Authors: Maren Smith
Her stomach quivered—a very odd shivering sensation that she didn’t know how to describe. Fear came close, but she wasn’t really afraid, at least not anywhere except for down deep in her tingling, tightening stomach. No, this felt more like something else—apprehension, excitement and…and something she really didn’t want to examine too closely because feeling that in this particular moment just wasn’t right.
A grown man in little boy clothing was being tortured—beaten—just outside this door with no one doing anything to help him and here she was, her heart racing, as short of breath as if she’d run a mile in a minute, feeling tendrils of—of something best left unacknowledged, swimming around inside her. She hugged her envelope, pressing it hard across her stomach in a vain effort to squeeze that shivery feeling into frozen submission.
The sound of those wails had reduced. Chelsea didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t stop herself. She snuck back out on the landing just far enough to see for herself that the whipping had stopped. The two men now stood, the gentleman with his arms around the youth, stroking his hair, comforting now that discipline was done. Chelsea could see his mouth moving, but she was much too far away to make out what was being said. It wasn’t for her ears anyway. This was all for the young man, who nodded and hiccupped, sniffling while he reached back to rub his bare bottom, his trousers still a puddle of forgotten fabric around his feet.
Chelsea crept back into the Castle, pulling the hydraulic door closed between her and the crazy outside world all over again. She rubbed her stomach, clutching and re-clutching at her stolen envelope and her meager
Wal-Mart bag, willing that confusion of sensations to still.
“Hey there, baby girl.”
Chelsea jumped, slapping a hand over her mouth to keep back her yelp of surprise—first for being startled and then again when she saw the truly massive man coming towards her down the hall. He was tall, broad, with muscle stacked upon muscle and big, bold-white letters “Castle Security” emblazoned across his black shirt.
Oh…crap…
“Don’t be afraid,” he said with a gentle, friendly smile. “Come here, sweetie. I just want to have a word with you.”
Oh crapcrap
crap
!
Her heart in her throat, Chelsea bolted. She would have ducked outside, except two more security men were jogging up the courtyard stairs, coming straight toward her.
“Wait…” The big man tried to stop her, but she quickly veered left. A pair of huge wooden doors blocked off the end of the hall, but they weren’t locked. When she threw herself against them, they opened easily and Chelsea spilled into yet another corridor, this one full of people in all sorts of costumes. Maids and butlers mingled with nobles and peasants, governesses and school “children." A sultan walked right past her with his entire harem of veiled women of all ages, sizes and body types.
What the hell kind of place was this?
“Come on, baby girl,” the muscular security guard called cajolingly after her. “Don’t make me have to chase you.”
Chelsea broke into another run, faster this time, though she knew she had nowhere to go. She could run right smack into room R221, but what good would that
do? She didn't have the key to get in. She was caught. They already knew she didn’t belong here. What was she going to do? Would they send her to jail for this?
Ducking elbows and dodging wide costume skirts, Chelsea darted around the next corner, praying she’d find the main staircase and grand entrance hall but instead, she ran nearly head-on into three more security guards. One was on his cellphone. When he saw her, they all turned around and looked. When he put his cellphone away, like a single wall of black t-shirts and stark white letters, they started toward her.
She skidded, nearly falling on her butt in her haste to turn around and dropping all the contents of her bag right there, across the hallway floor. They were all she’d brought, but she had to abandon them, and still there was no going back the way she’d come. The big man was jogging up behind her and the other guests had begun to take notice of the situation. Some were getting out of the way while others were squaring off around her, caging her in to help make it easier for the guards to catch her.
She was so going to jail.
Chelsea looked everywhere, frantic for any avenue of escape. With three guards like a wall just ten feet behind her and the big man blocking the way up ahead, there was just no place for her to go.
“It’s okay.” The big man held up his hands, slowing from a jog to a walk. He didn’t look angry with her. Rather, he seemed very calm, perhaps even a bit perplexed. “Calm down, sweetheart. I just want to talk.”
Her heart raced. She could feel it pounding bruises against the inside of her ribs, but there was no place else for her to run. She was caught, surrounded by a cage of people who stood whispering amongst themselves, watching, some as if in a state of high expectation, while others tried to sneak quietly past the blockade so they could continue on their merry way.
“Hey.”
