When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle)

by Tabitha Black

"That's what I thought. So I'll make a deal with you. Either you tell me what's been bothering you ever since I came back from Texas, or I'll fill in an application form on your behalf." Ellen paused. "And I'll be extra sure to check 'no hard limits'," she added, with a grin.

  Deep down, Janice was ninety-nine percent sure her friend was bluffing. But the temptation to get everything off her chest, and possibly get some advice in the process, was too much for her. "Fine," she muttered eventually. "God, if only to shut you up!"

  "That was the aim," Ellen took her hand. "Sweetie," she softened her tone, "I know we work here and all, but that doesn't mean we don't have needs and desires as well. I meant what I said about Cinderella. So what is it with you and the legendary Dungeon Master? Love? Do you want to have big, burly babies with him?"

  Despite herself, Janice burst out laughing. "Oh Christ, no. I don't think it's that at all. If anything, it's more of a lust thing."

  "In what way? What exactly did you see him doing in the dungeon that you hadn't already seen a million times over the past two years?"

  "Like I said, he wasn't doing anything that unusual. It was just… I had a kind of epiphany. I've experienced pleasure in my life, and I've experienced pain—in this case, I'm talking about the kinky kind, of course, spanking and stuff. But I've never, ever, experienced both at the same time." Janice hung her head, trying once again to suppress the heat which threatened to prickle across her face at the mere thought. "I just can't help wondering… if I find each element on its own so awesome, how mind-blowing must they be combined?"

  "Gosh honey, is that all?" Ellen took her mug from the table and blew gently into it. "And there was me thinking it was something really extreme."

  "No, not really. I still don't know why I have such a hard time talking about it."

  "Okay, so we've cleared up the what and the why. Now we just have to work out the whom."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He's attractive enough, if you like that hulking, menacing, arms-like-oak-trees kind of thing. Personally, I prefer my men to be a little more… approachable. Jeeze, there are some serious hunks wandering around the Castle at all hours of the day and night. So why on earth," she emphasized the word in her deep, Southern drawl, "would you want to play with the Master Gaoler?"

  Janice took a sip of her coffee and considered for a moment. "I'm not sure. I think it's a combination of a bunch of factors. He just has this way of looking at you…" she trailed off again at the memory of those dark, predatory eyes. "I mean, have you ever watched him play? He's so amazingly detached. And experienced. And yes, terrifying. No matter what he's doing to a sub—assuming she doesn't have her back to him—his eyes never leave her face. He's more in tune with her than she seems to be herself. If such a thing is even possible. I guess I just want to know what that kind of expertise feels like first-hand."

  Ellen raised an eyebrow. "What about sex?"

  "What about it?"

  "If he wanted to fuck you, would you let him?"

  "Oh honey, it's been so long since I got any kind of action, I don't think I'd take much persuasion." Janice chuckled. She waited for Ellen to respond, but then realized her friend was hurriedly tugging a comb through her hair and slipping on her shoes.

  "Have you seen the time?" she squealed, by way of explanation. "I'm gonna be late for work. And," she added pointedly, "so are you. Let's go. You can dream about writhing under Master Dominick's expert hands later."

  I already do, Janice thought glumly, as she pulled on her own shoes and followed her friend down the stairs to the second floor. Every single night…

  Chapter Three

  Dominick was humming as he pulled on his black wrist cuffs, leather pants, boots and belt. For once he wasn't going to wear his hood. The day had finally dawned… the one he'd been looking forward to ever since that cute girl from the Salon had approached him in the canteen a week previously.

  She'd glanced nervously about her, as if on a secret mission, and then hurried in his direction. "Master Dominick, I was wondering whether we could have a quick chat?"

  He'd taken one look at her glossy hair, her wide eyes and toned body, and wondered whether Santa had delivered early this year. "We could have a long one if you like."

  A different girl might have reacted differently to the unspoken invitation in his voice, but this one had seemed immune. "No, it'll only take a moment," she'd said.

  Once they'd moved to a quiet corner of the canteen, the girl—Ellen—had explained that she was planning a treat for her friend, but she needed his help.

