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THE RETREAT


The Perfect Submissive Trilogy

Book Two



KAY JAYBEE


Published by KJ – 2018


Copyright © Kay Jaybee 2018


Smashwords edition.


The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author: Kay Jaybee, www.kayjaybee.me.uk

Dedicated to the girls in my coffee corner

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Epilogue

About the Author

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Coming Soon from Kay Jaybee






Prologue

‘Please, sir. Please! I won’t let you down.’

David Proctor peered at his cook as she crouched before him. A haphazard pile of blonde curls was all he could see of her bowed head.

‘I can learn. I can.’ Her voice quivered with deep-seated yearning. ‘I’ll learn to be whoever you want me to be.’

The heated softness of her Scottish accent added a dimension to David’s arousal he hadn’t expected. No stranger to the world of submission and domination, he’d never met anyone so keen to be subservient to him before.

With his ego growing almost as much as his cock, which nudged against the inside of his suit trousers, he hunkered down beside the girl. Her bare buttocks bore the pleasing marks of his palm. The fading prints were a blotched pink now, but they’d blazed red only moments ago, when he’d pinned her across his lap, spanking her backside again and again in punishment for her repeated disobedience. Or rather, for her failure to obey, despite her eager claims that she wanted to please him.

The girl’s breasts, just over a handful in size, were dotted with freckles, and as he fondled them, David’s mind seethed with images of all the things a willing slave could do for him.

Lifting her lowered head by the chin, he fixed his hazel eyes into her sapphire ones. ‘But you refuse to climax when I tell you to.’ His voice wasn’t angry, but it was hard. David Proctor was, and would always be, an unyielding businessman. If there was nothing in any arrangement of long-term benefit for him, it wouldn’t happen.

‘I want to though, sir. I really want to, I … Forgive me, but you make me hang on for so long before granting permission to come...and then I can’t. I am so sorry, I …’

‘Sshhh.’ David ran his fingers through the wisps of hair that had escaped her hooked-up ponytail. There was no denying that she intrigued him. With each stroke of her wavy locks, he pondered his situation.

The Retreat did need another submissive. And soon, if his business plans were to expand in the direction he intended. The man Fairtasia was sending to represent them was due any day now, and not long after that, their delegates would arrive.

‘Please, sir?’ The cook’s pupils seemed impossibly wide as she held his eyes. But for the occasional shiver of denied desire, her bare legs didn’t move against the stone kitchen floor, proving just how good her stamina was already. ‘Lady Tia could teach me.’

‘Training …’ David spoke the thought slowly, as if to himself, mulling each letter over with his tongue, but the young woman leapt upon the word.

‘Training! Yes, sir! Dr Ewen says Lady Tia is the best dominatrix there is.’

‘She is indeed good, but …’ The Retreat’s new owner reached his hands back to the girl’s tits. His cock stiffened further as her nipples pressed greedily against his skin. ‘I’m not sure Lady Tia’s field of expertise will be sufficient. Spankings and beatings you can already take - and plainly enjoy.’

The girl dipped her face once more. She was obviously trying not to let her disappointment in her own shortcomings show. There was no doubt she was submissive material; and yet not quite. Her deference to him, however, and his urgent requirement for an additional member of staff, made David’s mind up for him.

‘I think it’s time I contacted a friend in England. I’m sure she’ll send us the help we need.’ As he manipulated the cook’s chest with greater vigour, relishing the resulting gasp of pain-tinged pleasure that flew from her lips, David’s round face gave a calculating smile.

His eyes had fallen upon the giant range in the centre of The Retreat’s antique kitchen. Then his gaze travelled to the table next to it. A huge, old-fashioned pottery jar of ginger powder, and another of brown sugar, sat awaiting the side-tracked cook’s attention.

For weeks, David had been contemplating how to impress the Fairtasia company delegation. He knew that the final securing of the contract he wanted from them so badly would depend on the outcome of the party The Retreat was hosting for them in a month’s time.

In order for the head of Fairtasia to sign on the dotted line, and make their business arrangement official, the evening would have to be unforgettable. Now, as he looked about him, David knew precisely what theme that party was going to take. And how fitting it would be.

‘Alisha.’

The venue’s cook jerked her head up hopefully at her employer’s use of her first name.

‘You may train to become The Retreat’s new submissive. Lady Tia can begin your lessons in between your domestic duties.’ David unzipped the fly of his trousers. As he freed his dick, he had to suppress a laugh as the girl eyed it hungrily. ‘You may also address me as David. I don’t like “sir”. I never have. Now suck me off.’