On the verge of tears, Chelsea looked to the big man. The guards behind her had slowed, but they were still closing the distance. Any minute now, they were going to grab her. And then they were going to take her to jail. She just knew it.
“My name is Jackson,” the big man said. “Don’t be afraid, baby girl. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Jackson? Sara’s Jackson? The woman with the pregnancy tests lined up along the sink in that medical room? For some reason, knowing that he was connected to the only few people in the resort that Chelsea knew, made her feel better…right up until a door down the hallway opened and in walked the two men from the playground. The young man in short pants was holding his disciplinarian’s hand. He was smiling, skipping almost, but all Chelsea could think about when she saw him was the sound that belt had made each time it had come whipping down. She backed away, from Jackson now as much as from those two men, and she pointed at them. “D-don’t you t-touch me! Any of you!”
For reasons that went far beyond the exertions of her brief escape attempt, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She clutched at her envelope, not because it was some grand saving shield of protection, but because it was all she had and she desperately needed to hold onto something.
“It’s okay.” Jackson held up both hands, showing her they were empty, as if that small act alone could somehow make a strong man his size instantly harmless. “It’s okay,” he said again, soft and cajoling. “Daddy’s not mad, sweetheart. I just want to talk.”
“What?” Her breath caught in the back of her throat all over again. Daddy? Seriously? In what strange, parallel, Twilight-Zone dimension was it okay for an unknown man to call himself her daddy? Why did the way he’d said it have all these weird sexual undertones? And really, why did she want to walk right up to him and instead of punching him in the nose, curl up against his chest in the hopes that he’d put those massive arms around her and just…what? Make everything magically all right? What was wrong with her? What was wrong with this place? Nobody had ever called himself her daddy, except, well, her father. And maybe her college boyfriend, because she had this hazy half-memory of him once saying that horribly clichéd “Who’s your Daddy?” And since she couldn’t remember his name right now, much less whether or not he actually said those words, what did
that
say?
“Come here, baby girl.” So soothing and soft, Jackson reached for her hand. “It’s okay. You’ve done a naughty thing, but it’s nothing we can’t fix. Where’s your bracelet?”
More confused now than scared, more so at her own bewildering reaction to how he was treating her, Chelsea looked first at the white bracelet on his arm and then the identical bracelets worn by each of the three guards blocking the way behind her. She had bracelets just like those in her envelope, two purples and a white. She tore the Manila paper in her haste to dig them out and thrust all three at Jackson.
He took them, his tone registering his surprise. “You’re in the royal program, not the nursery?”
She tensed when his fingers slid around her wrist and though she stiffened her legs, he pulled her closer. Right up to his chest.
“Let me see,” he said as he took the envelope from her hand. “I just want to take a quick peek. Why don’t we get out of the middle of the hall so all these people can go about their business? Come along, sweetpea. Let’s go sit down over here.”
Now that the excitement had dwindled, those who had stopped to watch began to disperse. A distinct air of disappointment emanated from the other guests, as if the scene between her and Jackson hadn’t quite culminated into what had been expected. Chelsea didn’t understand it, but once more drawn to whatever destinations awaited them in this maze of a castle, the crowd moved on.
Pulling her by her hand, Jackson drew her into a shallow nook off the main hall. Set up like a waiting station, it consisted of four chairs and a short table and sat adjacent to a single door marked with a sign that read, “Clinic Hours: Daily 10am-6pm.” Beneath that, were the names of three doctors: Milton, Ng and Kruchek. There was a check beside Kruchek’s name, and from behind that closed door Chelsea could hear the breathy cries and soft moans of a woman in either extreme ecstasy or dire distress. Considering what she’d seen out on the playground, it was entirely likely it could have been both.
“Sit down.” Jackson gestured to one of the chairs.
Chelsea sat, but holding still was impossible. She clasped and re-clasped her hands, alternately watching as Jackson sorted through her meager assortment of stolen papers and, with each renewing cry from across the hall, casting nervous glances at the Clinic door.
The big man tsked, not once but twice. “You just might be in more trouble than I at first suspected. Did you not register at the admissions table when you first came in?”
“I…” How much of what happened dare she admit to? Feeling sick in the pit of her stomach, Chelsea thought about the pregnancy tests lined up on the sink in the medical office and then about how very much she did not want to be the person to break that news. Silence, in this case, really was golden. She twisted at her fingers and shut her mouth.