  "My help? Are we talking about a guest?"

  "No, no, she works here. In Wardrobe."

  "And what would you like me to do?"

  Dominick had listened with growing fascination as Ellen described Janice; her looks, her sweet, bubbly nature and, best of all, her deep desire to explore that heady combination of pain and pleasure he so loved to deliver. "She a brat?" he'd asked, as soon as Ellen paused for breath.

  "Oh God no, she's a complete sweetheart. She'd give you the shirt off her back."

  "Pun intended?"

  "Huh?"

  Ellen's vacant expression suggested that his little quip had gone right over her glossy head. Does no-one in this place have a sense of humor anymore? "I just meant because she works at Ward—you know what, never mind. Does she know you're asking me this?"

  "Of course not, it's a surprise. She's so lovely, you see, spends all her time looking after the guests and making them look—and feel—amazing, and after two years here, I figured she deserves a treat. She was thinking about taking part in the auction but she decided she'd be needed at work instead."

  Better and better. Only someone really keen to hand over control to someone else would sign up to be sold off. "She a painslut?" Dominick asked, idly running his thumb over his chin.

  "Well, that's the other thing. She is, but she hasn't played with anyone in ages."

  "Why not?"

  "She was too scared to ask… er… the person she really wants to play with." Ellen couldn't quite meet his eyes.

  "Why? He married or something?" Dominick already knew he wanted to grant this pretty airhead her favor, but he enjoyed probing.

  "No, he… look, it doesn't matter. Anyway, are you interested?"

  "Depends." He casually examined his perfectly trimmed fingernails. "Is this… what's her name?"

  "Janice."

  "Is Janice open to giving as well as receiving?"

  Ellen widened her eyes even further. "Pain?"

  He snorted back his laughter. "No, silly. Pleasure. You said she wants to receive… you think she'd be happy to reciprocate at all?"

  Tossing her hair over her shoulder, the girl had winked at him. "Let's just say, I don't think she'd take a lot of convincing. Let me know when you have some free time and I'll arrange the rest."

  Unfortunately, the auction preparations and Christmas had made it impossible for Dominick to set aside a big enough slot of time until almost a full week after his chat with Ellen.

  All good, he told himself, squirting on just the tiniest spritz of his favourite cologne. The best things come… and all that. At least the delay had given him plenty of time to prepare. It was all he could do not to rub his hands together gleefully at the thought of finally indulging his own desires once more.

  At first he'd worried that she'd be excruciatingly unattractive, but a couple of days after their little chat Ellen had pointed her out, surreptitiously, in the canteen, and to his amazed joy, Janice was anything but. Not the fake, glamorous type of woman who turns heads everywhere she goes… instead she had a natural, understated beauty. As he headed down to the dungeon to set up, Dominick cracked his knuckles. He couldn't wait to see a whole lot more of Janice close up.

  ***

  Her heart was pounding so fast she could almost hear it. Despite the fact that she'd only recently showered, Janice could already feel the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. She was still reeling from th
e events of the past two hours. Damn Ellen. Damn her to hell and back for putting me through this.

  At first she'd thought her friend had been joking when she'd told her to get ready for a blind date. "Pick something sexy to wear," Ellen had said, breezily. "Then come see me and I'll do your hair and make-up."

  "You didn't."

  "I didn't what?"

  "You did not tell Master D… Master D"—damnit, she was never able to say his name out loud—"him what I told you the other day, did you? In the strictest confidence?" Janice was so angry she could barely breathe. But underneath her outrage, there was something else. A thick, steady thumping between her thighs she couldn't deny.

  "Just call me your fairy godmother," Ellen had said, with a wink. "You, too, shall go to the ball, Cinderella. Although," she surveyed her friend's comfortable clothing with a critical eye, "I can't help you with the ball gown. That's your department. Go pick something sexy. Black. And heels."

  "Are you kidding me? There's no way I would ever, ever go through with this! I don't even know what you've told him, for fuck's sake!"

