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But my mind started putting things together, even before he removed the black silk covering my eyes. "Pres?" I whispered haltingly. My eyes slowly readjusted to the (dim) light.
"Scott," my oldest friend in the world corrected me. "Your new Master. And you are my slave, Jacqui."
* * * * * * * *
Prescott, earlier Saturday
My hand gripped my cock as I worked it, half-asleep. Groaning, I released my spunk, but that did little to release my pent-up frustrations.
Story of my life-or, at least, my life for the past few days. Slumber consisted of dreams of Lynne, what-ifs (if I could just man-up and tell her, take her, as Mine).
Glancing up at the clock glowing atop my bedside table, I shut off the alarm seconds before it was to go off. 4:29. I would catch up on sleep sometime soon.
Pouring my energy, frustration, and desire into multiple projects that week proved the way to go. If I weren't around Lynne that much, I could put up some measure of emotional distance, as well.
All-in-all, the week was productive. At work, I discovered the paper trail of an embezzler who was attempting to stage a hostile takeover of one of the more lucrative parts of the company, the radio station. Without a passing remark from Jase, I never would have known to look.
Preparation for the ball also occupied my time. I needed the distraction of creating an awesome experience for my friends in the community, as well as the anticipation of bidding on one of the auction slaves.
To that end, I contacted Jeeves to prepare the warehouse dungeon. No way in hell was I leaving the ball without a sub earmarked for me. I needed someone to vent my frustrations on because of Lynne. At least for the promised week. And, if she worked out, who knows? Her contract could be re-negotiated.
My final labors for the week I extracted particular joy in undertaking. With Ryan's help, I purchased the exclusive rights to the breakup video on the fetish porn site.
But that wasn't all. Ryan and I met with most of the unattached Doms and power couples within our community. Our focus was clear: in terms of Lester and Megan, neither would be welcomed at any parties, munches, or events again. All readily agreed.
So, it was with particular pleasure that I visited them both, apprising them of their altered status and having my attorney present them with a cease and desist order, barring either of them from distributing any more of the videos. Basically, both would be slapped with a pesky defamation suit that would destroy them if one of the videos so much as "accidentally" surfaced.
In addition, the act of rescinding their invite to the ball continued to lighten my mood. I might not be able to designate Lynne as Mine, but I would do my damndest to ensure Lester and Megan could abuse her no further.
My eyes flitted to my phone as I noticed a text from Claire Richmond. Inwardly, I groaned. Claire was my first sub, post-university, and she had been clingy and possessive since I terminated her contract.
Unfortunately, Ryan took great delight in allowing her to organize the auction. His amusement grew daily as she found excuses to contact me about the auction.
I called her. "Yes?" I growled into my headset.
"Good morning, Master Scott," she purred as I backed my car down the driveway on my way to the warehouse.
My patience, already in short supply this week, snapped. "What is it, Claire?" For the umpteenth time, I reminded myself that Ryan and I, in a drunken fit of stupidity two years ago, had decided to tack on the auction to the ball for our own amusement and bidding.
To no one's shock, really, the first auction was a smashing success, and much of the buzz about the ball this year centered on the auction.
"We have twenty auction slaves for tonight," Claire began, "fifteen women and five men. Three are new to the community and have to be monitored carefully. Five, Eleven, and Twenty." Claire had an annoying habit of referring to the slaves only by number.
She sighed. Uh, oh. Whatever she was about to say couldn't be anything good. "Number Six is Emma Landry."
Cringing, I muttered, "Have you warned Ryan?" Ryan and Emma shared bad blood. I wasn't sure what had happened, but my old friend became nearly violent whenever her name was mentioned.
"I texted him," she answered, her tone subdued.
Pulling into a parking space beside the warehouse, I ended the call. I had reached my Claire limit for the day.
Jeeves opened the door as I approached the entrance. "All is ready, Scotty," he greeted me with the name he had called me all my life. Jeeves was originally my dad's driver and butler. I didn't realize, until my eighteenth birthday, that he was also the keeper of the family's secrets. And now mine.
"Excellent, Jeeves." I took in the new chains that descended from the ceiling, the St. Andrew's Cross that was my first purchase for this space, and the special chest that my good friend Max Phillips had recommended for storing smaller implements. Several boxes of condoms lined the counter that contained secret drawers and compartments filled with items to tease and torment.
