Meeting Her Master (2 page)

“She
’
s been so out of control since her mother left. Damn it, Dahlia.” The old man plopped on the chair on the far side of the girl. “Can I get you anything, Blake? A brandy?”

“No, thanks. I don
’
t drink. I gotta run, though. I have some buyers coming in the morning to look at my new foals. Here
’
s my card. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help. Breaks my heart when I see kids go in this direction.”

“I know,” the father said sadly. “I foolishly tried to buy her cooperation and that did no good. Therapy isn
’
t working either so, unless you run a babysitting service for wayward girls, I can
’
t think of anything.”

“
Well,
” Blake tapped his chin, “she might benefit from doing a little hard work. I own and operate Cloverleaf Stables and could always use some help.”

“Yeah, I recall Tim mentioning that you did that. Good kid, by the way. Said you raised him after your folks passed.”

“They were pretty old when he came along. I was nine when he was born and he was my shadow. He turned out well,” Blake said proudly.

“That he did. He is very impressive. I don
’
t know what I would do without him. You know, this girl hasn
’
t done a lick of work her entire life. Also my fault. I doubt she would be very helpful with ranch work,” Mr. Covington said, considering Blake
’
s offer. “And she has school to finish.”

“I am certain I could find a way to encourage a positive change. Think about it and get back to me. Here are her car keys and purse. I am assuming her vehicle is in the lot at
Over The Barrel
.”

Mr. Covington groaned. “Not there again. Let me think about it. It seems that a little hard work is exactly what she needs.”

Three days later, Dahlia found herself standing in the courtyard of Blake
’
s custom-built hacienda, suitcase in hand and scowl on her face. She had been well informed by her father that arrangements had been made with Blake, and that all financial support would cease until she showed some positive change in her life.

Dahlia’
s eyes widened as an older Hispanic woman answered the door. She was dressed in English riding gear and carried a long crop in her hand.

“Dahlia Covington! Welcome to the Cloverleaf. I am Mrs. Alonso, the house manager. Please, come in.”

“Since when do maids dress like this?”

The crop touched the young woman
’
s chin as Mrs. Alonso drew her handsome face close to Dahlia
’
s. “I am not a maid. I am second in command of the Cloverleaf and your new boss, young lady. We exercise manners and etiquette in Mr. Turner
’
s home and in his presence. It would behoove you to remember that you are an employee here. Not a guest. Pick up your suitcase and follow me.”

“There must be some mistake. My father said…”

“…That you will be earning your keep while also bringing up your grades. We will be changing your major to something other than drunken brawls, frivolous spending, and all-around rudeness. Do you remember me, Dahlia?” A deep voice rattled across the room.

“
Master Blake,
” Mrs. Alonso dropped to one knee. “I was not expecting you.”

“Clearly.” Blake eyed the woman
’
s attire distastefully. “Attend to your wardrobe and then have linens and uniforms brought over to the Transition room. I will see to Miss Covington
’s welcome.
”

“
Yes, sir. By your leave, Master?
” Mrs. Alonso asked. Blake waved her off and watched as she quickly departed.

“What the fuck was that about? You make your staff bow? What was wrong with her clothes?” Dahlia commented.

“My house staff is unique. In addition, uniforms are required during working hours. Please follow me to your room.”

“Despite what my father thinks, this whole work thing is not necessary,” Dahlia said, rolling her suitcase behind her as she followed Blake down the tiled corridor and toward the private cottages behind the main house.

“From what I witnessed the other night, this ‘work thing
’
is long overdue. This is where you will be staying for the time being.” He opened the door and stepped aside.

Dahlia stared, open-mouthed. “You want me to stay here? It looks like a janitor
’
s closet!”

“It is a janitor
’
s closet and until you earn the privilege of a regular room, this is your home. There is a cot in the corner, a rack to hang your uniforms, and a chest to keep your personal belongings,” Blake announced. “The bathroom is in that cottage over there and you will be expected to clean up after yourself.”