  "The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth." Ellen reached out and took Janice's suddenly clammy palms. "You think he'd hurt you?"

  Despite herself, Janice giggled.

  "You know what I mean. In a bad way?"

  "No. And besides, that's what safewords are for."

  "Trust me, honey. If you don't do this, you are gonna regret it forever. Besides. It took so much planning, not to mention co-ordinating his schedule with your day off! You really wanna be the one to go down there and tell him the whole thing isn't going to happen?" Her eyes narrowed. "He'd be so upset."

  Ellen always did have a tendency to be melodramatic, but Janice found herself trotting obediently to Wardrobe all the same… this time to dress herself. She didn't think for one cotton-picking minute that the Master Gaoler would give two hoots whether or not she showed up, but that insistent hum between her legs was making it clear that perhaps she ought to at least go down and see him. And if she was going to go down and call it off, she might as well look her best.

  And so it came to pass that, two hours later, with her auburn curls straightened to fall, sleek and glossy, down her back, wearing a rather tight black silk negligee and patent black platform heels, her face perfectly made up and every inch of her body still tender from being freshly waxed, Janice was creeping carefully down the foreboding steps to the dungeons.

  A lone constable stood at the entrance. He looked her up and down and folded his arms. "You Janice?"

  Breathlessly, she nodded.

  With a jerk of his head, the man indicated for her to go inside. "Third door on the left. Sit down on the chair. He'll join you shortly."

  With her heart in her mouth, Janice found herself walking down the corridor; the once-familiar, heady medieval dungeon atmosphere suddenly giving her a strange sense of foreboding. Somewhere, someone screamed.

  As if on autopilot, she followed the constable's directions, swallowing hard as she saw the lone wooden chair placed in the center of the dark chamber. Deliberately ignoring the impressive display of wicked implements and custom furniture neatly arranged along all four walls, she sat down, realizing immediately that she now had her back to the door.

  A minute passed. Then two.

  This was not what she had planned. I wanted to talk to him, for fuck's sake! To maybe negotiate a scene! Not to walk straight into one!

  And yet something was keeping her there; as if glued to the hard seat of that simple wooden chair. The pulse between her legs was growing stronger.

  ***

  "Well, well, well, what have we here?" Dominick didn't miss the way she'd started at the sudden sound of his voice behind her. "No," he went on, firmly, "don't look around. Keep your eyes straight ahead."

  He picked up a strand of her silky hair, letting it slide over his fingers.

  Janice shivered.

  Leaning down, he deliberately let his lips caress her ear as he murmured, "You are a beautiful little thing, aren't you? I do appreciate the effort you obviously went to on my behalf."

  "Th-thank you. Sir." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  "Tell me, little Miss Janice… what turns you on?"

  Closing her eyes, she shook her head just the slightest bit.

  "Hmm?" he went on, running an idle finger down the bare flesh of her arm.

  She jumped as if she'd been branded.

  "If you don't tell me, little one, I'll just have to find out for myself. And I must warn you…" Dominick paused, stepping around her and tracing her flushed cheek, "I might well discover some things you really don't like in the process."

  Janice looked at him then, her hazel eyes glazed with terrified desire. He smiled. "Do you consent?"

  She nodded.

  "I can't hear you!"

  "Yes… yes, I c-consent, Sir."

  "Excellent. Safewords: red for stop, yellow for go slow. Official Castle safeword, only in an absolute emergency. Am I clear?"

  "Y-yes, Sir."

  He watched the flush darken on her cheeks. She really was too adorable. "Stand up."

  Slowly, she unfurled her slim, shapely body from the chair, unable to meet his eyes. "I hear you quite enjoy being spanked. Is that so?"

  Janice made a tiny noise—something between a whimper and a groan—in the back of her throat.

  Quick as a flash, Dominick took a fistful of her long hair and tilted her face up to meet his. "Let's get one thing clear, sweetheart," he said in a low voice, "You will answer all my questions. And you will do so honestly. I came here today fully prepared to let you enjoy the experience as much as I intend to do… but believe me, I have absolutely no reservations about changing my mind. Understood?"

