The Training of Toby (Masters of the Mansion Book 2) (11 page)

Master William

Master William walked down the stairs and through a long corridor that led him to a dead end. He removed the set of keys from one of his riding pants pockets and opened the large door that looked more like it belonged in an ancient castle than a mansion for the rich and elite.

Immediately upon opening the door, the ambiance changed to one of darkened intrigue. It was the hint of the forbidden that drew Masters and Mistresses into its web, promising to sate their craving for kink.

Rod iron black sconces, with small lights that could be converted to candle holders, were sporadically placed along the stairwell and hallway. Doors that led to rooms on each side of the hallway provided privacy for members who opted for a more intimate feel, rather than the open playroom with its voyeuristic setting.

The dim hallway led to an open room that held exquisite BDSM furniture. Whether the item was purchased, or handmade by one of the members, it was top of the line. Only the best of the best was worthy of being used by the Masters and Mistresses of The Mansion.

Though the room was open, there were areas specifically dedicated to whatever a person’s kink preference might be. There was a St. Andrew’s cross that was set up far enough away from the wall behind it to allow full access to the victim restrained to it. Nothing was hidden here once a submissive was subjected to one of the devices in the room. Tools like paddles, whips, floggers, cuffs, and hoods hung neatly from the iron hooks on the wall.

Whipping benches, chairs with devices to subdue a sub or slave, and even a Sybian filled the large playroom. There was every device common to the lifestyle and even some crafted by masterminds with imaginations that knew no boundaries; it was a kinkster’s paradise.

“What’s up, Jute? Getting the lay of the land in preparation for this weekend?”

Yeah, you know how I am. Perfection is paramount in my world.”

“No, that would be your daddy’s world—the world of politics. Is the Senator going to grace us with his presence this weekend?”

“You know dad. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I see you have the standard 101 different colors of hemp on hand. Who is this with you?”

“Oh, that’s my assistant, Jeff, but he goes by Hempster because of his love of rope. I’m kind of training him, you know, showing him the ropes, literally.”

Master William eyed him with skepticism, “Yeah, pun intended.”

“No, he’s cool. You know I wouldn’t bring anyone in who couldn’t be trusted. We’re, well, we’re together.”

“It remains to be seen if he can be trusted but I’ll take you at your word.” Master William still hadn’t taken his eyes off the man in question and he could tell he was making him very uncomfortable; he just didn’t give a fuck. Nobody came into The Mansion without Master William’s seal of approval. The Mansion and all things pertaining to it were of utmost importance to him. To Master William’s way of thinking, having something over a club member’s head was always a beneficial option. The senator just being the senator was enough of a vice grip on his balls. The senator’s son fell under the same category because, due to their political positions and always being in the public eye, neither one of them wanted to be outed to the vanilla community. However, this assistant… he didn’t know him, he didn’t trust him, and, for some unknown reason, he didn’t fucking like him.

Agent Turner

Agent Turner eyed the suspect from across the table in the interrogation room. The man had the ruddy complexion and permanent bloodshot eyes of a full-fledged alcoholic.

“So, you’re telling me you blacked out and you don’t remember the night you terrorized a boy for not allowing you to sexually molest him. That’s the story you’re going with?”

By now, Agent Turner was bent down in the man’s face and viciously eyeing him like he wanted to grab him around the throat and choke the shit out of him. Truth be known, he did. Every fiber of his being wanted to utilize his formidable fight training on the subject sitting in front of him. He wanted to unleash the fury he was feeling towards the man he knew would have sexually assaulted Toby if he’d been given the chance. The only thing that had saved Toby that night had been his quick thinking and the fact that this asshole had been three sheets to the wind.

The agent had seen enough dirt bags in his career to know that the man in front of him was a predator, and not the good kind. He wasn’t the kind to participate in consensual play with willing playmates. Granted, there were those in the lifestyle who loved being taken, but Toby didn’t fall under that category. The boy was a sub who needed nurturing and, thankfully, Mistress Diamond was providing that.

“See, the thing about it is a boy died the night you attempted to assault Toby. Do you know what I think?” He gave him no time to answer before he continued, “I think you got pissed that night and when you couldn’t fuck Toby you went back and got Allyn.”

“Now, just you wait a minute. I didn’t kill that kid,” the man being interrogated shouted in his own defense.

“How do you know? You just said that you don’t remember what happened that night. Are you prone to
blackouts
, Bob?”

By now, he was in the man’s face and spewing his words out as if they carried the venom that would succeed in doing what he wanted but couldn’t do—kill him. If there was one thing Agent Turner hated, it was a sub being preyed upon simply because they were a sub. If you wanted to get on the agent’s bad side, then just use the lifestyle as a means to pick up a submissive for the purpose of sexually abusing them. He was convinced that this john knew Toby was in a financial bind, knew he wasn’t gay, and knew he wasn’t a hustler. Yet, knowing all this, he’d still tried to make Toby sleep with him. Yep, this guy was on the agent’s shit list and that was a very dangerous place to be.

The Killer

It was so easy here, so easy to find the next naïve victim to subject to his torture. He had no point to prove. There wasn’t an underlying reason for what he did. He hadn’t grown up abused or sexually molested. The profilers always tried to make things so multidimensional. Everything with them was so deep and layered. If only they knew… he was a very simple man; he just enjoyed blood. Now
that
was something that was multidimensional.