‘Yes, David.’

‘Good girl.’ Extracting his mobile from his pocket, David tapped in a number as the cook’s velvet mouth engulfed him.

The sucking of Alisha’s lips and tongue working around his length was the only sound in the granite room as David waited for his call to be picked up.

‘Ah, Fables Hotel? Could you put me through to Mrs Peters’ office, please …? Not there …? Please tell her that Mr Proctor has a proposition for her; and that time is of the essence.’

Pocketing his mobile, David tangled his fingers in his cook’s increasingly messed-up hair. Tilting his groin forward, admiring the way Alisha amended her position so she didn’t gag, but took him deeper, David asked, ‘Tell me, how much do you know about fairy tales …?’

Chapter One

The tick of the grandfather clock told Jess that it had been half an hour since the clipped edge to the manageress’s voice had requested her immediate presence in the Victorian study.

Fully clothed, stretched over the study’s large wooden desk, her hands out to the sides, her right cheek flat to the blotting paper-covered top, Fables’ resident submissive was no nearer discovering what Mrs Peters had wanted when she’d asked Jess to join her 30 minutes ago.

No cords or cuffs had been used to keep Jess in place. Nor was her mouth gagged or her peppermint eyes hidden with one of the manageress’ extensive collection of masks and blindfolds. Mrs Peters had told her submissive to remain precisely where she was. Jess was far too sensible not to obey. She also knew it was to her advantage to make sure that not an inch of her moved until she was instructed to; because that way her orgasm-dependant body might get the attention it constantly required sooner rather than later.

Unlike her body, Jess’s brain had proved hard to tame. As she lay there, her stomach muscles scrambling in a knot of erotic apprehension and expectation, her thoughts careered off on a journey of their own. A hundred possibilities about her immediate future flowed through her consciousness as Jess speculated on how her body might be used this time.

***

Miss Jess Sanders had worked at the five-storey Fables Hotel for six months now. Floors one to four of this popular establishment provided standard business and holiday accommodation. The fifth floor, however, catered exclusively for adults; adults who required very particular facilities.

Originally employed as the hotel’s booking clerk, it had been a considerable shock to Jess when, after only a week in her new job, Mrs Laura Peters had made it very clear that she intended to train her to become a member of her specialised top floor staff. And Mrs Peters was very difficult to say no to.

As Jess lay stretched across the desk, resisting the temptation to brush away a strand of red hair that had flopped from her fringe and fallen over her eyes, she remembered how the hotel’s overall manager, Mr Davis, had first informed her about Fables’ adult features. It had been stressed to her in no uncertain terms, that guests paid for the hotel’s accommodation and food only. It was not a prostitution or escort racket. Clients were paying for an incredibly expensive room; with a fantasy date thrown in.

Relaxing as best she could into the solid surface beneath her, using her reflective train of thought to deflect the mounting tremors dancing through her pussy, Jess considered what a good description of the service they provided that had been. The fifth floor was a place where extreme sexual fantasies came true. Somewhere anyone with the funds to pay could live out their secret desires in safety. A hit of pride at being part of that service, of providing a means by which their guests’ darkest lust-fuelled dreams could come true in perfect safety, sent Jess’s thoughts off at another tangent. Whose dreams will I make come true today, she wondered. How much will it hurt? An extra jolt of erotic anticipation hurtled directly to Jess’s clit, causing her to halt her graphic musings; knowing how easily her imagination could lead to her downfall.

Increasingly aware that Mrs Peters was sat in the wing-backed chair by the study door, silently watching her, Jess felt her nipples harden further. She forced herself back into the protective reflection of her recent past.

Jess’s surprise when she realised Mrs Peters didn’t have an administrative role, but a submissive one, in mind for her had taken weeks to sink in. Prior to arriving at Fables, her sex life had been almost non-existent. She certainly hadn’t experienced any submissive urges. It wouldn’t have occurred to Jess that she could gain sexual gratification from the world of dominance, obedience, and physical and emotional submission. Somehow, though, Mrs Peters had seen through Jess’s quiet, self-contained, shy persona. Spotting a buried supplicant potential laced with both intelligence and a level of empathy that was highly important when it came to serving their guests.

Swallowing without a sound, Jess lubricated her dry throat as she recalled how, in that very room, across the desk on which she currently lay with barely concealed impatience, she’d witnessed a fit and handsome young man beg for punishment from Miss Sarah, the hotel’s resident dominatrix. Jess had never seen anything like it. Witnessing the show had engendered an unexpected awakening within her; filling the new booking clerk with a corresponding wealth of confusion.

