don’t hate me.”

  Kaylee stroked the back of Grace’s head, running her fingers through her long curls. “Hon, if drama queening was a bad thing, my whole pregnancy would be called Desperate Preggy Housewives of the Castle. Besides, you’re not being a DQ, you’re pretty overloaded, and you’re letting it all out. Can I ask you a question, though?”

  Grace nodded then laughed. “Chris wants me to stop nodding so much. He likes to spank for that infraction.”

  Kaylee giggled and shimmied into a better position next to Grace in the big chair, wrapping her arm around her back. “Marshall, too. And eye rolling. And… hmmm, pretty much anything else he can come up with to turn my butt red. I love it, though.”

  “Me, too. I really like it. Sorry, what was your question?”

  “Why haven’t you talked to Chris about this yet? He’s your Dom and your partner for the time being, and the way you guys create a better bond is by being open and honest with each other.”

  “I know, but it’s hard. I’ve been on my own for so long now, and I loved it. No, I didn’t love it. But I needed it. I had to work harder, push deeper, study longer, never let my guard down, just to get to the point I am now. I’m scared that letting myself be truly vulnerable with him, and not just in the ‘hey, why don’t you spank me and have sex with me’ kind of way, but the real thing… It scares me. Besides, he seems to be fighting his own demons. I know how hard it is and I don’t want to add to the burden.”

  “Being honest with each other should never be a burden.”

  “True.” She sighed and leaned her head against Kaylee’s shoulder. “You’re so wise.”

  Kaylee laughed, and Grace felt the big belly shake next to her. “It’s the mom-to-be thing, I guess. Once a baby starts forming in your
tummy and increasing your… size… you have to find something else to fall back on. Like mom quotes and rational thinking.”

  They hugged each other, and Grace relaxed, the tension from the previous moments melting away.

  “So, let’s figure a way out of your first predicament.” Kaylee stood and pulled Grace to her feet. “What colors do you remember as being your favorites?”

  “Remember the original cartoon version of Cinderella?”

  “Yeah, with the iridescent blue layer over the skirt?”

  “Yes, that exact color. I remember that, and I’ve always loved it.”

  “Well, it just so happens we have all the fairy-tale princess dresses in different styles.”

  “Original version, please.”

  Grace listened as Kaylee reached through some hangers, coming back out with an, “Aha!”

  “So, this here is the closest to the original dress as I’ve ever seen. If you’re willing to take my word for it, I’m telling you it’s blue. I can’t say for sure exactly what kind of blue, but it sure looks like a princess dress to me.”

  Grace nodded and reached forward to run her fingers across the satin and silk. “It’s beautiful.” She took it and held it up to her neck. “How does it look with my eyes?”

  A high-pitched squeal came from Kaylee. “It’s perfect. Just for the record for your color bank, the dress is about two shades lighter than your eyes. It’s not as pale as your skin, which is probably called an ivory two. Remember Cinderella’s eyes?”

  She bit her bottom lip and thought hard for a moment, recalling her favorite movie as a child. “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Okay. Take her eyes, darken them just a bit, like adding a bit of nighttime to them. Still with me?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Now, add in those flecks of light, almost like shiny gold. Add in one or two of those on the outside part. That’s what your eyes look like. When someone describes Marshall’s eyes, they say piercing and confident, which is pretty dang close to yours. But yours are gentler. So you don’t have the ‘stormy waves’ thing going on. You have Ella just before nighttime with the flecks of joy in her eyes when her little buddies release her and she knows she is about to go get her prince. Does that help?”