When The Gavel Falls (Masters of the Castle)

by Tabitha Black

  Taking one of the plates, he carried it out to the dining room, leaving their hats and chef coats in the laundry bin as they exited the kitchen. He sank into the same chair he'd used earlier to spank her, and pulled her to sit on his lap.

  Without a word, he dipped his fork into the potatoes, scooping a little demi-glace with it, and fed her a bite.

  She chewed slowly, her mind whirling and wondering. Was it too sweet? Maybe she shouldn't have used the combination of sweet potatoes with red if they were serving it with the sweet demi-glace. Maybe—

  "It's delicious," David pronounced, chewing his own mouthful.

  She didn't speak, not sure if she still had permission.

  "You did well, pet," he said, giving her a bite of the lamb this time.

  "Mmm," she said.

  "Yes. You ought to be proud of yourself."

  She curled into him, lifting her knees up to her chest and burying her head against his neck. She didn't know why she wanted to hide, nor why she would seek refuge in David's shoulder, but she did.

  "Are you always so hard on yourself?" he asked softly.

  Tears began to leak again.

  "What happened to make you quit cooking? You may speak."

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "It was just really stressful. And everyone I worked with was mean, especially because I didn't know what I was doing. There I was, with a college degree and a year of culinary school, working for chefs who'd gone straight into food service from high school. We were worlds apart. I was naïve, ideological, and probably a bit stuck up. I had no practical experience. They didn't give a rat's ass about what I knew; all that mattered was how fast I could keep up with orders. And I totally couldn't. I was too slow, I screwed up orders and I got defensive when they yelled at me for it. I wouldn't have lasted even two months, except that it had been my dream for so long, it took me a while to let it go."

  "It didn't occur to you that you might have had a better time elsewhere? Or that things would've improved with a little more experience?"

  She shook her head. "I guess not. I decided I sucked and I wasn't cut out for commercial kitchens and, until today, I never set foot in one again."

  "I'd hire you to work in my kitchen," he said, feeding her another bite.

  She ducked her head, wondering if he just meant hypothetically.

  "Of course, we might run into the issue of bodily fluids. I would be bending you over that prep station and using every kitchen tool I have on your ass."

  "If I messed up an order?"

  He grinned. "No. Just for fun. You'd still be my slave, of course. There might be extra punishments for messing up orders, but I never, ever yell at my staff. I can promise you that." He popped another bite into her mouth. "There's no reason to create a toxic environment when people are already running on adrenaline."

  "Are we going to come back here at dinner time?" she asked.

  "To dine? Do you want to?"

  "Yeah," she admitted. "Kinda. I want to see what people think."

  He tweaked her nipple. "Not afraid they'll all hate it?"

  "A little," she admitted.

  He looked at her musingly. "Well, I'm not bringing Portia Sands, food critic; I know that," he said.

  She looked at him, trying to decipher if he meant he would take someone else, or was speaking metaphorically.

  "Are you going to get snappish and tense with me?"

  "No, sir," she promised, flushing at the implied reprimand.

  "Don't think I won't deal with it immediately and publicly if you do."

  "Yes, sir," she said, a curious twisting coiling in her belly at the thought of his public punishment of her in a fine dining room.

  As though he knew her reaction to his words, his lips curved into a wicked smile. "And in case you're wondering, I'm far from finished with your punishment."

  Heat bloomed across her still tingling butt cheeks.

  He handed her their empty plate. "Go bring this to the kitchen, slave. And no more speaking."

  She scrambled off his lap and trotted back to the kitchen, her poor feet aching from the high-heeled boots. When she returned, he picked up her leash and whacked her with it. It didn't sting much; the weight was too light to make an impact, but she jumped just the same.

  "Do your feet hurt?"

  She nodded.

  In one swift movement, he put his shoulder against her hip and tossed her up over his back, with her ass high. He gave it a smack. "I'm sorry, pet. I shouldn't have made you cook in those heels," he said, once more surprising her with his ability to admit his own mistakes.

