"Now," Travis went on, his voice steady and serious, "it's time we put a collar on the girl we want to own forever."
Trevor opened the box he was holding and removed the collar he'd ordered especially for her, their Silver girl.
She gasped as she saw it. "It-it's beautiful," she breathed, in wonder. "It's like chainmail."
"Even though it looks very delicate, the wire is very strong," Trevor said. "Like the woman we got it for."
"And it reminded us of the dress you were wearing when we first saw you," Travis added, reaching out to wipe away the tear which was crawling down Silver's pale cheek.
"So, sweet girl," Trevor said, "will you accept our collar? Will you do us the honor of belonging to us, and no-one else?"
"Are you sure? Really and completely sure?" She looked from one brother to another, more tears spilling from her lower lashes. "I mean... have you thought this through? We can wait... I mean, I don't even know whether I can stay here, whether I can get a visa—"
"We've spoken to Master Marshall," Travis interrupted her. "There's a job opening for you at the Salon, if you want it. Or we can find you something else. Or you could spend all your time trying to keep us satisfied, if you prefer. Anything you want. As for the visa... I'm sure we can work something out. Let's cross that bridge when we come to it." He winked.
"Do you need some time to think about it?" Trevor asked, ignoring his thumping heart.
"No!" She let out a sob. "I love you." Her hands went to her mouth, and her eyes widened, as though she hadn't meant to say it.
"Excellent. Because, sweet Silver girl, we love you too. So very, very much."
With trembling fingers, Trevor slipped the slender, wire mesh collar around her neck, and Travis locked it, pocketing the key.
Her eyes huge, Silver's fingers immediately went to it, tracing the ornate 'T's carved into the padlock.
As Trevor leaned in and kissed her, his lips and tongue conveying the depth of his emotion, Travis spoke. "I've been wanting to do this for such a long time now."
Pulling away from Trev, Silver looked at what Travis was holding. "That's my return ticket to Australia," she said, astonished.
"It was," Travis said, tearing it into pieces before letting them flutter to the ground. "There," he said, his voice breaking, "now you have to stay here with us." He kissed her, then, and both men got to their feet.
With tears of delight still running down her beaming face, Silver reached out and clasped each of their legs. "I-I don't know how to tell you how I feel," she stammered. "I-I just... why? Why me?"
"Because you deserve it, sweetheart. You deserve to be loved, cherished, protected, complimented... and used and fucked in all the ways you adore. Because you're beautiful. Because we love you." Trevor narrowed his eyes. "Because you belong to us now, Silver girl. You've come home."
The End
Author's Note:
Writing is often a solitary profession, and this is especially true in my particular genre. That's why you don't usually find pages of acknowledgments at the start of erotica books—contributors, editors and so on are thanked and praised privately instead of being named and appreciated in print.
In this case, however, I would like to make an exception. After I described a personal experience with a charity auction to some fellow author friends, an idea for a boxed set took root, and Sharing Silver, as well as four other books, were born: Rosie's Resolutions, Punishing Portia, Buying Brianny and Owning O.
Maggie Ryan, a dear personal friend of mine, worked very closely with me on this, and you will be able to follow Rosie's own auction journey (if you haven't already) in 'Rosie's Resolutions'. She is an amazing person, as well as a brilliant author, and I simply must thank her for all her support and advice.
Maren Smith very kindly offered to allow us to hold the auction at her fabulous Castle, home of her best-selling 'Masters of the Castle' series. She has been instrumental in the writing of this story, and I cannot thank her enough for her invaluable feedback, support, and, of course, for allowing me to use Travis and Trevor and give them a story of their own.
I'd also like to thank Abbie Adams and Darling Adams, the other two contributors to this set, for their advice and support and for being such a hoot to work with.
On a final, unrelated note, if you would like to see the ambigram I refer to when describing the twins' matching tattoos, please check out my blog post on the subject, at: http://tabithablack.blogspot.com/2015/01/sharing-silver-extras.html
Thank you for reading,
~ Tabitha
Tabitha Black
I've been lucky enough to be able to combine my two great passions in life - writing and BDSM - since 2005.
In real life, I'm both submissive and a masochist. Of course I use elements of what I've experienced when writing fiction, and most of my leading men are loosely based on what I find attractive in a Top/Daddy/Dominant/Sadist, but it's equally important to note that my stories are strictly fantasy.
As well as writing erotic novellas, I've worked as a glamour model, a business copywriter and a chat host. Now I'm finally in a position where I can focus more on writing fiction again, which makes me very happy. If you want to hear more from/about me, you can check out my blog here, or join my Facebook page. I would love to hear from you!
Don’t miss these other exciting books by Tabitha Black and Blushing Books!
