Maddy Mine, page 1part #7 of Masters of the Castle Series
Masters of the Castle, Book Seven
©2016 by Blushing Books® and Maren Smith
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-555-8
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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.
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Table of Contents:
About Maren Smith
Blushing Books Newsletter
About Blushing Books
He was the Dungeon Master, the Jail Keeper, the mysterious and oft-times feared Gaoler. Master Dominick to the customers, his friends called him everything from Dom to Nick to Dominick, and his lovers… ah, his lovers—like the nubile woman sweating before him, her arms bound in a sleeve behind her back, and her thighs and ankles strapped to the Sybian she rode—his lovers called him Sir. And sometimes, as it was in this case with sweet, seductive little Diane, he was: "Please, dear God, no please, no please, no please…"
He liked being God.
Diane moaned, head bowed, the short, spiky curls of her dark hair sticking out all over, and her eyes tightly closed. Sweat poured from her, every inch shining under the orange-amber glow of the fake wall torches. Her buttocks tightened, quivering in time with the low hum of the Sybian. Her nipples were hardened peaks, little tan buds straining high on glistening breasts as she arched her back. She shivered. Her hips worked relentlessly, grinding and grinding in undulations that quickened and slowed, quickened and slowed, in time with the tensing of her belly and thighs. She had a detachable cock in her pussy, another in her ass, and a nub of textured bumps that she rocked on, preferring to rub to keep the buzzing tight against her clit. It was the dildo in her ass that kept her from riding with the same wild abandon that he so often saw when it came to Diane. She hated anal. So Dominick made sure she got plenty of it every time she requested him. He loved that clench of her jaw, the way her brow beetled and her eyes squeezed, the way her mouth flinched as she felt both cocks invading her at once, rattling inside her, humming along in time with the faint buzz of the machine between her legs.
Dominick circled her, crop in hand, admiring the way she trembled as she neared orgasm. She'd come twice already. She'd wanted to quit after the first one, but three biting lines of his crop across the round swells of her ass and his command—"Ride through it. I didn't say you could quit."—kept her going.
"I can't," she whimpered, shaking her head, but her belly betrayed her. Tiny spasms made the soft rounding of her abdomen flex. Her thighs shook and shook and shook. Between that and the Sybian, it made her whole body jiggle in all the most alluring places. "I c-can't…"
Without a word, Dominick walked behind her, letting her feel the flat, slapper-style tip of the crop caress a wandering path across her shoulders as he circled. Her skin shivered, goosebumps breaking out in a pepper of trepidation as he stroked the nape of her slender neck, down the slope of her right shoulder, following the curve of her arm as he rounded to her front. Her whole body shuddered when it descended to her right breast.
"No!" she gasped, head thrown back, her eyes flying open wide—a pleading storm of grey fixing on him so desperately.
"No is not a safe word," he said, and struck. All considering, it was a light tap, but his aim was dead-on. The slapper caught the thrusting tip of her nipple and Diane shrieked, her mouth rounding in a way that made his already hard cock strain against the zipper of his black leather pants. Yet, the jerk of her body was not a writhe to avoid the crop's next stinging bite. Her back arched, offering her breasts for more, and he gave it to her. Harder this time. Three sharp downward snaps that grazed the
She moaned, her stomach tightening. The muscles fluttered as he let the crop tip wander down between her breasts to her belly, teasing a circle around her quivering navel before journeying lower still.
A soft, two-knuckle rap at the door caught his ear, signaling him that time was almost up. At this point, Diane had two hours before the buses departed for the day and she would have to be on one of them. Two hours wasn't a lot of time once he figured in the necessary aftercare, but it was long enough.
"No," she gasped, bowing forward. As if that could prevent him from reaching any lower. "Please no…"
With her arms bound behind her and her legs strapped to the Sybian, she had no real defenses, and no way but one in which to stop him once the crop found her clit, trapping it between the humming nubs of the Sybian and the slapper. She knew what that way was, too, and he could see she was thinking about it. It was right there, haunting the depths of her stormy eyes as she gazed up at him, her expression one of pleading but her moan betraying nothing but the depth and intensity of her building desire.
One side of his mouth quirking into a smug smile, Dominick used the crop to caress between her trembling legs. She bit her bottom lip, rolling them tight together to keep back the moans but, teased into prominence by the constant vibrations, her clit made such an easy target. She could have called 'red' at any moment. He gave her plenty of time to consider it, while first he rubbed, then patted, then pressed, forcing her clit to the rattling thrum of the seat to which she was bound, and finally, with her wide eyes locked so helplessly upon him, both begging him no and pleading him yes, he commanded, "Now," and struck.
It wasn't hard. One didn't need force to make a blow to so tender an area unbearable, but she still shouted, her need so guttural and hoarse, her hips bucking up into the kiss of the crop and her bottom grinding to ride both cocks. Her belly was a mass of quivering muscle, each straining to reach what she had claimed she couldn't. What she had thought she couldn't.
It was his job to prove her wrong.
And damn, but he was good at his job.
The smell of sex and leather tainted every breath, teasing him with the allure of her body's responsiveness. She was so stimulated, so aroused that she'd forgotten how much she hated anal. She rode the Sybian with abandon, the twitches of her orgasming body reacting to the trailing crop, both offering herself for the next bite and welt, and shying away from the coming pain.
He loved those little twitches. He loved every flinch and moan, the increasingly frantic undulations of her lithesome body as she absorbed both pleasure and pain, every indrawn gasp for breath that begged so wordlessly for more, for everything he had and all he could give her. He loved the way the Sybian dripped with her fragrant oils, the way her pussy smacked so wet and eager upon one cock while the dusky pucker of her anus took the widest curve of the other, over and over again, as she rode from one orgasm to the next, and all because he had ordered her, "Again."
