The Master of the house ran a tight ship. Strict but fair, firm but reasonable. He had a lively personality, and a good sense of humor when he wanted to utilize it. A quite social man, he often threw lavish parties for esteemed guests and old friends. He could typically be found standing tall, blue sparkling eyes dancing with impish delight as he regaled his audience with intriguing stories, with just a touch of well timed humor.
Often found milling nearby was his beloved, Genevieve. A lovely little thing, her face was framed by long tresses of hair the color of honey, and her lips the color of cherries. She had an engaging passion for life, laughter, and of course just a touch of mischief if she thought she might be able to get away with it. The Master adored her.
Occasionally the Master would throw a rather intimate gathering. At these particular occasions Genevieve would often find herself stripped nearly bare and tressed up, to be put on display for the few guests to watch, feeding their inner voyeuristic spirit. Genevieve would blush, and the urge to hide would grip her as she felt the eyes of the Master's well selected guests openly linger on her. The bindings ensured she reminded in place. Forced to merely fidget.. and endure. The Master stated this was to "encourage" the exhibitionist tendencies she refused to admit lurked within her, however Genevieve suspected it was somehow more about how much he enjoyed watching her, shy and embarrassed, exposed before a chosen few.
The two shared similar passions. The Master was skilled in the art of discipline, and though she often pleaded for leniency, Gen found she rather enjoyed being the recipient of his darker urges. The Master was a reasonable man and there were only few rules in which he demanded her obedience.
Each week stripes were earned, and delivered. Willful by nature, Genevieve often couldn't help herself. Mischief was fun. This meant of course, that each Sunday morning, she'd find herself bent over, pale bottom about to be decorated, each stripe a firm reminder of her misbehavior. Though, there was one rule, even as willful as she tends to be, that she does not break. Not anymore.
The Master enjoys pleasure, Genevieve often cheekily described him as a hedonist. Not a selfish man, he enjoys both the receiving and giving of pleasure. The one rule he sternly demands strict adherence to is that if Gen is to receive pleasure, it will be at his hand. A difficult rule at first. Unused to the restriction Genevieve struggled, often sneaking off to try and touch when she thought she'd be able to get away with it. She was only caught once, but once was enough.
With her legs tied open, clit peeping out and quite unprotected, the Master of the house educated her with the tip of his crop on the merits of following his rules, and in particular, that to come, one needed permission. His permission. In such a vulnerable position, Genevieve found she was a rather quick learner.
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The Master had a guest. Rumor among the house staff was that this devilishly charming man was his oldest friend come to spend a few weeks with them. The Master had yet to confirm who this gentleman was, though the staff was more than content to continue to speculate amongst themselves. He had an easy going smile, and a confident gaze that seemed to linger just a touch too long to be completely innocent. Though he had just arrived, he was already frequent topic of conversation. He seemed the sort to rather enjoy the attention.
After being graciously shown to his room, the gentleman quickly felt restless in his quarters. It was a beautiful room, richly decorated, and yet his eyes were thirsting for something of a different kind beauty. A beauty he had heard his dear friend had been involved with for quite some time. Briefly grinning to himself, he left his quarters in search of his prey.
Ambling at a leisurely pace down the corridor, the gentleman's attentions were caught by a slight noise he heard coming from what he believed to be the Master's library. Rounding the corner, his eyes settled on the lithe figure of the young girl reaching for a book on the top shelf. The mystery of the little noise he heard was now solved. He appreciated the view as she struggled on tiptoe, fingers just brushing the edge of the book.
Sensing an opportunity, he strode to her. Pressing himself against her back, he reached above her plucking the book from the shelf and pressing it into her searching hand.
She turned to look at him, and a slight grin spread across her lips.
"Thank you.. Mister...?"
"Flynn works."
"Is that actually your name?"
He smirked, "For what I have in mind, I'm not sure names really matter."
Suddenly Genevieve felt this man was standing just a little too close. His friendly gaze, lingering just a little too long. Perhaps it was time to make an elegant escape.
She pushed ineffectively against his shoulder as he stood before her. Swallowing hard, Genevieve peeked up at him with wariness. Now rather abruptly this gentleman didn't seem so innocently helpful.
In an attempt to ease her tension, she chuckled slightly, trying to inch under his arm, "And, um, what did you have in mind?"
A satisfied grin formed, "You seem a girl who knows her way around literature. How should I put it?" The man snapped his fingers as if a mental lightbulb had just gone off. "As F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, 'I'm a slave to my emotions'."
Genevieve's eyebrows rose. "Wha-!"
He leaned into her, his hand snaking beneath the hem of her skirt.
With a devilish smile he began to tease and probe. A little gasp fell past Genevieve's lips as she squirmed, pinned between his lean body and the wall.
He looked down at her, "Keep still now."
She swallowed hard, an internal struggle welling up inside. Her first instinct to shriek her outrage at his bold indecency, and continue to try to wriggle free. Her second was to still her squirming, part her legs further... and obey. She believed this man was a good friend of The Master. She vaguely remembered that she once heard him say that when it came to his esteemed guests, "what was his, was theirs". Genevieve chewed on her lower lip.. did that mean her as well?
She was sharply pulled from her thoughts by Flynn's touch. His fingers moved deftly, brazenly exploring her intimate folds, sliding freely through slick wetness. He commented on her arousal and she felt her cheeks burn.
"I should probably let you know how this works. The more you struggle now, the tighter I'm going to tie you to my headboard later."
Genevieve worked hard to stifle the little moan that threatened to slip past her pretty lips. Images of the delicious ways the Master often tied her up drifted through her mind. She found herself considering pressing herself harder into Flynn's hand in spite of her lingering acrid indignation at his casual iniquity.
"You certainly waste no time." The Master was leaning on the door frame to the Library, intently watching the pair before him.
Gen gasped worried the Master would get the wrong idea about just what was happening here, and pushed hard against Flynn's chest renewing her efforts to put distance between them.
Flynn clucked his tongue at her, and would not be budged. His hand remained beneath her skirt as he turned to face the Master. He shrugged, a coy grin tugging at his mouth.
"What can I say? I'm very much a seize the moment kind of guy, living for the here and now, carpe diem, let no moment go wasted, et cetera et cetera."
To her horror, the Master actually chuckled at this. What the hell was going on?
"I'd almost forgotten how recklessly committed you are to seeking out hedonistic pleasures in any given situation."
Gen started to have a sinking feeling the exchange between Flynn and the Master was not going to go as she had hoped. No longer worried about possible expectations on meek compliance, Gen decided it was time to be her own advocate and jumped into the conversation, hoping to somehow encourage the Master to intervene here.
Flynn clamped his hand over Gen's lush lips, abruptly ending her protest. "Shhh darling. Men are talking."
