The Training of Toby (Masters of the Mansion Book 2)

by Steele, Suzanne

  Rod iron black sconces, with small lights that could be converted to candle holders, were sporadically placed along the stairwell and hallway. Doors that led to rooms on each side of the hallway provided privacy for members who opted for a more intimate feel, rather than the open playroom with its voyeuristic setting.

  The dim hallway led to an open room that held exquisite BDSM furniture. Whether the item was purchased, or handmade by one of the members, it was top of the line. Only the best of the best was worthy of being used by the Masters and Mistresses of The Mansion.

  Though the room was open, there were areas specifically dedicated to whatever a person’s kink preference might be. There was a St. Andrew’s cross that was set up far enough away from the wall behind it to allow full access to the victim restrained to it. Nothing was hidden here once a submissive was subjected to one of the devices in the room. Tools like paddles, whips, floggers, cuffs, and hoods hung neatly from the iron hooks on the wall.

  Whipping benches, chairs with devices to subdue a sub or slave, and even a Sybian filled the large playroom. There was every device common to the lifestyle and even some crafted by masterminds with imaginations that knew no boundaries; it was a kinkster’s paradise.

  “What’s up, Jute? Getting the lay of the land in preparation for this weekend?”

  Yeah, you know how I am. Perfection is paramount in my world.”

  “No, that would be your daddy’s world—the world of politics. Is the Senator going to grace us with his presence this weekend?”

  “You know dad. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “I see you have the standard 101 different colors of hemp on hand. Who is this with you?”

  “Oh, that’s my assistant, Jeff, but he goes by Hempster because of his love of rope. I’m kind of training him, you know, showing him the ropes, literally.”

  Master William eyed him with skepticism, “Yeah, pun intended.”

  “No, he’s cool. You know I wouldn’t bring anyone in who couldn’t be trusted. We’re, well, we’re together.”

  “It remains to be seen if he can be trusted but I’ll take you at your word.” Master William still hadn’t taken his eyes off the man in question and he could tell he was making him very uncomfortable; he just didn’t give a fuck. Nobody came into The Mansion without Master William’s seal of approval. The Mansion and all things pertaining to it were of utmost importance to him. To Master William’s way of thinking, having something over a club member’s head was always a beneficial option. The senator just being the senator was enough of a vice grip on his balls. The senator’s son fell under the same category because, due to their political positions and always being in the public eye, neither one of them wanted to be outed to the vanilla community. However, this assistant… he didn’t know him, he didn’t trust him, and, for some unknown reason, he didn’t fucking like him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Agent Turner

  Agent Turner eyed the suspect from across the table in the interrogation room. The man had the ruddy complexion and permanent bloodshot eyes of a full-fledged alcoholic.

  “So, you’re telling me you blacked out and you don’t remember the night you terrorized a boy for not allowing you to sexually molest him. That’s the story you’re going with?”

  By now, Agent Turner was bent down in the man’s face and viciously eyeing him like he wanted to grab him around the throat and choke the shit out of him. Truth be known, he did. Every fiber of his being wanted to utilize his formidable fight training on the subject sitting in front of him. He wanted to unleash the fury he was feeling towards the man he knew would have sexually assaulted Toby if he’d been given the chance. The only thing that had saved Toby that night had been his quick thinking and the fact that this asshole had been three sheets to the wind.

  The agent had seen enough dirt bags in his career to know that the man in front of him was a predator, and not the good kind. He wasn’t the kind to participate in consensual play with willing playmates. Granted, there were those in the lifestyle who loved being taken, but Toby didn’t fall under that category. The boy was a sub who needed nurturing and, thankfully, Mistress Diamond was providing that.

  “See, the thing about it is a boy died the night you attempted to assault Toby. Do you know what I think?” He gave him no time to answer before he continued, “I think you got pissed that night and when you couldn’t fuck Toby you went back and got Allyn.”

  “Now, just you wait a minute. I didn’t kill that kid,” the man being interrogated shouted in his own defense.

  “How do you know? You just said that you don’t remember what happened that night. Are you prone to blackouts, Bob?”

  By now, he was in the man’s face and spewing his words out as if they carried the venom that would succeed in doing what he wanted but couldn’t do—kill him. If there was one thing Agent Turner hated, it was a sub being preyed upon simply because they were a sub. If you wanted to get on the agent’s bad side, then just use the lifestyle as a means to pick up a submissive for the purpose of sexually abusing them. He was convinced that this john knew Toby was in a financial bind, knew he wasn’t gay, and knew he wasn’t a hustler. Yet, knowing all this, he’d still tried to make Toby sleep with him. Yep, this guy was on the agent’s shit list and that was a very dangerous place to be.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Killer

  It was so easy here, so easy to find the next naïve victim to subject to his torture. He had no point to prove. There wasn’t an underlying reason for what he did. He hadn’t grown up abused or sexually molested. The profilers always tried to make things so multidimensional. Everything with them was so deep and layered. If only they knew… he was a very simple man; he just enjoyed blood. Now that was something that was multidimensional.