  He carried her through the main entrance toward Wardrobe, setting her back down on her feet in the hallway outside. "Stay," he said, entering the door across from Wardrobe and disappearing.

  He returned a few minutes later, picking up her leash and tugging it. "Come." She followed him inside what appeared to be a salon/spa area. "I'm going to leave you here for a few hours. Be a good girl for the groomer or you'll get a long spanking when I pick you up. And no talking," he reminded her.

  She was tempted to give a little 'woof' of assent, but he might not appreciate her doggy humor. She watched him leave, then turned to the girl dressed as a Roman slave, expectantly. He'd better not have told them to cut her hair, or she'd be screaming 'onions' before anyone got near her.

  "Hi, Kitty. I'm Jessica, and I'm going to give you a massage with reflexology for your feet. I understand they're hurting you a bit?"

  She relaxed and nodded. No way. He couldn't be that sweet, could he? Had he really just paid for her to be pampered? A glow of appreciation suffused her body with warmth as she followed Jessica to a massage room and allowed her to strip off the cat suit. The next two hours were pure bliss; massage with aromatherapy, foot rub, manicure/pedicure, and facial. By the time David came back for her, she had melted into a puddle of warm butter.

  "Have you been a good pet?" he asked, looking past her to Jessica.

  Jessica smiled. "She was very good. She didn't claw me once."

  He unzipped her latex top. "I'd rather see some skin now," he said. He removed all her clothing, replacing only the harness and leash. "I brought a different kind of tail this time," he said, pulling a finger of ginger from his pocket. "This will remind you not to get mouthy in the kitchen. Bend over and pull your cheeks apart for me."

  Portia's face flamed and she caught Jessica's smirk. She'd heard of figging, but had always firmly believed that food belonged in her mouth, not her ass. Besides, she'd also heard it burned like hell. She pleaded with her eyes, since she'd learned David had a soft side, but judging from his smug expression, he wouldn't relent.

  She looked around. Did he want her to bend over something? Or just fold in half while standing?

  He smacked her ass so hard she lifted to her toes from the impact. "Now, Kitty."

  She bend over at the waist and reached back, pulling her cheeks apart. The ginger felt cool and a little pokey. It didn't have the girth or weight of the stainless steel tail plug, but it still made her squirm when inserted.

  He twirled it inside her, pushing it in and out.

  She clamped her lips closed, but even so, a groan rose in her throat. Why did he have to do it here, in front of the entire salon?

  #

  David gave Portia's ass another smack. "You may stand."

  He could already smell the scent of her arousal, even over the floral notes of her aromatherapy. He kept one hand on the ginger, continuing to wiggle it around.

  Portia unfolded, her eyes looking wild and a bit desperate, color spotting her cheekbones.

  "Will you just put her clothes and boots in a bag for her to carry?" he asked Jessica.

  "Of course, Master D," she said, fetching the bag.

  Portia shifted on her legs, as if afraid they wouldn't hold her. He knew the ginger probably hadn't taken effect yet. At the moment, the sensation of having a toy in her ass in public gave enough humiliation and arousal. But he
couldn't wait to see what happened when she felt the spicy heat of the root take effect.

  He used pressure on the ginger plug to guide her forward, propelling her toward the dungeon, his favorite place in the Castle. He really hoped a St. Andrew's Cross would be available.

  By the time they reached the dungeon, beads of sweat ran down Portia's breastbone, and the rise and fall of her chest had quickened with her breath. Even more color dotted her cheeks. "They're playing your song," he said, amused to hear the old Porno for Pyros' song 'Pets' playing.

  The dungeon was the length of three long rooms and contained every kind of torture device ever invented. All the St. Andrew's Crosses were in use. He scanned the expanse of torturous equipment. Fireplay—not really his thing. Violet wands—also not a turn-on. Aha. He spied a Domme helping her sub off a spanking horse. David shoved the ginger deeper inside Portia's ass, guiding her toward the horse at a brisk pace.

  He took long strides, making Portia skip a little to keep up. When they arrived, the sub had just begun wiping down the equipment to sterilize it.