“Oh, my God…”

“Inspections are held at five every morning. You are to be dressed and prepared to work, and your room is to be tidy.”

“Five? Like before the sun comes up? Are you crazy?”

“Failure to comply with my house rules is dealt with severely,” Blake continued. “First offense is handled by Mrs. Alonso. After that, I am summoned to handle things. Trust me when I tell you that you want to avoid my interference.”

“What about classes? I am taking extended studies classes during the summer and…”

“I have your class schedule in my office. There is plenty of time for you to complete your morning chores before you need to leave for school. Either Mrs. Alonso or myself will take you and pick you up. You will be following a study schedule when you return home and participating in evening cleanup. You will be assigned chores on Saturday, and Sunday is your day off. I highly recommend you use that time for extra studying and homework.”

“This is ridiculous! I am an adult and…”

“Have shown nothing but reckless, immature behavior. I will forewarn you, Miss Dahlia, that I am a hard taskmaster. I expect perfection and am unwavering when it comes to responsibilities.”

“What if I refuse? Daddy will not allow me to be thrown out on the street.”

“Put your suitcase in that corner, Dahlia. Now follow me.”

Dahlia frowned as she scurried to keep abreast of his long strides. He led her to a magnificent, single-story adobe structure behind the cottages. Yucca, cactus, and a large variety of succulents lined the gravel path that led to the large, wooden door hinged with wrought iron.

Dahlia stood silently as he removed a key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. The door groaned as he shouldered it open. Dahlia stepped inside, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes scanned the large room. In the center, suspended from the ceiling, was a large wooden X adorned with large eyehooks, several footrests, straps, and an intricate pulley system.

“I
’
ve never seen a real saltire before,” Dahlia whispered, running her fingers along the smooth edges. “It
’s beautiful.
”

Blake raised his eyebrows. “What? No fear?! This is a professional dungeon, Dahlia. A place of pain and repentance.”

“It is my dream. My deepest need,” Dahlia responded, running both her hands over the spanking bench. “Will you beat me if I don
’
t cooperate with your rules?” she asked hopefully.

“Are you trying to convince me that you are a masochist? You get off on pain?” he asked as she lifted a cane off the implement rack and struck it sharply against her own thigh. She quickly returned it and replaced it with a short leather strap.

“My first therapist said I was wired ‘wrong,
’”
she giggled, venturing to the stocks and slipping her head and wrists between the padded planks.

“Wrong or differently?”

“He specifically used the term
wrong
. Daddy sent me to him after I was busted stabbing myself with a pin. He put me on drugs to ‘curb my desires.
’
They didn
’
t work,” Dahlia grinned. “Daddy then sent me to another therapist who specialized in alternative lifestyles. She convinced me to stop self-inflicting and explore my needs. Come spank me, Blake. I have been a bad girl, you know.”

“You certainly waste no time in making demands, do you? I have been a master for eighteen years and I have never encountered someone quite like you,” Blake commented, his voice thick with both arousal and sadness. “Your punishments will not be for pleasure, Dahlia. And certainly not because you demand them. You would have been better off not sharing your desires so quickly. You have given me a means to truly discipline you.”

“Wait a minute! Are you saying you won
’
t spank me? How sadistic can you be?”

“You would be surprised, my dear,” Blake chuckled, securing the stock bar and locking her in place. He ran his hand down her back and cupped her firm bottom in his large hand. “We can work out a reward system though. Spanking for your cooperation…”

“But that would mean I actually did some real work around here!”

“Yes, and brought your grades up. Would you like me to spank you? To take your jeans down and leave them at your ankles?” His hands ran down the length of her long, slender legs, then up the inside while forcing her to spread her legs. “Does pulling your panties past your bottom and leaving these cheeks defenseless excite you?”

“Yes. It all excites me. Please.”

“Do I have your permission to direct you as I see fit?”

“
Yes! Just don’
t tease me,” Dahlia begged, wiggling her bottom.