He loved that he could so exhaust her, without ever taking out his cock.
He loved every rolling drop of sweat that cut rivulets through the sheen of her nubile body. He loved every gasp, every groan, every sob she wept out, both in desire and in despair. But most of all, though he would never admit as much out loud, he loved it when her time was up, because that meant he could put her back on the bus for home—sated, sore in all the right ways, with bruises on her nipples, ass, and the insides of her thighs—and he wouldn't have to see her again until the next time. Not that someone new wasn't waiting in some shadowy line somewhere for her turn to kneel before him. There was always someone else. But then, that was his job, wasn't it?
For all that he might find it at times tedious and somewhat repetitious, he loved his job. He was good at it. One or two or even three naughty little girls at a time, oh yes.
Dominick was good at being God.
It was almost ten o'clock and he knew he was running late, but only for Marshall's Morning Meeting and really, what did that matter? This was a week, and at the Castle all weeks passed pretty much like any other—each filled to the brim with customers, discipline, structure and routine. A big believer in routine, Dominick had fine-tuned his own years ago. These days, he rarely deviated: Every morning, up by six. Gym, shower and breakfast, in that order. Then down to the dungeon for work until about seven or eight that night. In bed again by ten; midnight if he had a guest tucked under his authoritative wing. So long as a man had a routine, what did he need meetings for?
Dressed in the all black uniform of his Dungeon Master persona—leather pants, boots, wide black belt, and wrist cuffs (no shirt; it amused him each time he caught a guest either admiring his broad, muscular physique or being intimidated by it)—Dominick shut off his apartment lights and headed down from the third floor to the main offices on the second. He checked his hair in the hall mirror as he passed it—short, dark brown, no cowlicks sticking out on the back of his head; perfect—and ran a quick hand over his neatly trimmed circle beard, smoothing down the hair that framed his mouth. Avoiding the elevator, he took the stairs, passing two Little Maids on the way. One was Anna Lawson, a relatively new employee; the other, most likely, was a customer. He swatted Anna as he walked by and both girls dissolved into startled giggles.
"Who was that?" the customer whispered.
"Master Dominick," Anna tittered in reply. "He rules the Dungeon. You'd have to be very naughty to be sent to him."
Rounding the far corner, Dominick made a mental note to expect the Little Maid later that day. In all likelihood, she would take one look at the sort of dark dealings that made up his little corner of the Dungeon proper and run back upstairs. Perhaps even screaming 'onions' all the way. He chuckled, remembering a certain redhead two years ago who'd done that exact same thing when she had been matched to him. Then again, who knew… this might be one Little Maid tempted enough by his devil side to stay and sample some of the forbidden fruit he was so very good at offering.
Castle life, he mused, was as much about forbidden fruit as it was routine. He didn't chase after tornados or punch sharks or pull kittens out of trees, but he had carved a fine life for himself out of the minutia and monotony. Happiness, in his opinion, was knowing what to expect day in and day out, and if the only true deviation to his routine lay with the naughty boys and girls trying so playfully to get a rise of out him, well—his hand went to the whip coiled and clipped to his hip—he knew how to deal with that.
"Good morning," Kaylee said, glancing up from the receptionist's desk where she was sorting through a wild array of photos for the new brochure layout. After so many years working here, seeing women running around—as Kaylee was—dressed in Victorian-era ball gowns and playing with modern day conveniences no longer threw him. "You're running late. The meeting's almost over."
"If it's almost over, then I'm not running quite late enough." Stopping in front of a row of mail slots, Dominick removed the contents from his. There were only two items: Diane's file, which he dropped on Kaylee's desk into the properly marked Out Box; the other, he took with him to the coffee pot. He turned the manila envelope over in his hands, but there were no markings on either side. "What's this?"
Not quite hiding her smile, Kaylee tucked a lock of brown hair back behind her ear and shrugged. "Marshall said to give it to whoever showed up last."
Kaylee was the Queen of Falsehood Avoidance. Although lies had brought her to the Castle originally, it was one of the few tendencies Master Marshall had drummed out of her, one stern paddling at a time, long before they were married. So when she said, 'Marshall said to give it to whoever showed up last,' he believed exactly what she said, exactly as she said it. The problem was, that wasn't what he'd asked.
"That doesn't answer my question," he noted, setting both coffee and creamer aside to pick up the manila envelope again. Kaylee rolled her lips together, definitely hiding a smile. Shooting her a warning fr
"Because you're always late," Kaylee cheerfully called after him when, coffee forgotten, he headed for the closed conference room.
"I know where you live," he threatened—without effect; she laughed at him—and threw open the office door. He barged inside, offering a 'good morning' to the entire room by way of a resounding, "Hell no!"
Thirteen Masters occupied fifteen chairs around a large rectangular table. Seated at the head, Marshall nursed his coffee mug and a small stack of unassigned customer files. Sam, Parker, Kade, the twins Travis and Trevor, Mistress Miranda, Parker, Emerson the schoolmaster, head butler Grimsley, Brody, the stable master, and last year's newest recruits, the soldiers Eric and Reeve, circled around him. It wasn't everybody who should have been in attendance, not by a long shot. But compared with what he held in his hand, Dominick wasn't concerned about anyone else's conspicuous absence.
He threw the envelope on the table in front of Marshall. "Find someone else," he ordered, folding his burly arms across his chest and lobbying his most formidable frown at the Master of the Masters, his employer and friend of more than eleven years.
"Ha!" Miranda crowed, laughing triumph lighting up the soft brown of her eyes. Turning to Kade, she held out her hand.
"Did you even read the assignment?" Kade dug his wallet out of his back pocket, grumbling as he passed a wad of folded bills into the tall housekeeper's hand.
"Ones," she said dryly, fingering the wad. "You're paying me all in ones?"
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