The dungeon was all set for the next week, I mused, taking in the king-sized bed in the back of the space with a seemingly innocuous dog cage beside it, large enough for a mastiff-or a slave.
Only after my slave had become properly broken would she earn her place in my bed. So far, none had.
I felt a bit of misgiving in the area around my heart. Visual and audio proof existed that Lynne might just be the slave to do so.
Rigid control stopped that thought process. Say I opened up to her. Told her my feelings for her, revealed to her my darkest desires. It could mean the end of one of my best friendships. If hers and mine didn't end, Jase's and mine would.
Max's best friend Zander still refused to talk to him because Zander's little sister Cassie became Max's sub and babygirl. Remembering Max's pain strengthened my resolve to protect Lynne from myself.
Before I left the dungeon, I reminded Jeeves of the protocol for the evening. Once I bid on and won a slave, he was to approach the stage and make sure she was blindfolded, collared, and leashed. Once I handed her into the limo, he was to drive her to the warehouse. I would follow in my car, alone.
This would serve as the beginning of her training. The disorientation and separation from me would lead to her breaking more quickly.
To me, the breaking of the submissive, the point at which she completely surrendered, where all forms of artifice and social niceties stripped away, leaving her essential self, was the ultimate goal of training. I thought back to my eighteenth birthday when my father had shattered the illusions of my parents' marriage.
"You choose the one who breaks for you, Scotto. Not the most beautiful or the most talented or the nastiest in bed. The one that breaks for you, who yields herself without running away, without safewording out: she is the one to wear your collar permanently. The one you marry. That's why I married your mother," he concluded.
It's the fairy tale little girls yearning to be princesses grow up hearing, turned on its ear. Find the princess who fits the glass slipper. Find the sub who was made for your collar. The perfect Cinderella story.
Tonight I would either find her, or I would spend a week slaking my sadistic impulses before trying to find her again. Getting Lynne out of my system.
Taking care of incidentals, such as scheduling off of work for the next week, caused me to arrive later for the ball than I had intended. Stowing the crop I intended to use in lieu of an auction paddle, I endeavored to locate Ryan to apologize for being so late for my hosting duties.
Checking my work email one last time, I saw a message from Lynne, asking for the week off for personal reasons. Gritting my teeth, I started to tap out a reply in the negative, explaining that if her goal was to avoid me, she need not bother as I would be out of the office for the next week.
"Scott!" Max's familiar voice called, and I turned to espy my friend with his beautiful babygirl, Cassie.
Hugging him, and then lightly kissing her cheek, I chatted with them for a few minutes.
"My best friend Cami is on the auction block tonight, number Eleven," Cassie stated, her eyes shining. "She's super nervous."
"I might have to give her a look-see," I grinned. "I am in the market for a new sub this evening. Have either of you seen Ryan?"
Max gestured, and I turned. The sight that greeted my eyes sucker punched me in the gut.
Ryan stood towering over a submissive dressed in a white confection that did little to hide her curves. In an intimate display, his lips brushed hers-Lynne's. His angel was My angel. Mine. Possessiveness and anger raced through my veins.
Snarling with fury, I stomped over. Noticing me, Ryan stepped back, a knowing smirk on his face.
"What in the fuck are you doing here, Lynne?" My cock hardened, and the conqueror within me gleefully whispered that he knew exactly why she was here.
Shocked, openmouthed, Lynne nevertheless recovered quickly. "What do you mean, what in the fuck am I doing here? I, at least, belong here!"
I. Saw. Red. For a few seconds, I honestly thought I would show her exactly why I belonged there. The command for her to kneel before me almost burst forth from my lips, but Margeaux neared the stage to remind the auction slaves that it was time to approach Claire.
Lynne turned and fled for the stage, and, seeing the glint of the silver slave bracelet, I comprehended finally that she was one of them. After watching her talk with Claire for a few moments, I dialed Claire's number.
At her breathless "Hello," I wasted no time in giving the order. "Jacquelynne Andrews will be auctioned first." This was my Master voice, the one that allowed no gainsaying.
"But, Master Scott, it will ruin my system," was the plaintive whine.
I caught her eyes. For once, I was not sure if I were thinking with my cock or with my heart-or both-but I would be an imbecile to ignore the opportunity to make Lynne mine. It was as if the Fates had thrown her in my path and said, "Don't fuck this up, idiot!"
