The training of Ophelia (Masters of the Mansion Series) (8 page)

Ophelia

I awoke to bright sunlight streaming through the large picture frame window and the sound of landscapers perfecting the grounds. I looked over to view slave Selena standing in the pose that the slaves stood in; when awaiting direction.

“Your coffee is here and your bath is run, Miss Ophelia.”

“Just hand me the coffee, Selena. I am brushing my teeth and finishing this article today with any luck,” I muttered, “I will be sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

It was time to finish this article and get on with my life, sans (without) Richard.

“As you wish, Miss Ophelia.”

Master Richard Baron

           Master Richard sat eying Master William as he spoke.

“I’m not shocked, I never saw Barbie as slave material anyway. I’m sure that all of her confidentiality clauses and paperwork are up to par.”

“Absolutely, they are legal and air tight; so that the rumors and speculations become nothing more than just that, rumors and speculation.”

Master
William smiled a sadistic smile, there will be the standard ‘departure lecture;’ on the woes of those who have tried to make trouble for
The Mansion
.

“
Very well,” Master Richard said, turning his attention back to work. Master William took this as his cue to exit and rose leaving the office.

The Mansion had seen more than its share of disgruntled women; women who had come in believing that they were going to be
the one
. They, in their minds, were going to be the one woman that was different.

T
hey would come and be adored. One of the Master’s would be smitten with them and they would have their place of royalty and prestige in the BDSM community.

Or so
…… they fantasized…… But being a slave was not about royalty. It was not some
cool thing
to do. It wasn’t a
fashion statement
to wear a collar and it most certainly was not a way to try and get in with the upper echelon of the BDSM community.

Barbie was nothing more than another spoiled little princess
, who used her looks and manipulation tactics to be the Alpha female wherever she ventured.

Here at
The Mansion
that was not—nor would it ever be the case.

The Mansion had seen more than its f
air share of women such as this—women who just did NOT
get it
. They had no understanding of the ‘heart’ of a slave. Being a slave was not something that you did, it was literally who you were. It was a part of your being. It was the very core of your being; the essence of who you were. And to disrespect the calling of slavery by attempts of
topping from the bottom
was simply unacceptable.

It was
not only unacceptable—it was downright disrespectful. It was disrespectful to the Masters and disrespectful to the very essence of
The Mansion
and all that it stood for.

Generations of Masters and Mistresses
, had walked these hallways and corridors. They had been faithful to keep the secret code of the ‘
The Mansion’
. There was strict and regimented protocol within these walls.

The
re was history here. The blood, sweat, and tears, of the hierarchy were within the corridors of this sacred place. You either
got it
or you didn’t; it was just……. that……….. simple……

Barbie had taken the time and precious resources of the Masters and Mistresses and she had wasted it; as if it were nothing. That time and those resources—that wisdom and that knowledge—could have been spent on a worthy slave, one whom was serious about the calling therein.

This was just one of the many reasons that applicants were screened
so rigidly.

The
Masters had seen it all before and as common as it was for slaves such as Barbie to leave, there would still be grief and heavy hearts about how misunderstood
The Mansion
could be by outsiders.

There was a love in the heart of the Masters and Mistresses for this royal palace.

Yes…….these walls definitely held much more than mortar and clay. They held the souls of the faithful who had gone before. Generations of faithful Masters and Mistresses, who had answered the high calling of
The Mansion
and all that it stood for…
 

Master Richard Baron

Master Richard Baron sat eyeing his slave Selena. She stood with her elbows bent and her arms folded and crossed behind her; looking straight ahead. “Permission to speak, Master.”

“Yes
Selena, by all means, fill me in.”

Selena was one of the slaves that took her calling very seriously. Her application had been excepted by the Masters here and she had
been shipped from a war torn country in Central America.

She had literally been saved from
imminent death and she had no intentions of ever leaving
The Mansion
. She would die here in service to Master Richard Baron. Silly things like whom he fucked, loved, or owned, were none of her concern, she was here for one purpose and that was to please her Master. slave Selena, took TPE to a whole new level.

Master Richard Baron eyed his slave
, “You may relax and look at me as you are speaking, Selena.”

“Yes Master, whatever pleases my Mas
ter, Sir. Your guest has stated that she will be leaving tonight.”

“Oh
, she has—has she?”