After a moment of agonizing silence, Master Marshall stopped waiting for an answer, gave her a look, and then returned to perusing his papers.
“What happened to Ben?” he asked next.
Now was the moment. She could come clean—
They threw their vacation away and I dug it out of the trash
; or perhaps even,
They changed their mind and I came in their place
—that probably wouldn’t end her up in jail right away, but it likely would end in a phone call to the credit card holder. Then, she’d go to jail. Or maybe they’d simply stick her on the bus back to Granger and she’d spend the night sleeping in her car, but at least no worse off than she had been that morning. Honesty was probably her best bet at this point, and yet, when Chelsea opened her mouth that wasn’t what came pouring out past her lips. “We had a fight.”
Jackson tsked again. “He didn’t come with you?”
She shook her head.
“Did you inform anyone that you were here alone or did you bypass orientation entirely and just come right on in?” He was smiling when he gave her his next Look, one that plainly said he already knew the answer to that. When she dropped her eyes to her lap, he pulled out his cellphone. “Suit yourself, young lady, but don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.”
“A chance for what?” She watched him punch in a quick text and send it off, then he put the phone back in his pocket and stood up. This time, he didn’t offer her the choice of his hand, but took firm hold of her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“Come along, young lady,” he said, planting a quick swat to her bottom when she didn’t immediately fall into line at his side. Her whole body jumped when he did that, but she didn’t even get a chance to protest, because what he said next stopped everything. “It’s time we got to the bottom of this—you, me and the Master of the Castle.”
A rising tidal wave of dread swept up through her and it drowned out every other sensation…except, perhaps, the tingling-prickling feeling that was even now crawling across the surface of her bottom.
“D
oesn’t seem to matter how many checks and balances we have in place,” Master Marshall said, taking the manila envelope Jackson handed him. “Somebody always manages to break the rules. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: There’s one in every busload.”
Hovering in the doorway, standing rooted to the floor exactly where Jackson had finally stopped pushing at her, Chelsea watched helplessly as the Master of the Castle emptied her stolen contents out onto his desk. Picking through the few papers, he found the receipt first.
“Ah… Ben Murdock and Elizabeth Jenkins. I wondered what had happened with you two.” Plucking two file folders out of his inbox, he opened them both, laying one on top of the other. “I can honestly say it’s very, very rare when a guest comes so far in the registration process, including paying for the privilege of being here, and then doesn’t show up. Tell me—” Seating himself at his desk and gesturing for her to take one of the two guest chairs opposite him, Master Marshall folded his hands on top of her file. “—is Ben roaming the halls, as yet undiscovered, as well?”
Her chest felt as if there was a fist squeezing in around it, but Chelsea stuck to her story. “There was a fight.”
“So he stayed home and you came anyway.” His smile turned slightly sympathetic before he shut Ben’s folder and set it aside. “Tell me something else…is it Beth or Elizabeth? You have it both ways on your form.”
“Um…” And so it began, the improvisation required by all great liars to be just that—great at lying. God, she wished she had more practice at this. “Beth?” she guessed.
“Tell me, Beth,” he began again. “How did you manage to miss the admissions process?”
Chelsea glanced up when Jackson eased into the chair beside her. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her thighs. “I got in line,” she admitted, but now how could she explain and yet avoid bringing Selena and the others into this mess? “I-I
guess I got swept up in the excitement?”
She cringed a little, something Marshall noticed. “That sounds like a question.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“Only if you lie to me.” Judging by his expression, he already suspected she was, but he didn’t press. Not yet. “Since you are neither wearing your bracelet nor in costume, is it safe for me to assume you also bypassed Miss Hardwick’s pre-admission rundown of the rules?”
She rubbed her thighs again. Her palms were sweating. “I’m sorry?”
“Another question,” Master Marshall noted, faintly amused. “You were found where?”
This one Jackson answered. “She was spotted outside the nursery by one of our Daddies, and I found her on the second floor just off the playground.”
“Ah.” Laying two of the three bracelets on his desk, Master Marshall stood up. He walked straight past her with little more than a glance and crossed the room to open up the armoire against the wall. Wood clattered against wood and thin chains softly rattled together. From this angle, she couldn’t see inside, but there was a rather impressive display of wood, leather and rubber spanking implements hanging from hooks on the inside of the door.