"I don't care about your system," I ground out in a voice full of rocky gravel. "Do it!"
Over the phone, I heard Claire calling Lynne back over to her. "Yes, Sir," Claire responded, but I could tell she wasn't happy. "I understand. If that is what you wish, it will be arranged."
Pivoting on my heel, I faced a still-smug Ryan. "Found your slave to put in for, then?" he challenged.
My back to the wall metaphorically, I roared at him. "She's Mine!" I insisted.
"I've already promised her that I will throw in a bid for her," he poked. With a casual swipe, he shined his paddle. "Can you imagine her beautiful ass warmed with this?"
"Don't go there," I thundered.
Ryan's chortle was sarcastic. I plunged into the crowd, seeking to escape the thought of a trusted friend laying claim to Lynne.
Moments later, Claire opened the auction and introduced Lynne, whom she called Jacqui. Her slave name, perhaps? I could entertain that idea. All eyes attached to bodies with blood in their veins could not ignore her curves.
Striving to focus on Claire's words, I caught Lynne's wish for a cruel, strict Dom. My dick, already barely in check, hardened and rose seeking her creamy, soft cunt on display like a heat-seeking missile. Soon, I reminded that part of my anatomy. So soon.
As threatened, Ryan made the opening bid. Others-Peter and Russell-did not know better and upped the bids. Then, Ryan, my oldest friend in the room, had the effrontery to make a second bid.
Grabbing my riding crop and lifting it in Claire's view just as she was to declare Lynne Ryan's for the week, I bid $10,000.
When others saw and heard that I bid, they stepped back uneasily. Even Ryan nodded his head, conceding defeat to me.
I saw Jeeves walk toward the stage, but I hung back. Part of me wanted to draw this out, to savor Lynne's unease. No understanding warmed her eyes, eyes that were now covered by the scrap of the softest black silk.
She didn't know that I was Master Scott!
As soon as Claire had snapped her leash to her collar, I took Lynne's-Jacqui's-leash, I corrected myself, and yanked down hard.
Jacqui (there, that was better) seamlessly slid to a kneel, then all fours. I walked my new pet toward the door, our passage marred only by a boor who called her a "well-trained bitch." My emotions, already bubbling over the surface, transmitted to rage in my eyes, and he backed down quickly-before being escorted from the premises by security.
Watching her ass sway as she slithered to my unspoken demands made my boner visible. Oh, the pain that softly rounded skin would taste from the crop, the cane. I only just held myself in check from reaching out to stroke that ass, those flanks.
Noting the hesitation as her hands and knees made purchase with the concrete outdoors, I couldn't help it: I laughed. In doing so, I almost revealed my identity. Even so, I saw the wheels turning in her head. She had never heard my evil snicker, but she would be hearing it regularly soon enough-and for a long time.
The sooner I shooed her in the limo the better. My little impudent slut refused the first time; I gave into that sinister desire to mark her with my crop and slammed it down on the soft milky globes of her ass with a resounding thwack. Moments later, her response, the tangy sweet scent of her juices staining her legs reached my nostrils, and I growled.
Lynne-Jacqui, damnit! Jacqui amenably entered the limo with nary a protest.
Observing our display, Jeeves, our sole witness, had flinched when I struck her with the crop. He had also picked up on her reaction to it and grinned. "Oh, she shows promise, Sir. Do you think she will last longer than the others?"
I said nothing, but I worry that my hope and genuine satisfaction were evident on my face. "Don't you worry, Sir. I will get her to the warehouse safely."
Jeeves entered the driver's seat and closed the door, and I walked dazedly to my own car. He knew of my love and heartbreak for Lynne, but I couldn't remember if I had ever mentioned her by name.
Punching in my father's cell number, I waited until he answered on the third ring. "Scotto," he boomed.
"Dad," I replied, feeling a bit guilty. On Saturday nights, my parents went to Dad's own dungeon for the evening. Although I (desperately...you have no idea how much) wished I didn't know, I had a feeling calling Mom would have been futile, as she would have been (as Dad would put it) a "little tied up at the moment."
"Aren't you supposed to be co-hosting the ball with Ryan?"
Inhale. Exhale. How would he react? "I have selected my collared submissive. I bid on her at the auction tonight. She is Mine." Possession and pride oozed from my voice.
