She stood bent over the sink in her bathroom applying her second coat of mascara in the mirror. She always used black, knowing it clashed with her blue eyes in all the right ways. She had never excelled at the art of make-up application and was thankful she had features that didn't require much enhancing. So she stuck to the basics: foundation, blush, eyeliner and enough mascara to cover her natural lashes.
She ran a brush through her light brown hair, watching the subtle hints of red shine under the florescent light. Ever since the night she had met Madame Alaina she had kept it long, another way to emphasize her movements when her subs watched it sway across her back.
She had arrived home from work earlier than normal so she would have time to get ready. Tonight was Monday Funday, a monthly occurrence at the château. And it would be Finn's first. There were questions she wanted answered both as a dominant and as a behaviorist. Curiosity was what made her good at what she did and tonight she intended to push several of his limits.
A knock interrupted her preparation so she headed to the front door. When she peered through the peephole she was surprised to see the distorted frames of Trevor and Johnny come into view.
"Hey there, Honey," Trevor said when she opened the door. "I just came to pick up my truck."
Her eyes glanced over his shoulder to the rusted Chevy eyesore that had been decreasing the value of her property for far too long now. "I'll go get the keys."
She shut the door so they wouldn't follow her inside then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to summon all the authority she could into her small frame. They had come when they knew Finn wasn't home, and she didn't trust a man who looked at her as if she was property to be taken, not a reward to be earned. She grabbed the keys quickly and headed back to the door.
"Here," she said, holding them out towards him.
He grabbed them but stayed put on her doorstep. "I'm glad to see he made it home safely. Hopefully he didn't get in too much trouble."
She crossed her arms and pursed her lips when he smiled, wondering how much longer he planned on monopolizing her time.
"Can we talk?"
"About what?"
"About Finn."
"What about Finn?"
He stuffed the key into his pocket and took a step towards the door. "Why don't we all go inside and sit down so we can talk."
She held her ground, denying him entry.
"Come on now, Honey. We don't bite."
"I do," she said, breaking eye contact with him to look at Johnny who quickly shied away from her stare.
Trevor stood for a moment, his tongue running over the inside of his bottom lip. "I assume you know Finn hasn't been returning any of our calls. I've been getting worried."
"I don't monitor his phone calls."
He pushed his cowboy hat up and scratched his head. "I'd hate to think you told him not to talk to us."
"Finn's a grown man. He can make his own decisions about who he talks to, and who he doesn't."
"It just doesn't make sense to me," he started, rubbing his hand over his chin. "I mean, Johnny here's been best friends with Finn his whole life. Has Finn ever stopped talking to you in all those thirty-one years of life?"
Johnny nervously shook his head, glancing from Trevor to her then back again.
"And I've known him about ten years, never had an argument," he continued. "Then after, what's it been now, less than a month playin' house with you and he's actin' like he wants nothin' to do with us."
"I guess if he decides to start talking to you again you can ask him," she said, then began shutting the door.
He quickly put his palm flat against the wood, stopping it from closing. "But isn't this your area of expertise? I mean, you are a...behaviorist."
"Yes, but unfortunately that means I'm bound by the laws of behaviorist-boyfriend confidentiality. Sorry I couldn't be of more help," she replied, then took a step back and shoved the door closed.
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It was the second time he had stood staring into his closet trying to decide what to wear. She had told him it didn't matter what he chose because he wouldn't be wearing it for long so he pulled one of his shirts off the hanger and put it on mindlessly.
"Come," she said as she walked by his room.
He quickly finished buttoning his shirt then followed her towards the door. His eyes fixated on her black boots and the sheer black dress she wore. Underneath it was clear she wore nothing, as usual. He fought the urge to get to his hands and knees and crawl behind her. The visual from the humbling position was one of his favorites. She towered over him as she should and he could easily look up her dress, which he was certain she was well aware he did. He helped her into her long coat then opened the door for her.
They walked down the cement patio then crunched the few feet through the gravel to the limousine waiting for them in the driveway. After they climbed in he sat on the floor at her feet for her to buckle the collar around his neck.
"Are there going to be a lot of other people there, Mistress?" he asked. He was comfortable behind the walls of her house with only her to see who he truly was. But tonight they were headed to the château, and he didn't know who or how many people would be there.
"It doesn't matter how many people are there. The only person that matters to you is me."
