Masters of the Castle: Witness Protection Program

by Maren Smith

  His large palm clapped against her, and she yelped at the heat.

  As he rubbed her bottom, he dropped the skirts back down over her stinging rear end and his hand. “Did that sound the same?” He was grinning. She could tell the way his voice dipped and that tiny bit of accent edged into his speech.

  “Yeah.” Her throaty reply was husky and full of want. “So he’s holding her skirt up?”

  “Nope, it’s a special design. Open ass for easy access. There’ve been a lot of requests for outfits like that here. Shorts, pants, skirts, you name it, if it has a covering for the rear, it can be cut out. She is blessing everyone in the room with a gorgeous, red, and welted bottom.”

  “What do the welts mean?” Was it weird she wished she could walk up to the woman and ask to touch them?

  Chris continued their dance, waltzing them slowly toward the band in the rear of the room. “Her welts are wide with little spacing between them, lots of redness and puffy cheeks. My guess is either a sturdy leather belt or a strap.”

  She shivered in his arms, the thought of being bent over his knee for a hard spanking with his belt. Would that even work? How would he reach back and follow through with a belt if she was so close by being over his knee? He’d obviously hold the belt buckled end in his hand, or else the metal could injure her, right?

  She refocused her visions of herself leaning over the edge of the bed, maybe wearing a lacy nightgown, rolled up to lie on the small of her back. Her hair would cover half of her face as she lay cheek to comforter. What kind of words would he use? Would he call her a naughty girl? Bad girl? He’d probably roll up the long sleeves of his shirt and spank her with his hand first. A warm-up he had called it. The first part of the spanking intended to heat her bottom up just enough to keep it from bruising from whatever implement he decided to punish her with.

  What would he look like while watching her quiver in anticipation of her punishment? Would his eyes narrow, causing a crinkle along the edges and a flare of light showing his displeasure? Or would his gaze darken and his body tense into a posture of rigidity showcasing anger? She had not seen his angry face, or many truly angry faces, growing up a people-pleasing child. But she’d heard them described by friends. She’d even read romance novels through her audio reading app. Some of her favorites were even in braille. Though the men had never spanked the women in the books she’d read, they had showed every emotion one could expect in a romance story. Aggression, love, lust, empathy, loss, need, sadness… her favorite authors described every emotion in a way that even she could see. She wondered what Chris looked like when truly angry. “Would you ever spank me if you were angry?” She tilted her neck toward him so she could listen to his breathing as he reacted to her question.

  A quick inhale followed by a low rumble in is throat, before he barked out, “Hell, no.” He exhaled then recovered their dance steps with a slow exhale. “A good Dominant doesn’t do any scening if not in control of his emotions. I can’t say I would never make a mistake, but I would sure as hell try not to. Why?” He paused and pressed against the small of her back as he dipped her backward toward the floor.

  Exhilaration filled her at the vulnerability… the safe vulnerability in this moment. Chris wouldn’t drop her. Her head knew it, but her body still reacted as if it was ready to reach behind her so she didn’t bonk her head.

  “I’ve got you, princess. Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

  She relaxed into the position, reveling in the music playing behind her, picturing the strands of lights and decorations Chris had told her were above them. “I was wondering a few things.”

  He pulled her back up and started leading her to the side of the room. “There’s a refreshment table on the far side. There’s a chocolate fountain, fruit, champagne—just one glass—and some other ball-like froofy stuff. What would you like?”

  “Anything with chocolate, and just half a glass of champagne, please.”

  “Sure thing, princess.” He kissed her hand and leaned in closer to speak into her ear. “I’m going to keep you against my side. There are a few other people, and I don’t want to take any chances on a close-up inspection or conversation.”

  “Good idea. I’m ready to be smothered to your bosom, Sir.” She grinned when he tightened his grip and, with a growl, pulled her closer.

  “I do not have a bosom, little girl. My pecs have been honed to a state of rock-hard perfection after hours of PT every day.”