That visit to the Victorian study had been the first step on the road to an intense training session, which had taken Jess on a voyage of self-discovery, and helped her build up a stamina and inner strength she’d never dreamt she could possess. It had led to months of entertaining clients within the hotel’s specially designed fifth-floor rooms, which included a medical bay, schoolroom, dungeon and the mysterious White Room.

Conscious that her memories, rather than holding back her arousal, were now accelerating it, Jess hastily curtailed them. Closing her eyes in an attempt to calm the increasing anxiety that the calculated silent delay was engendering, she knew in her heart there was no other job she could do now. Her body had been conditioned to crave non-stop tangible attention, and it would never forgive her if she gave up her daily diet of sexual punishment and gratification.

Anyway, Jess couldn’t leave Miss Sarah.

Miss Sarah would never leave Fables.

This contentment with her working life didn’t mean Jess was relaxed in her occupation. A submissive never relaxed; a fact Jess had learnt the hard way only a few days after she’d been confirmed as a permanent employee on floor five. She winced at the memory as she lay there. Perhaps being in the study now was yet more punishment for the crime she’d unwittingly committed so early on in her hostess career? A professional slip she’d paid for many times and was never going to be allowed to forget. Jess shuddered against the table as the spectre of her mistake and her boss’s disdainful expression crept up on her.

Under the watchful eye of Mrs Peters, Jess had spent an hour crawling on all fours, pretending to be the personal lap dog of a gentleman who’d wanted her to act like a bitch on heat. Shy, but obedient, Jess has played her part well, ending the session by carrying out the client’s request for her to lick his cock until he came. She’d felt proud of herself as, with a blissed-out expression on his face, he’d come beneath her touch. Then she’d ruined it. The hour was up. The man had been dressing, when Jess stood up and addressed him as if she was his equal. The look on his and Mrs Peters’ face would haunt her for ever.

Just thinking about her error made Jess’s buttocks throb with recollection of the correction that had followed. It wasn’t the spanking that had stung her, though. It was Mrs Peters’ words. ‘You appear to be under the impression you are the perfect submissive, Miss Sanders. Perhaps Miss Sarah has misled you in this. There is no such thing as a perfect submissive. The term is a contraction in itself. You would do well to remember that.’

A knock on the study door bought Jess back to the present. She tensed into statue stillness, the hard, unyielding surface beneath her forgotten for a moment as she strained to hear what was going on out of her line of sight.

The sound of three pairs of feet walking into the room revealed to Jess that she wasn’t the only one Mrs Peters wanted to talk to.

With regal poise, her hands lodged on her hips over the dark green velvet dress she wore, the manageress moved behind the wooden desk upon which Jess was prostrated. Without having to be told, Mrs Peters’ partner, business assistant and artist, Sam Wheeler, took a seat on the red chaise longue to her left, making him the only person in Jess’s direct eye line. The fact he didn’t have his eyes lowered in deference to his woman informed Jess this was a staff meeting, not a training session. Any chastisement, therefore, was for her alone and not the group at large. Jess frantically thought back over the past few days. Had she done anything wrong? Or was this, as she had first suspected, Mrs Peters reminding her of her place?

From her limited viewpoint, Jess saw Lee Philips, the barman, receptionist, and occasional fifth floor assistant, pass before her and, as quietly as ever, prop himself up against the far wall.

That only left the final member of staff. The dominatrix, Miss Sarah. From the direction of her voice as she politely greeted her superior, Jess guessed she was sitting in the wing-backed chair her boss had so recently vacated.

Trying to deny the increase in her pulse rate, Jess remembered how afraid she’d been of Miss Sarah. The dominatrix’s tall, slim frame, the chestnut hair that framed her face and neck, her flawless porcelain skin, the unshakeable demeanour that belied she was capable of any emotion at all, were more than a little disturbing to someone as unworldly as Jess had been. Usually dressed in a corset, or some other garment that was so tight-fitting it gave the impression that, for Miss Sarah, breathing was an optional pastime, the dominatrix was an undeniably imposing figure.