"Who?" He asked tiredly. "Do I know her?" Mom and Dad were THE power couple of our community-for their generation, at least. As such, he felt that this gave him the right to vet my prospective subs.
I cleared my throat. "You do, but not in that context. She's fairly new to the lifestyle, and she's brand new to the community."
A disturbing rumble signalled Dad's impatience. "Who?"
"Jacquelynne Andrews." I let the significance of that seep through his mind. LIke Jeeves, Dad, of course, knew of my ambivalence with regards to the lifestyle versus my feelings for her.
"Are you sure, son?" Doubt colored his words.
I was prepared for this. "I've known for nearly a week the depths of her submissive nature. She wore Lester's collar. His new sub released their breakup video. What she withstood on there..." I trailed off.
Dad's chuckle, so like mine, was his response. "I heard through the grapevine that you and Ryan had arranged for Lester and his new slut to be blackballed. Does Lynne's family know the true nature of her relationship with Lester?"
"That she was his sub? No," I rushed to elaborate, "but they know he emotionally abused her. Look, I know you count most of her family members among some of your closest vanilla friends, but I can't not own her anymore. I didn't expect her to be there tonight-much less as an auction slave."
"What you are trying to say is that you are expecting backlash?" The laughter warming Dad's voice perplexed me. "We'll see."
Parking in the same spot as earlier that day, I marvelled at the difference a few hours made. "Dad, I need to go. Jeeves will be here with her shortly."
"Good luck, son."
Entering the warehouse, I strove to memorize every aspect of tonight. I popped open a bottle of champagne, pouring two flutes. The celebration of the night had taken on an unexpected importance. Divesting myself of the garments above my waist, I waited, bare-chested, for my slave's arrival.
Jeeves tenderly guided her in front of me, to the spot where, once I removed her blindfold, she would view completely her surroundings for the next week.
I knew by her posture, by the way her body remained tense and alert, that she sensed my presence. Her discomfiture was like the most addictive drug; I wanted to overdose on the high it gave me.
Finally, the tension drew words from her mouth, a capitulation if not a true breaking.
Her breath harsh-aroused, not panicked, but on the very edge of anxiety-she pleaded in a voice that cracked, "Are you there?"
This time my snigger was deliberate; I even sounded more like myself, like Pres.
Her head whipped around as she apprehended that I stood behind her. Silently, I chided her for breaking form. My crop, clenched in my fist, leveled a warning tap on her responsive nipple that hardened into a ruched pink nubbin, the color reminiscent of cotton candy.
Jacqui took the hint, snapping back into rigid posture, presenting herself.
I came around to face her, dropping down on one knee as I removed the blindfold. Before her eyes fluttered open to inspect her surroundings, she whispered "Pres?" yearningly.
The raw need in her voice nearly shredded my resolve to put her through the rigor of my training, to break her. Instead, I infused as much hauteur as I could into my words, "Scott. Your new Master. And you are My slave, Jacqui."
To give her time to recover, a luxury I afforded no subs-ever-at least until aftercare, I touched the rim of the champagne flute to her lips. She sipped, the fine muscles of her throat (muscles that would soon work my cock) swallowed.
Her purr of satisfaction snapped the restraints of the wild beast within. Lifting the crystal class to my lips, I swallowed the remaining golden nectar in two strong gulps.
Her eyes, that delicate misty green that haunted my dreams, followed the movement of my throat as I had obsessed over hers moments before.
Finding myself nearly babbling, my mouth spewed my thoughts. "You are Mine now, Jacqui. For this week, at least. Probably longer. I can't be gentle with you, don't want to be gentle. I have to have you now; we will talk later. Please say you understand."
"I understand," she whispered, bewildered.
With abrupt roughness, "Fuck finesse," I muttered, I snatched her up by her hair, twisting my fingers in the glorious mass of burnished waves, and dragged her to the chains.
Fishing for the master key to the restraints at her ankles and wrists, I disconnected her wrists first, noticing her wince as she slid her arms around forward. Removing the ankle cuffs brought my face bare inches away from her streaming cunt.
I gulped in her scent. That tangy sweetness that had flooded my nostrils at the hotel earlier was even more pronounced now. My tongue slid of its own volition along that satiny cleft, and I tasted her arousal...for me. Only one lick and that single taste caused Jacqui's knees to buckle.