  “You still do your physical training even after getting out?”

  She felt his shoulders shrug before he gave her a light hug. “It keeps me sane.”

  She listened as he poured a glass of what must have been the champagne and handed it to her, then he started placing things on a plate.

  “It’s one of the things I can control,” he continued talking as he filled their plates and handed one to her. “I feel a little less unbalanced if I at least have that one thing. Does that make sense?”

  She walked with him over to a quieter area and sat when he pulled her chair out for her. The music was behind and to the left of her, so she must be facing a wall. Good thinking on his part. Even with the mask, they still had to be careful no one saw her staring blankly ahead at nothing. “I understand what you’re saying. I have the same thing, a bit of OCD for certain things, and I hate not being in control. That’s why this BDSM thing is so confusing to me. I’m working through it, but it still pushes me out of my comfort zone.”

  “Is it bothering you too much? Do you want us to back off and go back to the original idea or just hole up quietly in our suite?”

  “No. Thanks, but I’m okay. I just need to keep trying stuff out and see what I like and don’t like. You’re helping a lot.”

  “Okay.” He paused to take a sip of his water. It wasn’t champagne like hers and had the typical lack of smell she’d grown accustomed to for water. “So, you said you had questions.”

  “Topping from the bottom, I think I heard someone call it. I don’t get it. You want me to tell you what I want, and you said I, as the submissive, have all the control. But that seems to go in direct opposition of the thing you already got onto me twice about. I liked being spanked by you, and I want to try out more implements I think. But how do I let you know what I want without you getting upset or angry about the bottoming thing?”

  “The bottoming thing?” She could hear the grin in his voice.

  “Is there a better phrase that’s a bit shorter? It’s kind of a mouthful.”

  “Most things that are worth anything are,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Oh, now you’re getting turned on and flirting with me. Come on, I’m asking legitimate questions so we don’t tick each other off.”

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his heart. “First of all, sorry. I wasn’t trying to make fun of you. I have been achingly hard since the moment you walked out in that beautiful dress, and I can’t wait to get it off you. It’s all I can do not to tear it off you and bend you over the table right here.” His hand took hers down to place it on his lap, and she gasped at the hard length she found. “Told you. You say the word, and I’ll pick you up into my arms and carry you back to our room. I might not make it all the way there before I taste you, but damn that’s what all those layers are for. I could hide my head under all that fluffy material and make you scream my name while sitting here listening to the band play.”

  She squirmed as her core clenched with desire. His dirty words were turning her on so much.

  He brought her hand back up to kiss it then placed it on the table. “About the topping from the bottom, it means…” He leaned toward her and ran his tongue over her collarbone. “It means trying to take control from the Dominant while pretending to be an obedient sub. Yes, you tell me what you want, baby, and I do everything I can to make your dreams come true. But it also means you give me your trust, and don’t try to force my hand. You give me the greatest thing you could ever give a Dom. Trust. You allow me to
lead you, to push you, to bend you, mold you, play with you until you melt, push you close to the edge of your comfort zone, always edging closer to a new experience. You’re honest with your feelings, and you tell me what’s going on, before blowing up or melting down because you held it in too long. It means letting me decide what you truly need in that one moment. And if you love it, great. We take it further. If you don’t, we stop and regroup. I don’t know if I’m explaining it well enough right now. Honestly, all I want to do is take you back to our room, strip you out of that dress, spank you hard, and then fuck you until you come so hard you scream my name, so exhausted, so hoarse, so sore, in all the best ways. Then we go to sleep, you in my arms, me watching over you. How’s that sound?”

  “Would you be interested in using your belt?”

  “You want me to give you marks like the woman I pointed out earlier?”

  The sound of happy squealing and screeching stopped their conversation. Someone was getting spanked in the far corner. The woman screeched again as a loud thunk echoed through the room then whimpers, followed by a male’s soft voice commanding her to get back in position.