The guests liked her because she radiated an air of authority. Without so much as raising an eyebrow, Miss Sarah’s expression suggested she was someone you couldn’t possibly disobey, thus taking away the guilt a guest might feel at wanting to have their backside whipped, or humbling themselves before another in the name of living out a fantasy. Their consciences could always fall back on the fact that Miss Sarah had made them do it. Miss Sarah had ordered them to. Which of course she had – but only because she knew they wanted her to. She could read a person’s need to be controlled every bit as clearly as Mrs Peters seemed to be able to read her staff’s thoughts before they’d even finished having them. Two skills that, even after six months of working with these women, unnerved Jess a great deal.

‘Good afternoon. Thank you all for coming. I will keep this brief.’ Mrs Peters’ shrewd eyes appraised her newest recruit as she spoke. ‘There is no reason to look so worried, Miss Sanders. Your beautiful behind is quite safe for the moment. You may sit upon the desk.’

Rising fast enough to be seen as obeying instantly, but not so fast as to make herself dizzy, Jess climbed onto the top of the antique desk as Mrs Peters had indicated. Sitting cross-legged in the very centre of its blotting paper-covered surface, so she could see her boss, but none of the other staff behind her, Jess experienced a sharp stab of disappointment that the spanking she’d assumed was coming had not taken place. At least, it hadn’t yet.

‘I have some news which requires the cooperation of you all.’ Mrs Peters didn’t move a muscle, yet Jess knew she was simultaneously looking at every person in the room. ‘Miss Sanders has, as ever, assumed her summoning here is because of a transgression which requires correction. In this instance, I am pleased to inform you that the complete opposite is true.’

Jess did her best to keep her facial expression blank, but her eyes almost betrayed her.

‘I’m not sure if that’s relief or disappointment in those forever dilated eyes of yours, Miss Sanders.’

Not daring to peer round to see her colleagues’ faces, Jess kept quiet. The dampening of her knickers after being made to wait for something that wasn’t going to happen mutely answered Mrs Peters’ query for her as the manageress crept a single, enquiring digit between her legs.

Saying nothing about her submissive’s arousal, Mrs Peters gathered her thick, russet hair into a high ponytail, and strolled around the historically accurate room, the skirt of her velvet dress rustling as she did so. ‘I believe you have all, in one capacity or another, entertained one of our regular guests, Mr David Proctor.’

Jess’s throat went from dry to dehydrated. All of the visitors to the fifth floor were demanding, especially of her, but David Proctor was the only one she seriously disliked. This dislike wasn’t because his tastes were harsh, or the demands he made were more painful, or more humiliating, than those of the others. He was so ambitiously single-minded that she couldn’t trust him to stick to the rules of safety. Proctor gave off an air that he knew more about what was going on at Fables than anyone else, including the staff. He could only be described as average in his appearance, but he was outstandingly influential, and the only man Jess had ever met who had no fear of Mrs Peters. Nor could Mrs Peters influence him like she could other guests.

Mr David Proctor frightened Jess.

‘David is, as is clear from the amount of money he spends here, a very wealthy businessman. And –’ Mrs Peters paused. For the briefest second Jess thought perhaps her boss didn’t completely approve of what she was about to say, before her innate self-control took over ‘– he has decided to embark upon a new venture. An investment; an incentive if you like. Something extra to ensure his clients and business associates continue to work with him.’

Foreboding spread over Jess like a tidal wave. Her lower limbs were beginning to numb from staying in a cross-legged position, and she could feel prickles of nervous perspiration dot the back of her neck. Nothing that involved David Proctor could be good news.

A hush had fallen on the study. It had been quiet anyway. Not even Miss Sarah would have the nerve to stop Laura Peters in mid-announcement. However, the calibre of the communal listening had gone from being wary to tangibly tense. Jess could almost taste the apprehension filling the study. She wished it didn’t arouse her quite so much.

Mrs Peters swept back to the desk. Her right palm stroked Jess’s breasts through her thin cotton blouse. ‘This investment involves the purchase of a business premises where fantasies can be indulged in without judgement, or the need for personal justification. In short, David is looking to recreate exactly what we do here at Fables.’

Her piercing jade eyes levelled on the tips of her fingers as they crossed Jess’s shirt, ‘An idea which obviously appeals to you, Miss Sanders, if the peaked state of you nipples is anything to go by.’

Jess’s checks flushed. Her generous chest, the feature which, beyond her natural deference, had first attracted her to Mrs Peters’ attention, was nudging against the fabric of her bra and shirt with no regard for the consequences.

‘Take your top off, girl.’

Even after six months working for the woman, Jess couldn’t prevent her hands from shaking as Mrs Peters added, ‘Then sit on your hands. It will make it less tempting for you to let your fingers stray without permission.’