“Yes Master,
she stated that her article would be completed today and that she would be returning to her dwelling.”

“Thank you Selena. Y
ou have done very well. You are a worthy slave and any man would be blessed to have you. But you are my slave.”

Master Richard look
ed up to view a tear in slave Selena’s eye; she lived to hear words like that. Master Richard loved his slave and took very good care of her. She would be his property until the day that she died.

He loved her,
he was not ‘in love’ with her, but then again, ‘love,’ was not what the Master/slave dynamic was about, and only those that were privy to the lifestyle could understand the depth of that dynamic…

Master Richard Baron

“You are staring Richard.” I stated, after five minutes of him being seated in the chair staring at me had passed.

I looked over to view him with his fingers behind his neck and his long legs outstretched in front of him as he toyed with a toothpick in his mouth.

This would be so much easier, if he did not look so damn good.

“So you were just going to leave
, with no good bye, nothing.”

“You are being melodramatic about this
, don’t you think?”

“No
, I am using the insight that I have on you. You are scared and now you are running away.”

I sat my laptop to the side and glared at him. “Richard, I would say that I have done quite well
, considering the life altering things that I have been privy to the last week. I mean really Richard, what was that whole thing of you fucking me in front of Master William and one of your slaves last night?

“She isn
’t a slave and I don’t want her, I want you.”

“Sorry Richard
, I have no intentions of being anyone’s
slave
.”

Richard ma
tter of fact eyed me and stated, “That’s because you aren’t a
slave
either.”

“Well then
, why do you want me?”

“Who says that I can only have slaves?”

“Richard, you are rich playboy.”

“No, I am a Master—w
ho has slaves that I own.”

“What
do you want with me then?”

***

I rose,
making my way towards my little Ophelia, and straddled her on the bed; pinning her arms down with my knees. “I love the way that you write wearing tee-shirts and underwear.”

I raised the tee-shirt
to view her hardened nipples and leaned down taking one into my mouth. I licked, sucked, and flicked my tongue over it, as I took her smell in. I rose up, placing one hand around her throat and cutting into her with my eyes, “Quit…..Calling…..Me…..Richard…..Bed-chamber slave……

I want to eat you alive.
I think that I’ll start down here.”

I tore at her panties,
ripping them down and off of her. I pinned her legs back, assaulting her with my tongue.

“Mas, Mast, aaahhh.”

Oh yes, the begging and pleading had started. “Stay and have dinner with me Ophelia, tell me that you will spend one more night with me. You better not cum, you are not allowed to—until I get what I want. Tell me Ophelia.”

I
blew breath across her opened legs and watched as a shiver ran through her sweet little body.

“
Ah, yes,” she screamed out.

I stradd
led her once again and began pushing into her, only to pull out. I continued, as I listened to her screams, begging me to make love to her.

“No Ophelia, you have to earn that, you keep your appointment for dinner a
nd a night with your Master, and then I’ll fuck you—until you can’t walk.”

I leaned down growling into her ear,
“You’re mine and sooner—or later—you are going to get that.”

I leaned into her ear and growled: “Now be a good little girl and have your ass ready by 6pm and
we will look at giving you some of that juicy cock that you are begging for.

I laughed
, as I listened to her screams and a hairbrush whizzed by my head and hit the door, as I exited
MY
bed chamber.

Yes………..
it was true that she wasn’t a slave. But that did not change the fact that she was mine!

Ophelia

I sat in the bathtub away from prying eyes and though
t about what had just happened. I thought about what Richard had said: “
Who says, that I can only have slaves?”
 

I guess that
I had compartmentalized so much that I had put BDSM into a nice, neat little box and tied it up—with a ribbon of rules.

BDSM
was like any other relationship—as far as each couple was unique in their own right.

That still did not change the fact that Richard
would basically be able to screw whoever he wanted and I would be expected to be set apart for only him.

If I were to be honest with myself
, I knew that there would be no desire to sleep with other men—hell, after Richard—all other men would pale in comparison. No……. I just needed away from all of this, to get my thinking straight, or so I thought…

       
I talked to slave Selena as I applied make-up.

“Excuse me,” I stated
, as I looked down to view my ringing phone. “Ig-fucking-nor;” I growled, as I pushed the ‘ignore button,’ when I saw that it was Bob.