  “That’s a master/slave combination,” Chris said quietly, his hand on her knee. “She’s fully naked with her hands on the wall in the corner, her bottom facing out for all of us to see. She came in on all fours, crawling behind him earlier. She lay on the floor on a small carpet in front of him for a while. It looks like they are starting their own special kind of foreplay.”

  “So, she isn’t being punished for doing something wrong?”

  Another crack and a loud yelp, followed by her low moan.

  “From the looks of it, she’s enjoying it. I don’t know if it’s punishment or funishment, hard to tell. But in this community, they can be pretty damn near the same thing. Did you hear her moan a moment ago?”

  She nodded, and the grip on her knee tightened. “Yes, I heard her moan.”

  “Good girl.” He started doing lazy circles around her knee, making her shiver in delight. “She keeps pressing her ass back to him after every stroke. That’s a Lexan paddle by the way. It makes quite the impact. Some subs love it, some hate it. I’d say, based on the fact she keeps spreading her legs farther apart, and practically coming away from the wall to get her ass in closer contact to her master, she likes it.” His strokes went higher, working their way up her inner thigh, and she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.

  “You have any other questions?”

  “Not right now, thank you.” She shuddered when his fingers went right up her leg, so damn close to the area she most wanted him. So close. “So how do I tell you I’m ready for you to do all that stuff you mentioned a minute ago, without topping from the bottom?” She groaned when his fingers continued past her aching pussy over to the other thigh.

  “For now, you just keep yourself open to me, you give me your colors when I ask for them, and you trust that I will give you what you need.” His palm found her pussy and pressed against her hard. “Think you can give me that trust, princess?”

  “I-I’ll try.” God, she ached for him.

  “Good girl.” He pulled away from her, and she fought to keep her face neutral instead of the anguish at his loss. He kissed her tenderly on the lips then stood up, pushing his chair back. “Lay your head on the table and close your eyes.”

  What about the glass of champagne and her plate? What if she poked her fork into her eye or nose? What if… She took a deep breath then exhaled, calming her frenzied thoughts. This was a test. Chris wouldn’t let her do anything that would hurt herself. She needed to work on trusting him. Slowly, she laid her cheek on the empty area in front of her and closed her eyes with a satisfied sigh. She could do this. It would be difficult at times, but she was strong enough. They both knew it.

  “You stay right here in that position and don’t talk to anyone except for Kaylee or Marshall.”

  “Marsh—” Her head was pressed back down firmly onto the table. Not hard enough to hurt her, but firm enough to remind her he meant what he’d said. Stay put.

  “They’re on their way over. Don’t talk to anyone else.”

  “Okay.” She could do this. She listened to his footsteps as he walked away, then listened to the heavy shuffling sound of Kaylee’s steps. It sounded like she was wearing ballet slippers. Made sense. Marshall wouldn’t want his wife waddling around in heels this late in the pregnancy. Keeping her right ear firmly plastered to the tablecloth, she smiled as Marshall pulled out a chair for Kaylee to sit in. The sounds of the revelry around her diminished as she focused on her friend. She was really doing it. Submission.

  “How’s it going?” Marshall’s deep voice resonated over her head.

  Her huge grin made the tablecloth scrunch against her cheek. “Never better.”

  Chapter 8

  Chris

  Chris stood aside while Marshall and Kaylee approached his princess. Marshall pulled out a chair next to Grace and tenderly helped his pregnant wife into it before settling into the seat on his cousin’s other side. He wanted to check on her welfare again, and, while Chris tried to suppress his irritation, to appreciate that she had a family member who cared about her so much, it was difficult not to feel that maybe his ability to watch over Grace was being doubted. Swallowing his pride, he returned to the bar and got himself a club soda with lime then stayed there, sipping the fizzy drink while the trio spoke. He could see lips moving, but, of course, with the music and all the laughter, chatter, and other sounds in the ballroom, he could not hear what they said. Perhaps he should learn to read lips.