Feeling only a glimmer of humiliation, rather than the full-on shame that would have engulfed her in the early days of her training, Jess complied. Cursing her overactive brain, which had already leapt ahead to the part in the proceedings where Mrs Peters ordered one of the men to fuck her, Jess wished she’d been instructed to take her panties off as well as her top. They were so wet that they were sticking to her crotch, making it increasingly difficult not to squirm as she sat in her yoga-type pose.

Having placed Jess into a more agreeably visual position, Laura Peters paid little heed to her as she went on, ‘You will all appreciate, I hope, that we should be extremely flattered here at Fables. Not only is our work considered worthy of imitation, but David has asked for our express assistance in improving his new establishment.’

The temperature of the study was so high it had been bordering on stuffy, but goosepimples of cold spotted Jess’s naked arms. Whatever her boss was about to say, she was sure she didn’t want to hear it.

Not for the first time, she was grateful for all the exercise sessions Miss Sarah had forced her to endure. They had taught Jess a great amount of self-discipline, and as a result she’d developed the stamina and posture required to be motionless for long periods of time. Put through her paces three times a week, naked, often with a love ball or butt-plug in place, every single lesson had been pure torture at first. Nowadays the sessions had taken on a more personal dimension. Miss Sarah claimed that ending their fitness routine in a bout of mutual pleasure provided them with an excellent way of releasing the tensions of the day. Jess looked forward to these sessions far more than she would dare admit – even to herself.

The submissive wrenched her concentration back to what Mrs Peters was saying. ‘The location of this new resort is a secret, but in order to ensure the calibre of his staff is as, and I am proud to quote Mr Proctor here, “as excellent, obedient, and inventive as those of the Fables Fifth Floor”, he has requested that we loan him two members of staff to help train his fledging team.’

If the atmosphere had been tense before, it was positively bristling with static now. No one moved. Jess wasn’t sure anyone was even breathing. One silent thought occupied the study. Please don’t let one of them be me.

The minute’s silence ended with a solo round of applause from Mrs Peters. ‘Again you all prove that you are worthy of your places on the fifth floor. I can’t imagine that any of you would want to leave, and yet not one of you so much as raised an eyebrow on the outside. Congratulations. I realise I rarely share my pride in your work, but on this occasion it seems fitting.’ Far from feeling reassured, Jess was now really worried. Mrs Peters never said well done without there being a price to pay.

Beginning to pace again, Mrs Peters ran a proprietorial hand over the face of each member of her workforce, until she reached Jess. Flicking a finger across her sub’s right nipple, she nodded in approval. Although her clear green eyes had flared, Jess’s body didn’t even twitch. Mrs Peters paused, surveying the whole room as she spoke. ‘I trust that for the two-week period you’ll be seconded into the care of Mr Proctor, you will both continue to do yourselves and Fables proud.’

Finally, when the tension that had smothered the room had become too much to take, Sam took a chance. ‘So, which of us are to leave and, more to the point, who will fill their positions here while they are away? As you rightly say, our reputation for service is excellent, why would we risk it for a toad like Proctor?’

Although her eyes narrowed, Laura Peters didn’t admonish Sam for speaking out of turn, a fact that made Jess’s heart plummet further. If Mrs Peters had told him off, humbled him before everybody, then Jess could have safely assumed this was an elaborate exercise to see how they’d cope with such news. Now she was sure this wasn’t something her boss had made up. This was actually happening, and two of them were about to be loaned out to a man she couldn’t stand, and did not trust.

‘The gap here will be filled by Lee taking on extra work.’

Jess heard Lee exhale as he sagged in relief against the William Morris wallpaper. Meanwhile, her own muscles knotted further and a wave of nausea swam up her throat. If Lee was staying that could only mean one thing …

Mrs Peters continued, ‘Of course, I will take on more work myself.’

That means it has to be a combination of myself and either Miss Sarah or Sam … Jess felt sick. At Fables she was safe. Here, if she did not want to do what a guest wished her to do, then she could get help, she could walk out, she could simply leave. But she didn’t even know where this new place was. What if it was abroad, what if …?

Jess’s wildly rampaging thoughts were interrupted by Mrs Peters. ‘As I know you all to be intelligent individuals, you’ll have worked out that it will be Miss Sanders and Miss Sarah who are to leave us for a while.’

Jess’s hands slipped out from beneath her. Only self defence kept her lips from protesting.

‘May I ask a question, madam?’ Miss Sarah broke her previous silence.