  "Kitty can finish that," he offered.

  The sub looked to his mistress, who nodded. "Thank you."

  Portia took the wipes and finished the job, moving at breakneck speed. The fire inside her ass probably fueled her energetic movements.

  He smiled. "That's enough, pet. Climb up."

  She threw him her pleading look again, shifting on her feet.

  "Up," he said, more firmly.

  She straddled the horse, resting her torso on the padded top. He secured her wrists and ankles with the restraints, and gave the ginger another wiggle.

  "Ahhh," she protested.

  He'd meant to pick up an implement at the desk when he came in, but in his hurry to get the horse before another couple moved in, he had forgotten. He considered going now, but he'd made the mistake of leaving her alone once before, and to do it again, especially when she was in such a vulnerable position, would be unforgivable.

  David stroked her bottom, inspecting it for marks from the wooden spoon he'd used earlier. He found a few and rubbed them, encouraging circulation. Lifting his hand, he brought it down with a solid smack.

  "Ahh," Portia repeated, this time sounding encouraging.

  "Do you like that, pet?" he asked, spanking her other cheek. He found a tempo and kept at it, spanking one cheek, then the other for a set of twenty, then stopping and pumping the ginger plug.

  Portia's moans grew louder and more urgent.

  He increased the intensity of his swats, striking her with his full strength. She jerked and bobbed on the horse, rolling her pelvis up and down.

  Several people stopped to watch, Portia's lustful sounds drawing them like bees to nectar. She reached her ass toward him for each spank now, her cries becoming louder and more needy.

  He took her hair in his fist and lifted her head. "What happens to naughty pets?"

  She let out a long wail.

  He'd planned to deny her orgasm but she sounded so close, he couldn't resist. Yanking a condom out of his pocket he unzipped his pants and allowed his hard cock to spring free. He rolled the rubber on at the same moment he pushed into her.

  Portia shook her restraints, letting out a keening noise that demanded more.

  He began to shove into her with force, grasping the back of her neck and plowing into her so hard the sawhorse rocked. He forced the ginger plug in and out with each slam of his pelvis against her ass.

  She kicked at her restraints, screaming through clenched teeth.

  Her pussy dripped, the heat engulfing his cock, sending him over the edge of desire and rocketing into outer space. He fucked her harder and harder until he came with a roar, burying himself deep inside her and bucking.

  "Come, Port—" he stopped himself before he said her full name in front of the crowd. "Kitty!"

  She snarled, her pussy clenching down on his cock, massaging it in a series of contractions. She continued her muffled screaming as she climaxed.

  "Holy shit," someone muttered. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen down here."

  "Will you do that to me?" a female sub asked her master.

  He stayed with his cock embedded deep inside her, rubbing his hand up and down her back as she sobbed her release.

  "Good girl," he murmured.

  He eased out, cleaned himself up and helped her out of the restraints. He put an arm around her waist to hold her up, while he used the other hand to wipe down the equipment. Picking up the bag with her clothes, he walked his dazed slave upstairs to their room.

  He considered putting her in the bath. But he'd been a little soft on her, so he tapped the cage. "Kennel up," he commanded, unclipping the leash from her harness.

  To his surprise, she trotted right to the cage, sank to her hands and knees and crawled in without protest. Curling up on her side, she rested her head on her arms and blinked her golden eyes at him.

  His heart flopped in his chest. Had he earned her utter submission? Or just worn her out with that last climax? He shut the gate and left her there, stripping off his clothes for a shower. When he emerged, clean and revived, he found her in the same position, still watching him.

  He opened the gate to let her out. "Your turn," he said.

  She emerged, looking contented. In fact, as she walked past him to the bathroom, he could have sworn she had a swagger.

  Good sex did that to people.

  #

  David dressed her in a combination of the first two outfits, with the bustier and pasties on top and the shiny latex pants on bottom. She wore a pair of kitten-heeled pumps to give her feet a break from the knee-high boots, which really would have been a better fit with the outfit.