  Setting his glass down, he left the ballroom and wandered a bit, giving her privacy to speak to Marshall and Kaylee.

  At the end of a hallway, he came upon a small room with an open door. Inside, centered in the space, a human hamster wheel was powered by a sub in a cunning mouse costume consisting mostly of corset, ears, whiskers, and tail. The wheel glowed with multi-colored lights. He’d never seen one before, but, judging by the line of those waiting their turns, it was a big hit. The current occupant’s arms were laced behind her, making him wonder at her ability to stay upright while running along the spinning track. Just as he was ready to return to Grace, the Dominant standing beside the device hit a switch and it slowed to a halt, the lights flickering off. Since he saw no plug leading to the wall, he suspected the lights were indeed powered by the sub’s racing legs.

  “No!” she protested. “I wasn’t done!”

  Another Dom stepped forward and scooped her up. “I apologize for the little mouse’s rudeness. She shall be chastised.” Clipping a leash to a hook on her collar, he strode off, the buxom brunette stumbling behind him.

  The Dom in charge of the wheel grinned. “I’m enjoying running the ride, but I would love to see how a mouse is chastised.”

  “Do you suppose he’ll take away her cheese?” Chris chuckled. “Or perhaps he has a humane trap in their suite.”

  “You’re only making me more intrigued.” He arched a brow. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take over here for a while?”

  “Sorry. I have to get back to the ball.” He’d only left her side because Marshall was right there. “My princess is waiting for me. Although it does look fun.”

  “Would she like a turn? I can slip her in line ahead of these others. It’s bound to rile them up.” He didn’t sound as if he would mind if it did.

  But, no, if anything would give away Grace’s inability to see, the wheel would. “Tempting, but I have a few other things in mind. A little discipline for an infraction.”

  The Dom sighed and waved a petite sub wearing a black latex bodysuit with relevant cutouts forward. “Take the boots off. We don’t want any unplanned injuries.” Safety first, always, in the Castle.

  “Have a good night.” Chris headed for the door.

  “You, too.” The Dom refocused on the sub. “Where is your Sir? Nobody rides without authorization.”

  Always something new in the Cast
le. Part of why people loved to come there. Wondering what they’d come up with next, he returned to the ballroom. If Marshall hadn’t satisfied his concerns by now, it was just too bad.

  To his relief, Marshall was helping his wife to her feet, preparing to leave Grace’s side. He caught Chris’ eye and nodded. Things must have gone well. Stepping up behind her, he rested a hand on the back of her neck. “Had enough of the ball, princess?

  “If you have, Sir.” Her shoulders drooped.

  Alarm fizzed through him. “Gr—Ella… is something wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  “Words, princess. When I left, you were having a wonderful time, now you look like you lost your best friend. What changed?” It couldn’t relate to the murders. Marshall would have told him of any developments first, so he’d know what to do to keep her safe.

  Sitting next to her, he studied her face, at least what wasn’t covered by the mask. Her lower lip quivered, the corners of her mouth turned down. He waited for her to speak, not wanting to add to her distress.

  Finally, she let out a quivery sigh. “It’s not a game, is it?” Grace waved a hand, taking in the ballroom, maybe the whole Castle. “All of this, I mean. It’s real.”

  “Well, sometimes there are scenes that could be considered games, I suppose. And people who consider the elements of our lives games. But to those who live here, to me, no. It’s our life. Lived according to our own desires and needs.”

  “I see that now,” she said in a voice so quiet he had to lean in to listen.

  “Marshall explained it to you?”

  “Kaylee. I think I knew, but when I told them about our conversation earlier, she told me it’s not something she turns on and off like a water faucet. That while some people only assume certain roles in the bedroom, for her and Marshall, their life together is the same all the time. And she loves it.”

  Well, Grace had heard it, but she didn’t seem happy.

  “And what do you think about that?” He bent even closer. Her answer meant more than the answer to any question he’d asked before.