‘I’m afraid not.’ Mrs Peters, who had unnerved Jess further by not telling her off for shifting the position of her arms without permission, said, ‘I wish you and Miss Sanders to go and pack. You are being collected by David’s associate in three hours’ time. In one hour I wish you to be standing in the White Room ready to leave. There you will receive a suitable send-off. You are both dismissed. I suggest you don’t waste your hour on unnecessary conversation.’

Chapter Two

Laura sat at the desk and looked at Sam. He was reclining upon the chaise lounge, his long legs stretched out before him in a far more relaxed pose than he’d adopted during her announcement. ‘You questioned me in front of the staff.’

He met her cut-glass gaze. Sam had known she wouldn’t thank him for speaking out, but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to her agreement to help Proctor than just being flattered by his kind words.

‘I did.’ Sam considered the consequences of continuing and carried on regardless. ‘If you’re about to ask me if I think you’ve made the right decision to lend him your key team members, then you may be disappointed by my answer.’

‘Come here.’ Laura reached out a hand.

Not fooled by what anybody else would have seen as a conciliatory gesture, the artist immediately rose and took her palm, pulling his lover to her feet as he did so. Not many women were as tall as he was, but then not many women were like Laura Peters in any way at all.

Standing less than an inch from her, he could feel the tug at his crotch as his eyes fell on the gorgeous bust currently trussed under velvet. Sam knew better than to either mention how much he wanted to touch her chest, or act on his physical reaction to it. That was not his decision to make.

When he had given up his graphic design business to work as a freelance artist and be Laura’s partner, the understanding had been very clear. She was in charge of everything except his art – including him. Sam Wheeler was her sounding board, her platform for ideas, the one she practised on and experimented with. He was the only one who got to see the occasional glimpse of Laura Peters the woman, not the mistress of the fifth floor. Therefore it disturbed him that, with a decision as big as this, Laura had said not one word.

Scraping a hand through his short, spiked hair, the manageress made sure her nails made their presence felt. ‘I am well aware that you think I’ve made a bad call in agreeing to lend anyone to Proctor, let alone my two best workers, but you will have to trust that I have my reasons. I was only being polite when I asked how you think they took the news.’

Picking up Sam’s hands, she placed them purposefully behind his back and undid his belt.

Refraining from commenting on what she was doing, Sam replied, ‘If you were merely being polite, then you probably aren’t interested in my opinion. However, as you have politely asked, I think Miss Sarah will cope well. She won’t like it, but she will accept it. Miss Sanders, well …’ His breath snagged in his throat as Laura folded back the top of his trousers and freed his erection from the confinement of his boxers. Wrapping it in her palm, she let the warmth of her body flow into the artist, so he had to work hard to keep talking. ‘I think she is genuinely afraid, and probably still believes she has displeased you in some way, even though you have said otherwise.’

Keeping her hand motionless, relishing the swell of his cock as it reacted to her inactivity, Laura held Sam’s stare. ‘You may well be correct. Now, tell me, is everything you require in the White Room ready?’

Accepting the change of subject, Sam said, ‘Lee set my equipment up earlier. I assume you have sent him to greet our guest?’

Privately impressed at the lack of expression in Sam’s eyes, which belied exactly how badly she knew he wanted her to do more than hold his shaft, Laura inclined her head. ‘Lee is to take David’s representative to my office. I thought I should escort this visitor to the White Room myself.’

A tiny flicker in Sam’s gaze told Laura that he thought this unusual as well. It wasn’t like her to do something that she could order a minion to do for her. Storing away the fact he was querying her again for later, Laura let go of her lover’s dick. ‘Strip.’

Sam managed to hold in the groan that shot up his throat as she released him, but a faint, strangled grunt still escaped the edges of his clamped lips as he peeled off his clothes. He tried not to think about how good it would feel if his length was embraced within his companion’s expert mouth, or deep within her pussy. He failed.

Stepping away from him, Laura gathered up her skirt in one hand, lifting it a little off the floor to make walking easier. ‘I will see you in Room 54 in ten minutes.’

‘What? But …’ Like Jess before him, Laura had built Sam up and left him hanging.

‘Don’t even think about putting those clothes back on, Mr Wheeler. I think your role in the sending-off party will be achieved so much better if you’re naked.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Laura, we’ve already discussed it and agreed what’s going to happen. I was going to come along and observe, then …’

‘I changed my mind.’