  The killer knew that blood affects each and every person in a different way, yet nonetheless everybody is affected. Some people were squeamish at the sight of blood, some felt the need to rescue when they saw it pooling beneath a hurt victim, and some, like him, were excited by it. It intrigued him on so many different levels. Whether it was a trickle or a flood, it sexually excited him. Having the power to start with a drop from just a pinprick, and go to total exsanguination by blade, scalpel, or knife, never ceased to excite and amaze him.

  The average person didn’t realize the varying colors in blood told a story. Whether it was the color of deep, dark, black cherries or a bright, cardinal red, its varying degrees of color revealed so much about the person who bled. It revealed its type, the health of the person, and it even revealed oxidation—how long it had been out of the victim’s body. He could hear it speaking to him, calling out his name and urging him on to the next fatality. Answering the call wasn’t a choice; it was a command, a mandate that had to be acknowledged and obeyed. It cried out to him from the bodies it flowed through and he would give it what it desired above all—release. As he released the blood from his victim’s bodily prison, it provided release for him. It was beautiful but, at the same time, it was frustrating. He was so enamored and bound by its call, it had become the only way he could experience sexual release. He was long past being able to experience pleasure in the vanilla realm of eroticism. He’d surpassed wanting to enjoy BDSM that played by the rules. He’d moved deep into the vortex of debauchery and deviance and he had no intention of ever turning back; he was having too much fun.

  Agent Turner

  “Why did you fuck with that poor guy like that? You know good and well he isn’t our killer. I thought the poor guy was going to cry during the interrogation you just put him through.”

  Agent Turner chuckled at his partner’s reaction. “Perhaps I’m a tad bit sadistic myself. You should be careful,” he playfully teased.

  He backed away as she suddenly stalked in his direction. She grabbed his nuts and clenched them in her fist before she twisted. “Don’t fuck with me, boy! I asked you a question.” His breath hitched in agony as he eyed her expression. She resem
bled a predator eyeing prey and she looked vicious, like she wanted to clamp her teeth down on his throat and rip his life away from him. It was making his cock hard.

  He witnessed a sneer cross her countenance when she realized he was excited, the growth in her hand providing the evidence. “You’re disillusioned if you think you’ll ever top me, boy. You’ll never be free of me and you’ll damn sure never fucking dominate me.”

  He was horrified when she began to stroke her hand over his thickened cock in his pants. “Mistress, we’re at work. Please, not here.” He was relieved the door was shut but it wasn’t locked and anyone could come in.

  “Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” Her hand unzipped his pants and removed his cock as she glared at him, daring him to stop her. She smeared the pre-cum seeping through the tiny opening in his cock over his swollen, throbbing head and started pumping. She gripped it hard and stroked it as he fought off the climax she was determined to make him experience in the public setting.

  “You little bitch, who the fuck do you think you are threatening me? Whose bitch are you, Agent Turner?”

  “Ahh fuck, Mistress, I’m coming. Ahh shit, not here.”

  “I say when, I say where, and I fucking say how. Now come, boy.”

  He groaned as his seed shot out against his will.

  “Now, get that shit cleaned up, get your fucking ass out to your desk, and go back to work. We’ve got a killer to catch.”

  He rushed into his private bathroom and braced his hands against the sink. He took a moment to steady his breathing as he thought, what the fuck just happened?

  He knew what happened. He knew exactly what she had done to him. She had dug her talons even deeper into his soul and taken more of what she wanted—him.

  Toby

  Toby beamed as his Mistress confirmed to him how pleased she was with his training.

  “You’re doing so well. I’m proud to present you to the BDSM community tomorrow night. Are you ready, pet?”

  “I’m a little nervous, Mistress.”

  His eyes were downcast as he spoke. He smiled, just one corner of his mouth lifting, to reveal how much his Mistress affected him. She lifted his chin in her signature one fingered manner.

  “It’s perfectly normal to be nervous about meeting new people. This is your coming out to the community. I will tell you this, love; you’re safe with me. I will have you leashed and collared during the whole process. Just think of this as a gathering. It’s a party, just a kinky party. No one is going to bother you while you’re on my leash. I can assure you of that.”

  “Are people scared of you,” he asked with genuine curiosity.

  She chuckled as she answered, “I believe respect would be a more appropriate description.” She eyed him seriously as she made her next statement. “I know you have mixed feelings about Master William but you need to understand there is safety in submission. Let me give you an example… because I am his property, he would do anything to protect me. Now it goes even deeper than that. Because you are my property, you fall under that protection as well.”

  “But he hates me,” Toby answered.

  “He doesn’t hate you. There may be some jealousy towards you on his part but he doesn’t hate you. BDSM isn’t about love or hate like vanilla relationships are. Our bonds go much deeper than that, pet. We’re not just bound to each other emotionally. We are bound mentally, physically, and even psychologically as well as emotionally. You see, because he owns me, you fall under his watchful eye as well as mine. Even though he thinks I coddle you, because he knows I care for you, he’ll protect you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “My Master loves me and he will do anything to ensure I stay here. He knows I’ll stay for you. Whether you like it or not, you are as bound to my Master as I am.