Summer Camp
Little Tudor Rose
Educating Eva: Silverlake Priory Book 1
The Abbeyville Way
Estelana
Taken in Hand
Conquering Cassia
Fulfilling Her Fantasy (Masters of the Castle Novella)
Punishing Portia
By
Darling Adams
©2015 by Blushing Books® and Darling Adams
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
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is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
Adams, Darling
Punishing Portia
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-684-7
Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter One
"That bitch!" David shouted, slamming a fist down on the stainless steel prep counter so hard he made everything on it pop into the air.
"I know," Jerry, his sous-chef, said in commiseration.
Jerry had just brought him the latest Windy City Eats magazine, which carried a scathing review of their new restaurant, and, in particular, of him and his skills as both a chef and a restaurant owner.
David read aloud, "Megalomaniac Chef David Dean Marone has opened a second restaurant near the waterfront. As if appearing on the Food Channel and already having a restaurant (Marone's) named after himself wasn't enough, this one, too, takes his name—David Dean's." He skipped ahead. "Overall, David Dean's is much like its owner/chef; arrogant and pretentious. No wine on the menu is under forty dollars, and while our red was decent, it was served too warm, something that shouldn't happen at a restaurant that purports to take pains in sourcing and handling only the highest quality food products. Of course the food is what you would expect from an award-winning chef like Marone, but I found it at times cloying." He jumped to the end. "The service is haughty rather than humble. If you want t
o be looked down at for not having designer shoes and a matching handbag, this is the place to go. Three stars for food. One and a half for service, one for atmosphere."
He slapped the magazine down again. "That woman seriously needs to get laid."
"Honestly, a review like this will only help us," Jerry reasoned. "The phone has been ringing off the hook for reservations, and I don't have a single table free for five weeks."
David rubbed his face. "Yeah, but where does she get off?" He turned to look at his right-hand man. "Is this true?"
Jerry hid a grin. "Look, boss. Your confidence is what made you the most successful restaurateur in Chicago. No-one here is complaining about you, and none of our customers are complaining about the atmosphere. The exclusive feel is why they want to see and be seen here."
David drew a breath in through his nose and exhaled, trying to relax the tension in his shoulders. His upcoming vacation could not be better scheduled. He looked down at the magazine review again. Portia Sands, Critic at Large.
"I went to school with her," he said, pointing at the byline.
"Oh yeah? Is that why she has a bone to pick?"
He snorted. "I have no idea. I never did anything to her. I wouldn't even remember her if she didn't have a name straight out of a Shakespeare play."
"Was this in college?"
"No, the Culinary Institute. She and I were the only two who had graduated college first. Most people there were younger—nineteen or twenty. She acted snotty about the program—I think she found the classes below her education level. You know; it was vocational training, as opposed to a graduate degree."
"So now she writes scathing reviews about the people in her class? Lame."
David relaxed, calmer now that he had aired his anger.
"Maybe she had a crush on you and you failed to notice."
He gave a short bark of laughter. "I think it's the opposite. I asked her out once, just for coffee, but she pulled the old arriving with a gaggle of friends thing. Nothing shows indifference better than bringing all your girlfriends on a date with you."
Jerry laughed. "Didn't want to get stuck alone with you, eh? That's rough. She really is a stuck-up bitch, isn't she?"'
David laughed, the gossip eroding his bad mood. "Just frigid, I think. Probably, underneath it all, she's just dying to get nailed, but she can't let herself go." Something teased the back of his mind… as though he'd had a conversation like that with her, all those years ago. Not able to retrieve it, he let it go. She wasn't worth any more brain space.
The thought of sex lured his mind to his New Year's holiday. Once a year he took a trip to the Castle, a BDSM fantasy locale in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio. A real Scottish castle, transported and reconstructed brick by brick, the vacation spot indulged every sort of fetish, and provided the opportunity for him to play Dom to eager subs.
It was something his local BDSM group could probably provide as well, but his workaholism interrupted any potential playtime in the city. For him, a getaway was a necessity—and sexual fantasy fulfillment was just the kind of recharge he needed. While he didn't play often, he'd been on the scene for almost twenty years, and sexual dominance had been hard-wired in him since puberty. He also prided himself on being able to read a sub well enough that he'd never had one call her safeword, and he always received repeat invitations to play.
"Hey boss," Carrie, his house manager called out, coming in early, as usual. Most of his staff hung out even when they were off-shift; David Dean's or his first restaurant, Marone's, becoming their social outlet as much as their place of employment.
There was an addictiveness to the food industry—the rush from busy shifts, the instant gratification of cash in the pocket at the end of the night. They'd become a tight-knit group, like a family, with all the same in-fighting and love, dependence and dependability, drama and more drama. He adored them all—his mad, mad family.