***

Jess knew she shouldn’t be wasting time, but visions of her first meeting with David Proctor in the dungeon, many months ago now, were persistently clattering around her head. It had been the one and only time Mrs Peters had ordered her to dominate a client, - and it had been a disaster.

David had required Jess to wear the incongruous combination of a business suit with a medieval style leather chastity belt beneath, while she spanked him until he pleaded with her to stop. But as she had gingerly paddled his buttocks, everything about her new life had hit her in a rush of confused anger. She’d just begun to accept her role as a submissive, so being forced to swap sides had thrown her completely. Jess’s brain had switched off and David’s instructions to halt his beating had fallen on deaf ears. She’d kept hitting him until his buttocks were raw. Resentment for all she’d been put through in the previous weeks had exploded inside her, as it wrestled with the knowledge that she’d loved every single minute.

The cruel punishment Jess had received the second she’d come to her senses and ceased her out of control spanking had proved that David may occasionally act like a submissive, but he was only willing to adopt that position on his terms. The whole thing had been an act; a favour to Mrs Peters to assist in Jess’s bizarre training routine.

With feelings of uncertainty crowding her head, Jess couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being cut adrift, and her world was about to be tilted on its axis once again. Despite what her boss had said she was convinced she must have done something wrong to be sent away in the care of a man she hated.

Perhaps I was right in the first place, she thought, a vague glimmer of hope pushing its way through the chaos of her imagination. Maybe this was yet another lesson to ensure she didn’t forget her place, and after she’d experienced a pretend send-off, she’d be told it was a test, and she and Miss Sarah weren’t going anywhere after all. It wouldn’t have been the first time Mrs Peters had tricked her in that way.

Jess felt an almost childish need to be near the reassuring presence of her colleague. She desperately hoped Miss Sarah would take charge and tell her what to do.

***

She had never knocked on Miss Sarah’s door uninvited before. She’d been in the dominatrix’s private suite on many occasions, but only by request or under orders.

Miss Sarah’s voice, without a trace of a wobble, called out, ‘Come in, Miss Sanders,’ the moment Jess’s knuckles had softly hit her bedroom door.

Crossing the threshold into her mistress’s room, she shyly asked, ‘How did you know it was me, ma’am?’

‘Who else would it be at a time like this?’ Miss Sarah didn’t look up at her visitor, but continued to sort neatly stacked underwear into the suitcase upon her double bed.

Jess watched as minute squares of silk and satin were positioned within the luggage. Miss Sarah really was packing. Her hope that this was a joke evaporated. ‘Did you know this was going to happen?’

The dominatrix spun on the soles of her Victorian boots, her dress rustling in a crunch of expensive material. ‘You forget yourself Miss Sanders.’

Immediately lowering her eyes, Jess experienced a frisson of excitement. Her body had been left hanging with unsatisfied want by Mrs Peters. Now, in the face of Miss Sarah’s narrow, cat-like eyes, Jess became all too aware of her flesh’s requirement for constant stimulation. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’

‘In this instance you are forgiven.’ The dominatrix continued with her packing. ‘I have no doubt you are feeling unsettled; however, I suggest you quickly go and gather together the belongings you’ll require for a few weeks away.’

‘But?’

‘Miss Sanders!’ Miss Sarah snapped out her words with an air of finality that Jess knew better than to ignore. ‘We have little time. I know no more than you do. And as we have no idea if we are going abroad or remaining inland, I suggest you add your passport to your supplies.’

Miss Sarah unhooked a row of corsets from her closet and, in a gentler tone, added, ‘I honestly have no idea what’s going on Jess. I confess any scheme involving Fables’ most demanding client, especially as he appears to have been able to persuade Mrs Peters do something I suspect she doesn’t completely want to do, makes me suspicious. However, we will find out in 45 minutes. Now, go and pack or Mrs Peters will send you away in the clothes you’re wearing and nothing else.’

With a quick curtsey, Jess ran to her private bedroom. Devoid of the reassurance she’d hoped for, and mindful that Miss Sarah was probably right when she said Mrs Peters wouldn’t hesitate to send her to her destination completely naked if necessary, she dragged her oversized holdall from under the bed.

The best plan she could think of to face this situation was to work without thinking, to adopt a level of reckless denial. Tidiness was going to have to go by the board.

Scooping up as many knickers, bras, stockings and suspender belts as she could in a single armful, Jess dumped them in the bag along with her passport. These were followed by four tops, two skirts, some jeans, and a chunky jumper she kept purely for comfort wear during her rare days off.