"Yes, Mistress." He touched his collar, wondering what she would do to him in front of everyone. Would she want to show them her ownership of him as she had done several times over the weekend? Even though he enjoyed it the thought of her doing it in front of people made every muscle in his body tighten.
"When we're there keep your focus on me and you'll be fine," she reassured him, running her hand through his hair.
His stomach continued to twist the entire ride, and he touched his collar again when the limo stopped and the engine turned off. The collared chauffeur opened the door for them and he stepped out onto the driveway. He was surprised to notice it was empty, at least until he saw another limo pulling in behind theirs. Two women walked out, both shaking their head at him when he glanced their way. He moved his eyes to his mistress' boots, not wanting to inadvertently disrespect her any further.
The two limos immediately pulled out of the driveway and he followed his mistress through the front door of the château and down one of the long hallways. When they reached a set of double doors she paused and waited for him to open one for her.
He wrung his hands together, chewing the inside of his cheek. Chains and bars hung from the ceiling, and cabinets lined the walls. Naked collared men, and some women, were tied down to benches or tied up to large crosses. Some were bent over other pieces of furniture, some were tied spread eagle on top of it. He tried to keep his focus on his mistress where it belonged, but the screams of agony mixed with ecstasy demanded his attention.
They walked by a domme lying on her stomach over a spanking bench holding the leash of a man standing behind her. She moaned while he pounded into her with a bright pink strap-on, his caged member soft and hitting against the backs of her thighs with each thrust. Another domme stood still behind him, her own impressive strap-on penetrating him every time he pulled out.
Screams cut through the air and he turned to see another scene playing out in the opposite corner. A man was strung up with his hands behind his back then hooked to the ceiling. A domme circled him, hitting him repeatedly with a cattle prod. The same cattle prod that could be purchased at the feed store in town for about sixty dollars. He had one behind the seat of his truck he used regularly, though never thought of it being used in this way. Everywhere it hit two red marks formed on the man's skin. When the domme moved it towards the man's sac he watched with wide eyes as the man's seed shot across the floor.
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She was proud of him. He was there, in front of people, and hadn't fainted or run away yet. He looked slightly pale, but she couldn't decide if it was because of what he was seeing or just his nerves about being there in general. If he walked any closer to her he would knock her over. Some of the scenes already going on were intense and he had handled witnessing them fairly well. Mistress Karmen and her infamous cattle prod seemed to interest him which further emphasized the need for tonight's session.
She moved to a quieter area of the large dungeon then began looking around at what she had to work with. Her options weren't ideal but she would have to make them work. He stood quietly behind her, wringing his hands together.
"Strip." Usually she enjoyed helping him, but tonight she enjoyed watching him struggle.
His trembling hands began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off over his shoulders. He pulled his shoes off next, saving his pants for last.
"Hands." After the wrist restraints were in place she pulled a chain through them that was connected to a beam on the ceiling. His hands pulled up over his head as she pulled the chain to the floor, hooking it to a metal loop. There was just enough slack left for him to slightly bend his elbows.
The spreader bar was new for him. After a moment of hesitation he moved his feet apart so she could place the bar between them and hook the cuffs around his ankles. The last item she needed to put in place before she went to work was the blindfold.
Once he was positioned how she wanted she took a few steps back. He fidgeted in his chains due to the loss of contact, his head moving side to side as he listened for where she was. But she stood quietly, not giving away her location. It was her right to admire him, and he was well worth admiring. Especially like this.
"Do you want to share?" Rachel asked from behind her.
He jumped in his chains and turned his head towards where they stood. His feet shuffled on the floor, attempting to move together.
She watched him, waiting for his body to give away what he hoped her answer would be. Even though she didn't want to share him, if he wanted to be shared it was her responsibility as his trainer to give him those learning opportunities. But other than his nervous muscles the rest of him remained soft.
"Not today," she said, still keeping her eyes on her project.
"Greedy, greedy," Rachel replied, but she respected the rules and went to find another scene to join.
She made sure her boots moved quietly across the floor as she approached him then grabbed hold of his sac and squeezed. He jerked back and grunted in surprise. Her eyes stayed between his legs, waiting.
Nothing. She knew he found pleasure in the pain, enough so that he had tried to manipulate her into whipping him in the past. But where did the pleasure come from? Was it psychological or physiological? She squeezed him again, enjoying the sound of the breath sucking in through his teeth. Slight movement, maybe a jump, but otherwise he remained fairly soft.