“I
’
m a complete stranger to you. Why would you allow me this control? Don
’
t you have any self-preservation instincts?”

“No. I only want what I want. How I get it doesn
’
t matter.”

Blake shook his head, seemingly in genuine concern. “Let
’
s make a deal. I will provide you with what you need under the condition that you do not seek relief from any strangers. I also want the names and addresses of any play partners you have. You are never to lie to me about where you have been, either. I do not want to have to worry about your safety.”

“Are you telling me that if I agree, you will play with me as hard as I want?”

“Within reason. We will explore your limits.”

Dahlia wobbled as shivers pricked her skin. His low, solid voice vibrated against her protruding buttocks and she moaned. He lifted a slender rattan cane from the implement rack and made a swishing sound in the air.

“Are you a virgin?” he asked bluntly, tracing the backs of her knees with the tip of the instrument.

“Not really. I have lots of toys that I have played with,” Dahlia forced out, her nipples pebbling painfully as her anticipation grew. She felt the long stick rest across the center of her bottom.

“Have you ever been caned before?”

“No. Please, do it!” Dahlia begged, wiggling her backend frantically.

“Why should I? You have done nothing to earn this pleasure, young lady.”

“You motherfucker!”

“Let me explain something.” Blake walked around to calmly look into her angry face. “No one has the power to provoke me. I have some personal quirks that I hold to. My personal limits include slapping faces or non-scripted rape, nor will I allow any bloodlettings to occur. While you are here, you will not be stabbing, cutting, or mutilating yourself in any manner. I can give you the pain you need without harm, but that will only happen when I see you earn it. You will be trained to obey as well as to take pride in the work you do. Got it so far?”

“That is hypocritical, don
’
t you think? You will beat me with a cane but won
’
t slap my face. It makes no sense. Maybe I want my face slapped.”

“It is a personal choice I have made and one I will not deter from. I don
’
t care how
much you like it, you will not receive that from me. As for making sense to you, it
does not need to since it is my own boundary.”

“You know, it is my body and…”

“You abide by my house rules or you move back in with your father. He has made it clear that you will be penniless if you quit this opportunity. Your choice. Comply and earn pleasure or not.”

“You are a beast. How do I know you aren
’
t just teasing me?”

“You don
’
t, which makes it even more enjoyable for me. I am accustomed to dealing with submissives. Men and women who simply want to please their master. You are a hedonist, and, as such, care only about your own needs and desires. I will change that.”

“You are awfully sure of yourself, Blake Turner. What if I have no desire to change?”

“You will after you get a taste of my skills with a cane and a whip,” Blake assured her as he resumed his circling around her body. He drew back his arm and, with an angry hiss, slashed the cane across the crowns of her buttocks.

Dahlia jerked her head up in surprise as the burn cut through her. “That fucking hurts!” she shouted, unable to shimmy out from the hold of the stocks. Blake chuckled, aimed, and sliced a second and third stroke to her sit spots. She screamed, her backend dancing to escape another stroke.

“Do you want some more?” he asked, running his hand down her back again.

“No! Not with that horrid thing. Use something else!” Dahlia demanded.

“Somehow, I am finding it hard to believe you are bothered by this. Let
’
s see the damage,” Blake said, skimming her jeans and panties down to allow him full access to her pale bottom. “
Not even pink. Let’
s see how your skin takes direct contact.”

“No way! Let me get high first!”

“There will be no drug or alcohol use in this house. Where did your bravado go, little girl?”

“Let me gooooo. Please?” Dahlia begged, stunned by the discovery that she had no tolerance to the pain she believed that she desired.

“Are you finding that fantasy is so much more enjoyable than reality, Dahlia?” Blake began tapping the cane repeatedly against her skin, his wrist relaxed as he drummed the implement against her bottom, thighs, and down to the backs of her knees. Dahlia groaned, projecting her body toward him in demand for more. He chuckled, “You like the cane when I use it like this, don
’
t you? Let
’
s go a bit harder. This technique is called tapping.”