As her toiletries bag was far too small to contain all her requirements for a fortnight away, Jess swept the entire contents of her bathroom shelf into a plastic carrier bag and dumped it on top of her clothing. Pulling on her boots, a fitted cardigan, and a short-waisted leather jacket, Jess considered herself dressed for whatever journey she was about to go on. Stuffing her hairdryer, straighteners and a pair of black kitten-heeled shoes into her bag, it occurred to Jess that if she was going to another hotel, she might well need her gym kit, and quite possibly a swimming costume, so she grabbed them as well.

Operating fast, her heart thumping, still not daring to consider where she was going, or who might be there beyond David Proctor, Jess glanced at her watch. Her haphazard packing style meant she had 15 minutes left.

Lingering in her bedroom doorway, scanning an eye around the small suite, Jess looked fondly at the neatly made bed that had been her refuge within the hotel. It was the only place where she could be Jess Sanders, the 25-year-old redhead with a pliant, curvy figure and shy but dry sense of humour, rather than Jess the submissive who did whatever anyone and everyone told her to do. The room was her bolthole; she’d always been grateful for it. There had been times when Jess had wished she’d had company in her bed, but only fleetingly. It was vital to her sanity to have somewhere to enjoy some privacy. She began to speculate about where she was going. Would she have such a place for solitude there? Was she really going to be allowed to come back? She shook her head sharply. Thinking was definitely a bad idea.

Jess was about to close the door when she thought of something she might miss while she was away. Returning to her top drawer and rummaging a hand beneath her remaining shirts, Jess fished out a solid glass dildo and a pocket vibrator. If David Proctor is adopting similar policies to Mrs Peters, she thought, I expect I’m going to need these.

Resisting the urge to give her toys a flourish before she left, resolving to be every bit as pragmatic as Miss Sarah about the situation that had been thrust upon them, she carried her bag to the White Room.

***

The contents of Room 54 – the White Room – were never disclosed to the guests. It was used for those seasoned visitors who’d experienced the joys and horrors of life in Rooms 50 to 53, and were after an element of surprise.

The first time she had visited this secret room, Jess had been presented with her final challenge prior to permanent employment with the fifth floor team. That experience, more than any other, had shown her once and for all that no other life would do for her now.

The second time she’d been in Room 54 there was no trace of the equipment she had used before. Every item in the room was changed at frequent intervals to keep things fresh for the guests and staff alike.

With her pulse thumping so fiercely in her veins that she could feel it threading through the palm of her hand, Jess pushed open the door. In spite of being early, she was the still the last to arrive. Master Lee Philips was hovering impatiently inside the door. With a courteous nod, he snatched Jess’s bag, picked up Miss Sarah’s suitcase, and left with a speed that indicated how keen he was to get back again.

Jess blinked into the stark light of the room. No matter how many times she visited this space, the total whiteness of its floor, ceiling and walls always made her eyes water. It was like walking into an unreal space, where time didn’t exist.

Once Jess’s vision had acclimatised, her eyes were drawn to Sam. Standing in the corner opposite the door, he was naked from head to toe. His cock looked as though it had been on the receiving end of Mrs Peters’ deft touch, but hadn’t been allowed any release. The sight of his condition brought Jess’s craving for sex, which had been diluted by the shock of the afternoon’s revelations, hurtling back to the surface. She began to regret having put on her tight-fitting travelling jumper and jacket, for her chest felt as if it was complying with Miss Sarah’s theory that female breasts increased in size by at least 20 per cent whenever they were aroused.

Sam was standing next to his easel, upon which was a large canvas. It displayed a charcoal drawing of a naked woman, her arms held out at her sides, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a howl that looked so real it could almost be heard.

Jess tore her eyes from the artwork. It was her.

Mrs Peter’s lover had sketched and painted Jess many times since his arrival at Fables, but this was an image she hadn’t seen before. Unsure if she was disturbed or stimulated by the picture’s presence, Jess was sure, however, that she was unsettled by the eyes of the unknown man who sat on one of three white wooden chairs placed side by side along the opposite wall of the room.

She’d built herself up to face David Proctor, and although she didn’t like him, Jess had encountered him enough times to know that she could survive his games in front of her colleagues. One glance at this new gentleman told her he was a very different proposition.

Tall and thickset, his dark skin shone against the stark plainness of the white wall, somehow enhancing its mouth-watering lustre. His cropped black hair framed his face precisely; his eyes, the colour of which was lost beneath incredibly long eyelashes, were narrowed as if he was suspicious of something. He was not smiling.


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