Chelsea quickly faced forward again. Either she wasn’t hanging out with the right gossips or no one in Granger had a clue what kind of resort this really was.
Making his selection, Marshall returned to sit on the edge of his desk directly in front of her. His feet were bare centimeters from hers. She could smell his cologne. It was very nice—masculine, heady.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, but his reassuring smile made her heart flounder and her stomach tangle up tight enough to strangle her breathing. He extended what he’d brought, another bracelet exactly the same as the three that had come in the envelope she’d found, except instead of purple or white, this one was blue. “No one is going to mind if you want to switch programs. Does the nursery intrigue you? I doubt I’ll have any trouble at all finding a nice Daddy or Mommy to take care of you. For a day or two—” He cocked his head, watching her closely. “—or perhaps the rest of your stay?”
Two men in the courtyard zipped through her mind. Oh please don’t let her look as appalled as she suddenly felt.
“No, thank you,” she whispered, squirming in her seat.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
Master Marshall turned partway to set the blue bracelet on his desk. Then he reached for her hand and slipped the purple one onto her wrist. “The bracelets are to be worn at all times. In the shower, while you sleep, any time you leave your quarters. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She turned her wrist, looking at the bracelet. Obviously the blue one had something to do with the nursery. What exactly did the purple mean? Jackson had mentioned the royal program, but what was that?
“The second rule is no civilian clothing allowed. I’m going to have Jackson take you to Wardrobe where you will select your first costume. You may have as many wardrobe changes as you like throughout your stay, but like the bracelet, if you leave your room, you’ll be in appropriate attire. Now, do you understand that?”
“Yes.” Her stomach quivered. The kind of quiver that didn’t just stay in her stomach, but sank in, deepening and drifting low until she was clenching in and shivering in a place nobody ever associated with stomachs. She squeezed her thighs together, trying to still the sensation.
“Good. Since this is your first time with us here, there is a list of rules we are going to go over and they are to be strictly adhered to. Are you listening?”
Chelsea nodded again.
“The first is anonymity. This is mandatory at the Castle. No one
but myself and a few key members of my staff—Jackson, for instance—knows the true names of our guests. You would have selected a false name at the admission desk, but since you bypassed that—” He gave her a mildly censoring look, though his smile softened it. “—I want you to go ahead and pick your new name now.”
She blinked at him, twice. “Any name?”
“Any name but Beth or another Elizabeth derivation.”
She was already faking so much, at this point. She ought to keep all further deception as simple as possible. “Chelsea?”
He twisted around, leaning sideways far enough to pen her name across the top of her file. “Would you like me to match you with a play partner while you’re here? A Dom or Dominatrix, someone with a gentle hand, perhaps? Or perhaps you’d like a hand that is anything but gentle.”
If that quiver got any tighter, something inside her was going to snap right in half. “No, thank you.”
He made another note on her file. “You may, of course, go looking for mischief on your own, but I want you to understand no matter what situation you find yourself in, nothing will happen here without your consent. Whether you are paired with someone or not, you always have the right to negotiate a safe scene.”
Negotiate a safe scene? What did that even mean? “Okay,” Chelsea said, but she was starting to think she was in over her head.
“All sexual contact must be discussed with your partner and approved by you both before play begins. If you do not want sexual contact, say so. Your wishes will be respected at all times. If something should happen that makes you feel uncomfortable, whether you initially agree to it or not, all you have to do is say the Castle safeword: Onions.”
Immediately, a sharp electronic click from speakers hidden somewhere around the room was followed by an even sharper voice. “Cease all activity immediately. Castle security has been dispatched to your location. Submissive, give me your name.”
Chelsea sat frozen in her chair, her huge eyes locked on Master Marshall.
He gestured for her to comply.
“Um…” She had to clear her throat. “Chelsea.”
“Sit tight, Chelsea. We’re on our way to get you.”
“Stand down, Andrew,” Master Marshall said, lifting his chin a little so his voice would carry clearly. “I was demonstrating what would happen if she used the safeword.”
“Sorry, sir,” the voice of Andrew replied. “If I break protocol, Jackson will have my ass.”
Marshall looked at Jackson.