  He escorted her downstairs to the Master's Table, where he had already made reservations. The dining room was full. Probably most Castle guests had chosen to go upscale for their New Year's Eve dinner. She was disappointed to discover they did not have a wine menu, remembering that the Castle only had one bar and only one drink could be served to each guest per twenty-four hour period, to avoid any issues with muddying consent.

  Too bad. Their special would have gone well with a 2004 Napa Valley Shiraz.

  "Would you like to hear the special this evening?" their server, a scantily clad woman in a maid costume asked.

  "Yes, please," David said, giving her a wink.

  "Our special this evening was prepared by Chicago food critic Portia Sands, and consists of…"

  She didn't hear the rest, her reaction to hearing her name overpowering all else.

  If people didn't like the food, her reputation would be ruined.

  She darted a glance at David, who said something she didn't hear to the server.

  "You're freaking out, aren't you?" he asked, his face devoid of expression.

  She shook her head, then nodded.

  He snapped his fingers and pointed at his feet.

  She looked from the floor back to his face. Did he mean for her to come over? She looked around the crowded dining room. This was not the place to make a spectacle out of her. Please no.

  "One... two…"

  She surged from her chair and stood where he was pointing.

  "On your knees, slave."

  She dropped to her knees.

  "Your focus will remain on me. Your eyes on my face, your attention on pleasing me. You will have to earn the privilege of sitting in that chair again. Understand me?"

  She nodded, keeping her eyes glued to his face. Her neck would strain soon at this rate.

  "Hey, Kitty," a female voice whispered behind her, and then Tina appeared, crouching next to her. "Did you really make the special?"

  Portia looked up at David.

  "Kitty is my pet, so she can't speak. But the answer is yes, she made the special tonight."

  "It was amazing! Everyone here is raving about it. I think they said there are only a few left."

  She turned to stare at Tina in awe.

  "It's true. Yo
u're a hit, girlfriend. Well, I'd better leave you to your pet play. Are you going to the ball tonight?" Tina directed the last question to David.

  "Yes, unless she misbehaves," he said, causing heat to fill Portia's abdomen.

  Tina gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Have fun. I'll see you later."

  When she'd left, David stroked up Portia's neck and the underside of her chin. "Did you hear that, pet?" he purred. "You're a hit."

  Not a trace of malice was in his tone. In fact, he seemed proud of her—as if it hadn't really been all his artistry she'd been given credit for. Who was this man? Definitely not the one she'd thought she knew.

  She settled onto one hip and leaned her torso against his lower leg like his most loyal pet. He fed her at his feet again, a sensual experience that somehow turned food into an erotic sensation. She felt beautiful eating, and every taste seemed to explode in her mouth under his watchful and appreciative gaze.

  After dinner, he took her to the ball, paying attention to the state of her feet, and offering her plenty of chances to sit.

  Just before midnight, they passed out small glasses of champagne. David led her out to the dance floor. The band was playing the Bruno Mars song 'Gorilla,' which seemed appropriate, considering the lyrics. He held her body against his, one arm snaked around her waist, his hand patting, rubbing and squeezing her ass. She melted against him, keeping her glass of champagne to the side. The band stopped playing and a drumroll announced the countdown to midnight.

  "Ten... nine... eight…" Several Dominants in the ballroom were spanking their subs to the counts.

  She smiled shyly up at her date. If someone had told her she'd be standing in the arms of David Dean Marone for New Year's Eve, she would've choked on her own spit scoffing. But now, looking into his warm brown eyes, only excitement tingled through her body. Dammit all, she really liked him.

  "Three... two... one!" Portia saw a beautiful blonde slave looking like she was orgasming between two gladiators. The sound of fireworks came from the grounds outside as David leaned down and stroked her lips with his. His hand traveled from her ass, up the curve of her spine, to cup the back of her head. He held her in place as he licked into her mouth, caressing her with his tongue, masterfully kissing her. When he broke the kiss, she hid her face in her champagne, unnerved by her growing feelings for him.