"This review is bullshit," she said, throwing Windy City Eats down, her eyes flashing. "I can't believe that bitch. If she ever shows her face in this restaurant again, I will serve her warm red wine with rabbit turds floating in it."
He burst into laughter. "Thank you, Carrie, I appreciate that. Don't worry, Jerry says the phone's been ringing off the hook for reservations. All that review did was solidify David Dean's position as the place to see and be seen in Chicago."
Carrie relaxed, taking her cues from him, as always. "You're not upset?"
He smiled. "Only for a minute. I'm over it now. In fact, I think I'll send her a note thanking her."
"Just don't invite her back, because I'm serious about the rabbit turds. You know I have a pet bunny, right?"
He laughed again. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave the bunny turds at home, Carrie, even though she does deserve them."
Carrie grinned. "Okay, boss. But I have them if you need them."
"I'll keep that in mind. Now, you both know I'm going away for New Year's."
"Yep," Carrie said.
"Jerry is in charge, but I expect you to run things smoothly out here, because he might be needed in the kitchen."
"Yep, no problem. I can handle it."
"I know you can."
"Where are you going? Any place fun?"
"Ohio, actually. And it will definitely be fun." He said no more and Carrie was too well-mannered to pry.
"Well, it's a good time to get away, what with the review and all."
"I can't wait," he said, Portia Sands already forgotten as he contemplated all the sexy women with whom he would get to play.
#
Portia took another sip of her ginger spice latte. She and her friend Tina stood outside the coffee shop, watching the people get off the bus that had just pulled in from the Castle. Just the sight of it made her want to chuck her beverage in the trash and run for the rental car. What the hell was she doing here?
She'd been on the BDSM scene for a little more than two years—ever since her divorce from Fred, when she'd finally admitted to herself that the reason she'd never wanted to have sex with him was because she didn't like slow and tender. She regretted not learning that one important fact about herself earlier, because it probably could have saved her marriage. After ten years of her perceived frigidity, her husband had thrown in the towel. Her inability to conceive may have helped his decision—no children to keep things together. The doctors had never found anything wrong with either of them, but she always felt as though Fred blamed her for it.
But she couldn't hate Fred for calling it quits. She wouldn't have wanted to be married to herself, either. The years of trying everything—spending their entire savings on one in vitro treatment after the next—only to wallow in failures, had left her more than a little bitter. The divorce had been a wake-up call.
She discovered yoga. And BDSM. She'd learned more about herself in the past two years than she had in the entire first thirty-seven years of her life. What a fucking waste.
She pulled out the crumpled letter accepting her as a slave for the New Year's Eve auction. She'd read and re-read it a dozen times. Her questionnaire, with her interests and hard limits, would be passed on to the Dom who bought her. Her safeword would always be honored. So why did she feel like the coffee was shooting through her digestive system like the metal ball in a pinball machine? Because knowing she was a submissive who likes it rough was one thing; volunteering to sell herself in a charity slave auction quite another. What the hell did she know about being a slave? For three nights and two days, no less.
This was going to be a total disaster.
"Look how happy everyone looks getting off," Tina chirped, with her characteristic optimism.
Portia saw nothing of the kind. Some people looked relaxed; some exhausted. Some actually looked like they were going to cry, but that probably didn't mean they'd had a terrible time. She'd felt like crying at the end of a BDSM party before.
Tina had talked her into volunteering to be a slave along with her because it gave them a c
hance to experience the Castle for free, when normally a three night stay like this would cost upwards of four thousand dollars. It had been on her wish list to attend ever since she'd first heard of the place. The idea of showing up and being someone else—leaving her entire, uptight, barren journalist life behind and just living out her fantasies—made her ache with wanting.
But now the reality of it had her chewing the inside of her cheek. She'd never scened with any man for more than a few hours—how could she possibly be one man's slave for seventy-two? What if she didn't like him? What if he played too rough? Well, of course she knew she'd have a safeword, but still... she didn't want to fail at this. Failure was the one thing she avoided at all costs.
A car pulled up and two good-looking men got out, looking confident in the way Dominants always do. Her heart rate picked up speed just thinking about all the alpha men she'd be rubbing elbows—and other parts—with very soon.
"Mmm, mmm. They look yummy," Tina remarked out of the side of her mouth, not turning away from the men.
"Tell me about it. Oh shit!" Portia said, dropping the coffee cup, which promptly lost its lid and splattered creamy liquid all over her boots. "Oh no. Oh God. This is bad," she said, turning away from the men and pulling up the collar of her coat.
"What? What is it?"
"David Dean Marone. Owner of David Dean's, the five-star restaurant I just ripped apart in last week's Windy City Eats."
"Uh oh. Does he know what you look like?"
"I don't know. He might. We went to culinary school together, but that was almost twenty years ago. He is notoriously self-absorbed, he probably would never remember me."
When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle) Page 25