“I would, too,” Jackson agreed, but then to whatever unseen microphones were scattered through the room, said, “Stand down, Andrew. I’m sitting right here.”
“Recalling security and standing down.” With another sharp click, the hidden speakers fell silent.
“Wow,” Chelsea breathed.
“There is no part of the Castle or grounds that we won’t hear your use of the safeword and be able to respond in less than three minutes,” Jackson said proudly.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to be matched to someone?” Marshall asked again. “You’ve come all this way. The Castle is one of the safest places in the world for you to explore any fantasy you desire. I’d hate for you not to have a good time.”
Was he going to think her strange if she didn’t take him up on that offer? Would he get suspicious? She twisted at her fingers. On the other hand, what in the world was she going to do matched up to someone who thought she was as fetishly-inclined as he was?
“No, I think I’ll be fine.” She tried to smile and sound convincing. “I just want to look around. You know…see what’s out there. Maybe shop at the gift shop.” Please, dear God, let there be a gift shop. “And just, you know…”
“Get into mischief on your own?” Marshall inquired.
“Is that okay?” He didn’t look suspicious. She glanced from him to Jackson again. Neither of them did. They looked, in fact, like this was still fairly
routine. She relaxed a little.
“Absolutely,” Marshall said and stood up. “This is your vacation and I’m sure you’re eager to get started, so wardrobe first. Jackson will take you. Then feel free to explore to your heart’s content. Remember, you can change programs as often as you like. Simply come to my office and we’ll set you up with any fantasy you want. If you decide you’d like a play partner, one can usually be found in the Rainbow Room or even in the media room, or simply ask me. That’s what I’m here for. Would you like a map?”
That would definitely make things easier. “Yes, please.”
When Jackson stood up, so did she. She took the map Master Marshall offered her and then (hoping she didn’t look as if she were fleeing) headed for the door.
“Beth,” Master Marshall called after her.
Damn. She reluctantly turned back. “Yes?”
“There’s one more Castle rule you should be aware of.”
She braced herself. “And what is that?”
He came toward her slowly, sauntering, his uncanny blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Little submissives who get sent to the Master’s office don’t leave without a spanking. You can look it up, if you like. It’s in the brochure, page two, right next to that little black box at the top with the picture of the crossed canes.”
When he thumbed back behind his desk, she obligingly glanced past him to the two crossed canes mounted on the sliver of wall between the tall windows. She didn’t think it was possible for her eyes to get any bigger than they were. How was one supposed to respond to a statement like that?
“Oh,” Chelsea said. Strangled, really. It was all she could think to say. Master Marshall was enjoying her discomfort. So was Jackson. He was grinning again, arms folded across his broad chest while he watched to see what she would do. Frozen, Chelsea stood rooted to the floor, eyeing his approach with rapidly increasing—was this tingling sensation crawling up her arms and down her legs excitement or dread? Whatever it was, she trembled at the very thought of how it would feel to have him, either of them, grab her.
Except that he didn’t. Neither Jackson nor Master Marshall even tried. Stopping directly in front of her, the Master of the Castle held up his index finger instead. So much power in one little finger. Slowly, he twirled it, motioning for her to turn and, swallowing hard, a marionette upon his string, Chelsea obeyed.
Her trembling legs turned her, but her brain was firing on overload. This was crazy. What was she doing? Why was she complying? What would happen if she said “onion”? They would probably suspect her, that’s what. Because really, what kind of person paid for a vacation like this, then came and expected not to get spanked?
Chelsea faced the door, staring at the wood grain without seeing any of it.
She was going to get spanked.
This was crazy.
She
was crazy. Absolutely stark raving mad.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Beth,” Master Marshall said, and she jumped a little because she hadn’t realized he had come right up behind her. Then he swatted her.
That was it. Just one sharp smack that was more sound than impact, but which she felt in a shower of sparking awareness throughout every inch of her jean-clad bottom. There was no discomfort—he hadn’t hit anywhere near hard enough for that—but her knees still tried to buckle. She caught her balance, but otherwise didn’t move. Was that it? Was it over? Was that…disappointment now, tangling in the very pit of her stomach along with all those knots?
“Good girl,” Master Marshall murmured, his breath heating the skin just behind her ear. “Welcome to the Castle, Chelsea. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Thank you,” Chelsea said back. Because she was crazy, and that’s what crazy people did.