The killer knew that blood affects each and every person in a different way, yet nonetheless everybody is affected. Some people were squeamish at the sight of blood, some felt the need to rescue when they saw it pooling beneath a hurt victim, and some, like him, were excited by it. It intrigued him on so many different levels. Whether it was a trickle or a flood, it sexually excited him. Having the power to start with a drop from just a pinprick, and go to total exsanguination by blade, scalpel, or knife, never ceased to excite and amaze him.

The average person didn’t realize the varying colors in blood told a story. Whether it was the color of deep, dark, black cherries or a bright, cardinal red, its varying degrees of color revealed so much about the person who bled. It revealed its type, the health of the person, and it even revealed oxidation—how long it had been out of the victim’s body. He could hear it speaking to him, calling out his name and urging him on to the next fatality. Answering the call wasn’t a choice; it was a command, a mandate that had to be acknowledged and obeyed. It cried out to him from the bodies it flowed through and he would give it what it desired above all—release. As he released the blood from his victim’s bodily prison, it provided release for him. It was beautiful but, at the same time, it was frustrating. He was so enamored and bound by its call, it had become the only way he could experience sexual release. He was long past being able to experience pleasure in the vanilla realm of eroticism. He’d surpassed wanting to enjoy BDSM that played by the rules. He’d moved deep into the vortex of debauchery and deviance and he had no intention of ever turning back; he was having too much fun.

Agent Turner

“Why did you fuck with that poor guy like that? You know good and well he isn’t our killer. I thought the poor guy was going to cry during the interrogation you just put him through.”

Agent Turner chuckled at his partner’s reaction. “Perhaps I’m a tad bit sadistic myself. You should be careful,” he playfully teased.

He backed away as she suddenly stalked in his direction. She grabbed his nuts and clenched them in her fist before she twisted. “Don’t fuck with me, boy! I asked you a question.” His breath hitched in agony as he eyed her expression. She resembled a predator eyeing prey and she looked vicious, like she wanted to clamp her teeth down on his throat and rip his life away from him. It was making his cock hard.

He witnessed a sneer cross her countenance when she realized he was excited, the growth in her hand providing the evidence. “You’re disillusioned if you think you’ll ever top me,
boy
. You’ll never be free of me and you’ll damn sure never fucking dominate me.”

He was horrified when she began to stroke her hand over his thickened cock in his pants. “Mistress, we’re at work. Please, not here.” He was relieved the door was shut but it wasn’t locked and anyone could come in.

“Shut the fuck up, you little bitch!” Her hand unzipped his pants and removed his cock as she glared at him, daring him to stop her. She smeared the pre-cum seeping through the tiny opening in his cock over his swollen, throbbing head and started pumping. She gripped it hard and stroked it as he fought off the climax she was determined to make him experience in the public setting.

“You little bitch, who the fuck do you think you are threatening me? Whose bitch are you,
Agent Turner?
”

“Ahh fuck, Mistress, I’m coming. Ahh shit, not here.”

“I say when, I say where, and I fucking say how. Now come,
boy.
”

He groaned as his seed shot out against his will.

“Now, get that shit cleaned up, get your fucking ass out to your desk, and go back to work. We’ve got a killer to catch.”

He rushed into his private bathroom and braced his hands against the sink. He took a moment to steady his breathing as he thought,
what the fuck just happened?

He knew what happened. He knew exactly what she had done to him. She had dug her talons even deeper into his soul and taken more of what she wanted—him.

Toby

Toby beamed as his Mistress confirmed to him how pleased she was with his training.

“You’re doing so well. I’m proud to present you to the BDSM community tomorrow night. Are you ready, pet?”

“I’m a little nervous, Mistress.”

His eyes were downcast as he spoke. He smiled, just one corner of his mouth lifting, to reveal how much his Mistress affected him. She lifted his chin in her signature one fingered manner.

“It’s perfectly normal to be nervous about meeting new people. This is your coming out to the community. I will tell you this, love; you’re safe with me. I will have you leashed and collared during the whole process. Just think of this as a gathering. It’s a party, just a kinky party. No one is going to bother you while you’re on my leash. I can assure you of that.”

“Are people scared of you,” he asked with genuine curiosity.

She chuckled as she answered, “I believe respect would be a more appropriate description.” She eyed him seriously as she made her next statement. “I know you have mixed feelings about Master William but you need to understand there is safety in submission. Let me give you an example… because I am his property, he would do anything to protect me. Now it goes even deeper than that. Because you are my property, you fall under that protection as well.”

“But he hates me,” Toby answered.

“He doesn’t hate you. There may be some jealousy towards you on his part but he doesn’t hate you. BDSM isn’t about love or hate like vanilla relationships are. Our bonds go much deeper than that, pet. We’re not just bound to each other emotionally. We are bound mentally, physically, and even psychologically as well as emotionally. You see, because he owns me, you fall under his watchful eye as well as mine. Even though he thinks I coddle you, because he knows I care for you, he’ll protect you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My Master loves me and he will do anything to ensure I stay here. He knows I’ll stay for you. Whether you like it or not, you are as bound to my Master as I am.

“BDSM is a complex and very intricate lifestyle. It has to be handled with the utmost of care. You’re not only dealing with people’s physical wellbeing, but their emotional and psychological wellbeing too. It’s why there are so many rules and so much protocol. The lifestyle, in the hands of the wrong person, is nothing shy of dangerous.