  “BDSM is a complex and very intricate lifestyle. It has to be handled with the utmost of care. You’re not only dealing with people’s physical wellbeing, but their emotional and psychological wellbeing too. It’s why there are so many rules and so much protocol. The lifestyle, in the hands of the wrong person, is nothing shy of dangerous.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Killer

  Though the Internet contained a plethora of potential victims for a killer, there was a place that provided even more—the strip. The area, known by the Louisville, Kentucky residents as the strip, was located on 7th St. and it had mile after mile of strip clubs and hookers. Though picking up a girl off the street and getting her into his car would be no real challenge, he was in the mood for one. In his mind, it didn’t matter if the victim who met their demise was male or female. No, it was all about the blood. The only reason he had become so fixated on Toby was because of the boy’s innocence. He wanted to protect him from the vile things that happened on the streets.

  Though he was a hunter by nature and was inclined to bouts of stalking, he didn’t fit the profile of a stalker. He did, however, fit the profile of a sexual deviant and he most certainly fit the profile of a serial killer.

  He enjoyed the hunt. Well, he enjoyed hunting humans. For a while, he’d even tossed around the idea of releasing a captive and hunting them down for the final kill but had determined it was much more productive to have a victim tied to a slab and slowly work them over. Still, visions of cutting a victim loose in the deep woods at dusk did tempt him sometimes. The only thing that stopped him was the probability of them getting away. To a man who craved the scent of death like he did, there would be no greater torment than to have a victim so close to the final kill and then losing him. No, he needed the security of knowing his victim would follow through by offering their blood on the altar of his metal slab.

  He purposely pulled into one of the seedier establishments. The higher end strip clubs tended to keep a closer eye on the dancers and their outside activities. Security, in the form of professional bouncers and surveillance in the clubs and parking lots, was common. It was always much easier to woo a woman who worked in a dive. Many times, they were the ones who had aged out or had issues with drugs, which meant they were more desperate for money and much more inclined to meet with him after closing hours. Though he was in the mood for a challenge tonight, he knew his limitations.

  The loud music reverberated off the establishment’s walls and hit him full-force, as did the need to stop and take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting upon entering the club.

  He waited a moment before he made his way from the hallway and into the main area. When he did, he noted that it held three different stages. Each stage had its own dancer, grinding up and down the pole centered on a raised platform. He took a moment to study his surroundings and pulled the baseball cap down further over his eyes. To the unsuspecting observer, he looked like any other middle class, blue collar, working man wanting to blow off the stress accumulated during the day.

  He eyed a corner booth hidden in the shadows and headed over, knowing it would only be a matter of moments before he would be approached by one of the women for a lap dance. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before he was sought out and it was by a woman with a bad bleach job, too much make-up, and slutty clothes that were anything but sexy.

  He was in the process of sending her away when something she said changed his mind.

  “Hey, I know you. You were at the clinic where I came to get my blood testing done for the month.”

  Many of the clubs demanded the women were tested monthly and evidently this was one of them. He hadn’t thought about that when he chose to come in tonight; he just assumed that a dive like this wouldn’t have scruples when it came to STDs. Though his first reaction was to consider leaving, his second thought was to use this knowledge to his advantage.

  “Well, I hope you came back clean because I’m ready to party.”

  “Oh really, and what did you have in mind?”

  He pulled a hundred dollar bill from his pocket and spoke, “Well, we can start with this. If you’re a good girl, I might be inclined to add four
more to it but you’d have to be willing to spend the night with me. Let’s just say that I’m lonely. I just went through a divorce and I need a warm body next to me.”

  “Baby, for five hundred dollars, I can give you a hell of a lot more than a warm body.”

  “I just bet you can. I think I might just take you up on that.”

  Master William

  Master William sat at his desk and watched the computer screen, listening to his slave as she spoke to the boy she was training.

  His slave was smart. There was no doubt about that. It was one of the things that had initially drawn him to the girl. She was multidimensional, just like the lifestyle they lived. There was so much more to Mistress Diamond than what could be seen on the surface.

  On the surface, she was a confident, well dressed, and in control Mistress, but peel back those layers and, my, oh my, there was so much more to the woman.

  It took a hell of a lot of insight to see into the BDSM dynamics the way she just had. Even he hadn’t thought about what she had just voiced to the boy. He was responsible for him through her ownership. In some odd sort of way, listening to her voice the hierarchy of their triangular relationship, put everything in a whole new perspective for him. He was responsible for the boy’s safety and wellbeing.

  Though he still wasn’t allowing the boy to fuck her, maybe it was time to include him in some of their bedroom activities as a form of training.

  What many Doms didn’t understand, due to their egos, was that, at times, the teacher learns from the student. This was definitely one such case. It suddenly dawned on him that he had no reason to be jealous. Perhaps taking Toby under his wing would be beneficial. If the boy bonded to the both of them, it would only solidify the woman he loved staying at The Mansion.