  "Y-yes, Sir." Her pert breasts were visibly heaving, threatening to spill over the top of her flimsy negligee. Dominick resisted the urge to sink his teeth into the creamy flesh. Patience. Draw it out. Make her suffer. His dick was already so hard it hurt.

  "Good girl. Now, come around the back of this chair and bend over."

  Once she had done so, he slid the hem of her dress up around her waist. "Oh dear. I do like the way you deliberately matched your underwear to your shoes, but those panties are going to have to come off." Without waiting for a response, he hooked his fingers beneath the silky material and slid them down over her slim hips with measured delicacy. Her bottom was pale and inviting, the taut globes separating to give a tantalizing glimpse of the hidden delights within.

  "Such white skin," he mused, stroking it lightly, "a beautiful canvas for me to work with. I think it will be looking a little different by the time I'm through with you."

  Then, without warning, he slapped her right buttock, hard, digging his fingernails in upon impact in order to heighten the sensation.

  Janice squealed.

  "You can scream as much as you want down here, little one. No-one will hear you. Now, what do you think I should use on you first? A paddle? A brush? A crop? A flogger? A nice slender cane, perhaps?" Reaching into his utility belt, he unfastened the snap to release his bullwhip with deft, practised fingers. "Or should we go straight to the whip?" He cracked it, once, the retort echoing like a gunshot around the thick stone walls of the dungeon.

  The girl squealed again, but there was an unmistakeable glistening between her quivering thighs.

  "You're lucky," he said eventually, "I'm feeling exceptionally kind today. Let's start with something more gentle, shall we?"

  "Th-thank you, Sir."

  Dominick slid his bullwhip back into his belt, took up position to the left of her upturned, creamy white bottom, cracked his knuckles, raised his burly arm, and began to spank.

  ***

  Janice would never have dreamed that a mere hand-spanking could be so devastating, so arousing… so unbelievably painful. Over and over again the Dungeon Master's immense palm connected with her sensitive flesh, with the same relentless pace as a metronome—only much, mu
ch faster.

  The moment he'd entered the dungeon, filling it with his darkly sensual presence, speaking to her in that soft, growling voice, she'd found herself utterly at his mercy; completely unable to deny him anything.

  Whimpering, clinging grimly on to the seat of the chair, she closed her eyes and fought the urge to reach back, to protect her already scorching backside from growing any hotter.

  "Don't you dare fucking move," Dominick said sharply, as though he could read her mind. "You move, and I'll tie you to this fucking chair."

  "P-please," she gasped, "it-it's too much! I can't take this much this fast."

  "Of course you can. Besides, this is just the warm-up. You have a safeword, don't you?" A flurry of fast smacks peppered the backs of her thighs, and her wails went up a notch.

  The heat in her bottom was building… building… and spreading, dipping down to fuel the gnawing ache between her legs. Her clit felt huge, thumping, crying out for him to touch.

  And then he did.

  As Master Dominick slid a lazy fingertip between her legs, grazing that throbbing, pulsing bud of need in her core, Janice felt every muscle in her sex clench. Biting her lip, she fought the urge to grind herself against his thick digit.

  "My my, sweetheart, you are enjoying this, aren't you?" His voice was husky, mocking.

  She whimpered… then groaned with frustration when he removed his hand. He was moving around behind her; but she didn't dare to look.

  "And to think," he went on, "we're only just getting started."

  CRACK! As thick, solid wood splatted sharply against her stinging buttocks, Janice gripped the seat of the chair even more tightly and tried to remember to breathe.

  With every hard, precise stroke of the paddle, Dominick fanned tendrils of fire which snaked their way around her hips, across her belly and between her legs, the pain fuelling her desire until she found herself arching her back, thrusting out her bottom as if she were begging for him to spank her with it again… harder… more.

  The Master Gaoler was nothing if not obliging.

  By the time he tossed the paddle aside, Janice was certain her butt must be purple; swollen… destroyed. When she felt him cup her raw cheeks in his huge hands, she whimpered.