I used slave Selena as a sounding board. “You
know Selena—it just amazes me how conservatives want to be so judgmental on the BDSM community, when they are all about
control
too.

I mean really Selena—what is the damn difference?
They manipulate and coerce to get their way all the time. At least in the BDSM community, you know where people stand.

Ophelia rambl
ed on as slave Selena stood looking straight ahead—as if she were not intently listening. Ophelia was doing what most do when they become accustomed to a slave being in their presence; she was beginning to let her guard down, and slave Selena would do as her Master had instructed—she would fill him in on every detail of his employee. She would most certainly be filling him in on the fact that vanilla Bob had not given up on Ophelia, as a
love interest
.

I rose to dress for dinner and viewed
Richard entering the room donning drawstring pants, a muscle tee, and only men’s sandals on his feet.

I eyed him
, unconsciously licking my lips. The man was absolutely gorgeous, like some Greek god that had walked out of a romance novel. Between that and the things that he did to me in bed; it was very hard to resist him.

All that I kept telling myself was that he w
ould tire of me. When I told myself that he was a playboy, I knew that I was doing the right thing; the right thing was to protect myself.

What I did not understand
, was how deeply that a Master’s dedication went concerning their slaves. They loved them, but not in the same manner that a vanilla man loves a woman. Things went much deeper. Dedication went to a whole different level; when it came to these men. Not only did they answer to their conscience, but they also answered to the hierarchy of the BDSM community.

This was not some game, this was serious business and the ties that bind,
(so to speak) in the BDSM community; ran very deeply and were taken with the utmost of seriousness and respect.

A collar
was not just a collar. A collar was as symbolic—if not more symbolic, than a wedding ring. And a slave was not just a slave; they were property! A slave was to be taken care of and provided for.

There
were many times that slaves were literally glued to their Masters. So much so—that they could be found curled at their feet; as their Master worked. Many times they were knelt at the feet of their Master during meals and they ate what their Master fed them by hand. You cannot be attached that physically to someone—and not be bonded.

To not follow the protoco
l of caring for your slave, or slaves; that you took into your life, spoke of one’s lack of character.

There were too many men that called themselves Masters
—that were unworthy of the title. These were the men that used BDSM as a way to abuse women.  They were men that preyed on un-educated women and used their lack of knowledge against them; they used it as an excuse and a means to abuse women.

These men were the men who
were quickly identified and ostracized from the true BDSM community. The slaves who were fortunate enough to grace the doors of the mansion were actually very lucky. They would be taken care of and not harmed psychologically.

Their bad habits that they had formed over the years would be broken
—but their spirit would not be. If they were truly called to serve—they would enter the cocoon of the mansion and emerge a different being.

The result was always the same
—where a mere girl graced the entrance—a slave of elite perfection exited. For those who were already slaves in service upon their entrance; a slave with
honed
and
perfected
skills exited. One thing was for sure: you always left
The Mansion
more critiqued, and perfected, than when you came.

I made my way over to the bed and chuckled at the sight of Richard dressed so leisurely.
“You look like you are going the beach instead of dinner, Richard.”

“Maybe I am—m
aybe I’m going to swoop you up into my helicopter and take you to the beach.”

That my got my attention.
I didn’t put anything past Richard. He held a bottle of Cristal in one hand and two champagne glasses by the stems in the other.

He
made his way over and stood by the bed handing me the glass and pouring champagne into it.

I just about guzzled the whole thing down. He set the glass and bottle on the night stand
, opening my robe.

“Ther
e…….. that is a much better view—you wearing my lingerie.”

He sat in the chair kicking the sandals off and propping his feet on the bed and eyed me. “In fact, take the robe off.”

“I like the robe” I said, hugging it to me. The truth was that closing it up and hugging to me made me feel safe. It kept me from feeling as if he could see right through me.

He clamped his fingers behind his neck and glared at me as he snarled his lip. The look on his face told me that I should probably listen.

“Alright already,” I moaned.

There was a tap on the door and I rushed to grab it again.

“Leave it off!”

“Come in,” his gruff voice cut through the air.

I can’t read him, what else is new?

Selena made her way in with a push cart and the food that it held wafted odo
rs in my direction. My stomach growled in anticipation.

A sadistic grin crossed his face, “You may go Selena.”

What the fuck is he up to?